savant barbarian chapter 23

 

The warrior screamed at the top of his lungs, his leg crushed to smithereens.

Was that too much? Hakon didn’t think so. Barbarians healed fast enough. If anything, the warrior should thank him for granting such a great opportunity to learn [Natural Regeneration] or a similar Skill. He may as well acquire something far greater in a healer’s presence.

Cheers and excited roars pulled him out of his train of thoughts. He was not yet rewarded with a thunderous commotion following his victory, but more and more Barbarians cheered for him. It was almost like they finally understood that there was more to combat than raw strength. That his Ancient Power was not useless!

The Ancestors were satisfied with his fight, so was Astrid and the others.

[Dash] improved by one, while [Sensory Expansion] improved twice in quick succession. A welcome surprise.

Several other Skills felt like they were close to improving as well. Just thinking about it made Hakon’s heart beat faster.

Satisfied, he glanced back to the healer tending to the squashed leg. The emerald light coming from the healer’s hand caught his attention. Was that mana? The light coming from the stage had also been mana. Even as it dispersed, glowing motes of mana lingered in the air. They grew dimmer by the moment and were only visible through [Mana Sense], but that only made them more interesting.

Hakon wanted to reach for the motes and capture them. Maybe even dismantle them to find out what made those motes so different from the Monolith’s raw mana and regular ambient mana.

The difference between regular mana and the Monolith’s mana was not much different. It interested him how it came to be – and how to replicate it. The Monolith’s mana was much purer than regular mana. It felt more potent, like a trace of the Monolith’s mana was worth a handful of the ambient mana. If it was really that powerful, Hakon wanted to wield it as well. But it eluded him. It resisted him and slithered through his fingers and around his body even as he triggered [Circulation] to pull it into his body.

Trying the same with more motes of light produced more substantial results. He could only absorb a few motes, whereas the rest glowed brighter as his mana seeped into them.

“What do you have there?” Astrid cocked an eyebrow at him.

Björn looked at the glowing motes with a deep frown and spat on the ground. “He is acting like the Lightcaller!”

Hakon ignored his friends and focused on the motes, both the motes entering his pathways and those resting in his palm. They were quite different, yet all the same, and [Split Focus] triggered to scrutinize the movements of both. Then he dismantled them. Or tried to before realizing that it required mana.

It was not that he couldn’t dismantle the motes, but it cost mana. A lot of mana from the way it felt. Too much to waste during the Battle of Generation.

Instead of wasting more mana, Hakon reigned it in and focused on recovering. That did not stop the heavy sigh escaping his lips.

Slowly, the Battle of Generation headed toward closure. The number of warriors dwindled with every victor. Another round of bloody carnage ended with the untimely death of two young warriors. And once again, one of them fell victim to Ulfar’s brutal fighting style.

It was a mess, and Hakon wondered for the umpteenth time if the Ancestors really wanted all this. To swim in the blood of their descendants, slain by their very own people, but who was he to question the oldest forces? Instead, he studied Ulfar. He watched the man who was thirsting for his blood every step in combat. Hakon went as far as to use some of his replenished mana to use [Sensory Expansion], and [Flow Observation], and [Split Focus] while also maintaining [Mana Sense], [Combat Awareness], and [Weakness Detection].

It was the first time he used so many Skills simultaneously. It was also the first time his mana split up to empower three Skills at the same time.

He half-expected his head to throb, to be in unbearable pain as he analyzed Ulfar’s short, yet all the more brutal, fight. But that did not happen. Hakon felt the pressure of every Skill used. It quickly added up and transformed into a constant stream of pressure. That was all. The pressure did not worsen, nor did it lighten even as they improved. All he noticed was a stark improvement in the information he received…and his mana reserve dropping a little too fast for his liking.

Alas, the fight ended quickly, and Hakon deactivated most Skills. He only left [Mana Sense] and [Combat Awareness] active, his attention on Ulfar. His feral state didn’t abide. If anything, it felt like Ulfar leaned more and more into it, greedily absorbing the power Behemoth Blood provided.

Only eight warriors remained when the next round started. Three more fights – three wins – and the greatest warrior of the youngest generation would be decided.

Hakon’s goal was so close. It was within reach, his progress far surpassing what the others thought he would achieve. Even his father looked at him differently than before. He was calm, his expression the same as always, but something deep within his dark eyes had changed.

