Barbarian in a Failed Game

038 Chapter: The North (1)

In the gaming community, there was a joke that went, “No matter where you go, there’s always at least one Follower of Truth.” This referred to the fervent activity and vast realms of influence of a certain group. Villains who would not hesitate to commit the most heinous acts in the pursuit of their version of ‘truth’. In terms of their actions, this group of mages, known as the Followers of Truth, could be compared to psychopaths or even dark mages.

“Perhaps they’re even more villainous because they operate openly in the light, wielding power,” someone might think. Starting from the empire’s nobility, to owning immense trading companies, to being part of the royal family… Among the members of the Followers of Truth were individuals who, even without their magical prowess, could significantly influence the continent’s politics.

“It was Tilly who trapped the resentment within Draupnir’s true form into a replica, wasn’t it? Yet, the actual transport of that item was done by completely different people? They’ve joined hands.” Khan easily unraveled the hidden cause and effect.

“If my suspicions are correct, then Tilly’s identity is….” If Khan was right, it was quite a rational choice for the Followers of Truth to join hands with Tilly. People armed with extremist magical absolutism and a mage’s characteristic arrogance and sense of superiority, they wouldn’t refuse Tilly’s offer.

“…Do you think the Followers of Truth will be of help in achieving your goals, Tilly?” Khan’s expression turned peculiar at the situation that intertwined with regrets from the past. It was a mix of a smile and a grimace. Perhaps, the day for their reunion was not far off.

In the moment when Tilly’s purpose-driven path crosses with Khan’s aimless wandering… “I should not hesitate then,” Khan quietly resolved to himself. That would be the moment to make her pay for betraying them all.

***

“The Followers told me that if I helped them secure the dwarf hidden within Count Hefeldt’s domain, and in return, they would ensure the Count’s downfall. And they handed over that cursed sword.”

“Did you naively believe them? Believing in mages, what a fool.”

“…I can’t disclose everything but I had reasons to believe them.”

“You must have a great secret. What were your plans after securing the dwarf? Had any plans?”

Count Emil firmly shook his head, still half-buried in the ground. “After the Count destroyed himself under the curse of the magic sword, all that would be left is his incompetent son. I didn’t need any particular plan. Especially since I had no use for a dwarf.”

“Well…”

“To be recognized for incompetence by a sworn enemy,” Khan thought. That’s impressive in its own right. Remembering the noble young man who eagerly shared information, Khan stood up. “Seems like there’s nothing more to know. And you don’t seem to know much either.”

“…Aren’t you going to ask about the truth of this war?”

“What’s the use in knowing that?”

Emil looked at Khan as if asking if he was serious, but to Khan, it was obvious. He had gotten involved in this matter purely by chance. If not for the existence of Draupnir, he wouldn’t have accepted Count Hefeldt’s request.

“I have a rough idea already.”

“Then, I’ve told you everything I know. Keep your promise. You barbarian.”

“Yes, I will. Just not in the way you hope.”

Khan swallowed these words; the man would find out soon enough.

“Ah, Warrior! You’re here, right? Warrior─!” A familiar voice called out, and Khan chuckled. They sure took their time.

The sound of multiple horses galloping approached rapidly.

“This sound…!”

One could feel Emil’s face contorting in frustration through his voice. As the sound drew nearer, observing Emil’s desperate attempts to escape the pit, Khan secured his axe at his waist. “To have so many friends come to see you, you really are quite the socialite.”

“You promised to spare me! You damned barbarian…!”

“I only said I’d let you live.” Khan hadn’t promised to send him back home in one piece. Amid his jeering, the owners of the approaching sounds revealed themselves.

Count Hefeldt’s private soldiers, fully armed as if for war, and Feneth wearing shining armor appeared, carrying the pale-faced Jan like luggage. “Now, it’s time to milk the other side.”

“I got more than I bargained for, just for catching a tin can.”

Feneth was utterly baffled by the scene unfolded before him.

Even considering the circumstances, the bald exposure of a dwarf, a secret that should have been the biggest of the Count’s house, was inevitable.

‘Why is the count … like that?’

Count Emil is strong.

Even setting aside his former title as a royal guard, he surpasses the average skill level of the kingdom’s knights in both handling aura and swordsmanship.