He finally saw his son. Recognized him.

“The final spurt may commence.” The Shaman intoned, his voice booming across the tribehold center, “The Ancestors are excited. They praise the power the youngest warriors earned in such a short time. In half a fortnight two dozen warriors acquired the Ancestors’ favor through challenges lethal and awe-inspiring. But they want more. They wish to witness the rise of the next Warlord on this very stage.”

The Monolith’s golden etching glowed vibrantly, illuminating the stage in a golden hue. It shimmered with more potent mana than Hakon had ever seen.

He let out a burst of [Circulation] without a second thought, his mind reaching out to the feast. And it caved in. The golden hue bent and shot toward him. It embraced him and flooded his pathways with more mana than the mana mass near his stomach could hoard.

He didn’t waste a second and erupted with [Circulation]’s full power. Several other mana-based Skills triggered at his behest, yet it was still not enough. His pathways were still flooded with mana, so he used [Mana Infusion] and pumped all excess mana into Crusher.

Next up was a defiant roar from the other side of the stage. Ulfar growled, his hand shooting toward the golden hue. It resisted the invasive force, but only for a moment. The hue embraced Ulfar next. Then came Astrid and Björn. The golden hue coated them gently, followed by the remaining warriors.

“The Ancestors have spoken.” The Shaman’s lips parted into a brilliant smile, “The Battle of Generation will end with a final battle. A desperate struggle to determine the aspirant to the Warlord title.”

The last part was different than before, but nobody seemed to notice. All the Barbarians could hear was the next part.

“Step onto the stage and fight for your right to become the next Warlord.” The Shaman’s gaze drifted across the remaining warriors, his smile almost blinding.

Ulfar was the first to move. He cracked the stone floor as he leaped onto the stage. Looking back at his lackeys, he watched them hesitate and snarled. His figure blurred and he appeared before one of the Bloodbearers, piercing his throat with a flat hand…covered in scales?

Hakon frowned, and he was not the only one. The Bloodbearer reached for his throat. His eyes grew wide and he clung onto Ulfar’s hand. Ulfar didn’t care. He stared the warrior deep in the eyes and ripped his throat out.

“On the stage. Now!” He growled as his lackey collapsed to the ground, dying. The healer appeared within a few heartbeats but the emerald hue coating his hand dispersed shortly after. The healer looked back up at the Shaman and shook his head. The Bloodbearer was dead.

Ulfar returned to the stage, his lackeys following unwillingly. They stayed as far as possible from him, yet stayed close enough to escape his wrath. They stared at him in confusion, betrayal, but also disappointment and disgust. Ulfar was no longer the same man they had once sworn to follow. He was a monster in Barbarian skin.

Others looked like they thought similarly. Ulfar had to be stopped. He couldn’t become the Warlord promised by the Ancestors. If he was, their tribe would be lost.

“Are you worried?” Astrid asked almost accusingly.

“Worried? That is not the right word.” Hakon shook his head, “I’m just wondering what the Ancestors were thinking when they gave Ulfar his power.”

“Do not think badly of the Ancestors.” Björn grunted, tightly gripping his large axes, “Their actions may be confusing at times, but they always make sense.”

Did they? Hakon shrugged but smiled.

“Can you kill him?” Björn added after a moment.

“Can you?”

“No.” As bitter as it sounded at times, Björn the Bear spoke his mind. His words rang sincere, but the confidence and overwhelming determination never left his face. “But I can injure him. My axes will drink in his blood.”

He glanced back at us, “I will fight him first. You take care of the other idiots.”

“Of course, you take the big fish while we have to get rid of the nasty ones.” Astrid snorted, yet a faint smile tugged at her lips.

“Sounds good to me. Four versus three.” Hakon nodded, “Ulfar shouldn’t have killed Teca. Then again, five versus three doesn’t improve his chances a lot.”

Astrid chuckled, “He should have brought an army to the Battle of Generation to win.”

“He is an army.” Björn grunted, not quite liking Hakon and Astrid’s light banter.

That was true. Ulfar was a problem. He was more than willing to kill everyone to achieve his goal, and he did have the power to do so.

But something had changed in the final spurt of the Battle of Generation. Two forces had formed to clash in front of the Ancestors, and Hakon did not think about the possibility of losing. It didn’t even cross his mind.

Victory was all he could think of.

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