Of course, compared to the current royal guards, Count Emil was an expert whom it’d be embarrassing to just refer to by the title of guard given his prowess.

He secured his position thanks to his service during the king’s youth.

It was obvious he would be weaker now than in his prime.

‘But…’

Even so, Count Emil was a formidable opponent who Feneth alone could not handle, and with his personally trained mercenaries added to the mix, they exhibited the combat power to swiftly dispatch hundreds with just tens.

The sight of such Count Emil buried in the ground with only his head visible, and his elite mercenaries all surrendering, forced Feneth to deny the reality before him.

“You came quicker than I thought. Or should I say late since everything’s already over? Anyway…”

Khan’s words, delivered in a surprisingly light manner, made Feneth frown. What nonsensical thing is this brute going to spout now…

“As you can see, the Count’s request has been fulfilled. They are all captured alive, which could even be considered exceeding expectations. You’ll consider this when paying the fee, right? Else it would be tiresome for both of us.”

Feneth was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing.

Had it not been for his helmet hiding his face, his bewildered expression would have been completely visible.

“…The request was supposed to be the count’s death.”

After a not insignificant silence, this was the remark he managed to get out, met with a response as if to say, what absurdity is this?

“Going through the trouble of capturing them alive, and you say it’s disappointing?”

“The success of the request was clearly defined by the count’s death. There was no need to… capture him alive.”

“Are you serious? This man is the enemy’s leader, and those kneeling are the elite of the enemy. Even someone from the cold mountains like me knows it’s better to use them alive than dead.”

“That’s right!”

A voice suddenly chimed in from behind Feneth. It was Jan, who had agreed to move separately but ended up accompanying Feneth.

‘That damned mage…’

Feneth gritted his teeth.

Regardless, this barbarian was speaking sense.

Having captured the leader and the majority of the city’s strength amidst the conflict, they could essentially force an unconditional surrender.

However, this was only possible when all political considerations could be set aside.

It wouldn’t work in the conflict between Wagner and Picard.

Feneth might be ignorant of politics, but he was clearly aware of that fact. However…

“Sir. A moment.”

“Sir Art.”

Then, another knight from the Count’s house, who had accompanied him, quietly called him aside to suggest,

“Do not forget His Highness’s order. Our goal is the acquisition of the dwarf, the death of Count Emil, and to pin the blame on that barbarian.”

“…You mean.”

“Just kill them all. We brought enough knights and mercenaries. On their side, they have nothing but a barbarian warrior, a woman, and some worthless mercenaries. And since we have the mage’s apprentice with us, it would be even easier to deal with….”

‘Do you think that’s possible?’

Feneth had to forcefully swallow the words that rose to his throat.

The argument made sense.

And Feneth was not unaware that it would simplify matters. Yet, he hesitated, and for good reason.

Gulp…

Feneth’s gaze, hidden within his helmet, drifted towards the barbarian who stood confidently.

‘Considering the situation, it’s clear he subdued Count Emil, but to break through his mercenaries… For that to be possible, this barbarian warrior’s strength must be overwhelming…’

“So, what are we doing then? Should I chop off the count’s head right here? To suggest beheading an aristocrat who has just surrendered peacefully. The kingdom sure knows how to handle things barbarically.”

That damned man-.

Deep in thought, Feneth ground his teeth and then realized. He couldn’t make any choice.

What if they did as Art suggested and fought against them? Even if we set aside the barbarian’s strength, would Count Emil’s mercenaries just stand by?

Wouldn’t it be natural for them to join the barbarian in resistance? Plus, on their side, they had the dwarf, the most critical asset of the Count’s house.

‘Damn it…’

Feneth sighed softly.

“…For now, let’s transfer Count Emil and all of his mercenaries. To Ermon. We’ll report to His Grace from there.”

“Sir Feneth! Are you serious?”

“Your call, Sir Art. Order us to fight this brute right now, if you will!”At the rebuke of Feneth, Art tightly sealed his lips shut.

Feneth finally hurried the private soldiers to secure the capture of the count and the knights, then turned his attention to checking on the well-being of another knight and a dwarf who had incurred injuries. However, his gaze never strayed from the barbarian surrounded by his companions. Somehow, he couldn’t shake off the absurd notion that this barbarian seemed to have seen through everything and was manipulating the situation to his advantage. “Impossible… Right?”

*

*

*

Feneth took the hostages and Khan’s party back to Ermon. He then sent a messenger to Wagner, detailing the situation to the count extensively. The count, having entrusted Wagner with the task, hastened to Ermon immediately.

Thump!

“You foolish…! You actually went along with it! I made it clear. To kill all of them – the baron and barbarian warriors – and return!”

Feneth, struck by the punch flung by Count Hefeldt, rolled across the floor. For a knight well-honed through rigorous training, being bested by a nobleman’s punch, even one practiced in swordsmanship, was inconceivable. Naturally, it was because Feneth had taken the hit, worrying about the count injuring his hand.

However, with Count Hefeldt’s temper flaring to its peak, whether that mattered or not, he began yelling at Feneth, who was now sprawled on the ground. “To be completely taken in by such nonsense spouted by a barbarian and handle things in such a manner! This, this is…!”

“I am sorry.”

Feneth, lightly brushing his mouth with the back of his hand, got up. His face, hitherto hidden beneath his helmet, remained stoic, only serving to further infuriate the Count. Count Hefeldt started kicking chairs around, throwing a tantrum. “Aagh!” Unable to contain his frustration, Count Hefeldt even screamed, lacking the cunning fox-like calmness he initially had.

The conflict between Wagner and Picard had started, in part, due to Count Hefeldt’s household. It began after a dwarf nearly met his death in the mines of the Shivering Forest and was rescued, then subsequently employed as the family’s exclusive blacksmith in return. Mercenaries and trading firms went crazy over the ‘Broken Anvil’ dwarf-made gear, a sensible outcome since it meant acquiring superior equipment without undergoing the cumbersome procedures typically required in the southern kingdoms. With the title of Count and a gradually declining influence, the Hefeldt family thus regained their former glory. At that point, the previous Count had orchestrated an assassination of a nobleman, who was then the mayor of Picard, blaming it on a demon’s deed. And yet, the plan was for the Hefeldt family to absorb an ownerless Picard…

“If only the damn royal family hadn’t interfered…!” Instead, someone unexpected took over Picard. The king had granted the landless Picard to a retired knight he had been looked after since childhood. That was the current Count Emil. And it was this old retired knight who suddenly started making a fuss about the death of the former mayor being the work of the Hefeldt family, hence starting the current conflict. ‘If I miss this chance, my position might be jeopardized…!’ Count Hefeldt, amassing vast wealth through inter-city conflicts and aiming for a higher duke position, felt threatened by the growth of Count Emil, supported by established high nobles and a royal family preoccupied with preserving their face. It was as if…

As if the game of Count Hefeldt’s household trying to exploit Count Emil had turned into a scenario where influential backers were pouring money into the victim without expecting anything in return.

Ultimately, though the Hefeldt family profited, the situation began to turn as Emil started having more wins in their feud, leading Count Hefeldt to think, ‘We must end this conflict.’

It was around that time he conceived a plan when a cursed sword fell into his possession, but the sword ended up in the barbarian’s hands. The Count quickly thought of an exquisite strategy.

‘A barbarian and a cursed sword. Could there be a better match?’

If Count Emil were to fall victim to the cursed sword and die in a frenzy, the blame would become ambiguous. Although it was Count Hefeldt who had handed the cursed sword to the barbarian, asking for revenge on Count Emil, it was in fact Emil who had offered the deadly weapon as a duel prize. It was a self-inflicted wound. The face-saving royal family would likely chide Emil’s stupidity or remain silent.

“So, you should have just killed them all on the spot! With a convenient setup afterward…!”

“…I am sorry.”

“Not too late yet.”

The rampaging Count suddenly regained his calm as if nothing had happened. “There’s still a chance to turn things around. If the news hasn’t spread outside Ermon, we can still deal with Emil and that barbarian right now…”

However, Feneth, watching such antics from the Count, lowered his head. Unable to bear the sight of his lord trapped in obstinate delusion and refusing to confront reality.

And then…

‘I am sorry, my lord.’

Feneth recalled. The barbarian, looking absolutely fine and effortlessly overpowering Count Emil, gazed at him with gleaming eyes. Eyes full of anticipation, as if imploring Feneth and Art to dare challenge him – the gaze of a berserker.