The Barbarian of the Count’s Family Is Too Strong

Chapter 1

Agron

A witch cast a curse.

『Before your child sees fifteen summers and fifteen winters, he shall be surrounded by paulownia trees. Unless he carries the blood and bones of beasts on his back, my words shall not fall to the ground.』

The head of House Veilain had no choice but to send his son far to the north.

Praying that he would survive.

***

The Great Snowfield of the North, ‘Snowridge Labyrinth,’ was famous for its perpetual snow.

Also known as the ‘Frozen Hell,’ it was a land filled with relentless cold and ice all 365 days of the year.

A merciless demonic realm where no conqueror even spared a glance.

Yet, someone was traversing that snowfield.

As they walked, the thick snow collapsed under their weight, leaving a dotted trail in their wake.

“Huff, huff.”

The blade-like wind, carrying the bitter chill, lashed at his face and body like a mad beast.

Though the man was clad in thick fur, he had left the front open, exposing patches of bare skin that were flushed red from the cold.

His constant breaths had formed icicles on his beard.

“Hm.”

At last, he arrived at his destination.

As he pushed open the door of a tiny hut and stepped inside, a warmth unlike the outside world rushed toward him like the breath of a great beast.

“It’s too hot. A warrior should live in the cold.”

Brushing off the snow piled on his shoulders and hair, the man approached the fireplace.

He spread his hands before the fire and let out a relaxed sigh.

“If it’s too hot, why are you standing there?”

The owner of the hut, who had been inside, spoke without even looking at his guest.

“I—I was just drying my fur. I am never cold.”

“Then why bother wearing clothes if you won’t even fasten them properly?”

“To honor my prey and uphold a warrior’s pride.”

The hut’s owner let out a quiet chuckle.

“What brings you here today?”

“The chieftain told me to deliver this letter to you, Agron.”

The sound of a chair scraping the floor followed as Agron stepped into the living room.

A young man with a well-built physique and dark blue hair stood there, his chiseled torso exposed as his piercing blue eyes gleamed.

“A letter? I haven’t received one in a while.”

“Only the chieftain and you ever receive letters in our [Winter Wardens] tribe.”

“Regardless, thanks for bringing it, ‘White Bison.’”

‘White Bison’ gave a slight nod before continuing to warm himself by the fire.

Agron tore open the letter and read its contents on the spot.

Among the [Winter Wardens], only a handful could read, and among them, only the chieftain and Agron could write.

“…….”

After finishing the letter, Agron’s expression changed.

It was the same hardened look as before, yet it felt even more rigid—sunk deeper into itself.

He carefully placed the letter into the fireplace.

Flames consumed it in an instant, reducing it to nothing but ash.

“What is it, Agron?”

Even the normally taciturn ‘White Bison’ felt compelled to ask.

“My parents are dead.”

The flickering firelight reflected in his eyes, shimmering like molten heat.

“How?”

“They were attacked by someone.”

“…Hmm.”

‘White Bison’ exhaled a low sigh.

For a warrior, the deaths of those around them were an inevitable consequence—a chain of cause and effect.

The greater the warrior, the more death followed in their wake.

But Agron’s parents were neither warriors of the tribe nor people who had lived with him.

Knowing Agron’s past, ‘White Bison’ found nothing to say.

“I will leave the snowfield.”

Watching the last embers of the letter burn out, Agron reached for the leather coat hanging on the wall.

It was made from a giant elk he had hunted and tanned himself two years prior.

When he had first dragged the elk’s massive carcass back, antlers trailing behind him, the entire tribe had been astonished.

The creature had been larger than most bears, and it had taken a full day just to gut and butcher it.

“You’re leaving the snowfield…? You mean to leave the tribe?”

“Yes. The time is ripe. I must explain to the chieftain and take my leave.”

“…You have no family waiting for you. You could just stay here.”

It could have sounded rude, but Agron knew the sentiment behind it and merely smiled.

It was ‘White Bison’s’ clumsy way of saying, We are your real family. Don’t leave.

“I will see the chieftain first.”

***

Upon arriving at the village, Agron entered the chieftain’s dwelling.

It was the warmest home in the village, built with birch logs and packed with dried moss for insulation.

As he opened the log door and stepped inside, a curtain of animal teeth strung together on a leather cord fell into his line of sight.

“Excuse m—”

The moment he reached to push the curtain aside, a sharp killing intent erupted as an attack came flying at him.

Agron dodged effortlessly, tilting his head, then hooked his arm around his assailant’s right shoulder, pulling them in and locking their joint.

But they didn’t give up.

They dropped the knife from their right hand, caught it with their left, and thrust the blade toward Agron’s side.

Though at an awkward angle, the strike was enough to be lethal.

Agron yanked harder, fully intending to slam them to the ground. The sharp pain forced them to misfire, their blade missing its mark and embedding itself in the wooden wall instead.

“Guh!”

Taking advantage of the opening, Agron drove his knee into their face.

The assailant bent their free arm to block the incoming blow, meeting force with force.

A dull impact reverberated between them, but it was the assailant who suffered more.

Their compromised shoulder had made both defense and offense ineffective.

Crack.

A sickening pop echoed as they dislocated their own shoulder to escape Agron’s grip.

They immediately wrenched their knife free and swung in a wide arc.

A crude yet precise sword path.

Clang!

Agron grabbed a nearby fire poker, parrying the attack.

His blue eyes gleamed sharply as he scanned his opponent from head to toe.

A deep breath in, a slow exhale.

The rise and fall of their chest, beads of sweat forming at their nose, slight tremors in their muscles.

Everything was imprinted in his mind.

Agron thrust his fire poker forward.

Too fast for the untrained eye to catch, but the assailant parried it with a sweeping motion before closing the distance.

A blade rose from the floor, aiming to cleave him in two—

Thud.

But before it could, Agron stomped on the sword, pinning it down.

Then, in one smooth motion, he grabbed their collar and threw them over his shoulder.

Boom!

“Gah!”

“…Shall we continue?”

Agron picked up the fallen blade and pointed it at his opponent’s throat.

“That’s enough, you damned brat!”

When Agron withdrew the blade, the burly old man massaged his shoulder and got to his feet.

He was none other than his master and the chieftain of the [Winter Wardens] tribe—Dumurka, also known as the ‘Silent Storm.’

“Are you all right, Master?”

“You ungrateful apprentice! If you were going to hold back, you could’ve done so from the start!”

“I did.”

“…I suppose you did.”

Had Agron fought seriously, Dumurka wouldn’t have lasted three exchanges before being folded in half.

Among the [Winter Wardens], Agron was the only one Dumurka could not defeat.

‘This monstrous brat.’

What made Agron terrifying was not just his exceptional swordsmanship or combat skills.

It was his overwhelming strength and tireless endurance.

“So, you didn’t use your sword or fists out of respect for your master?”

“That’s right.”

“You still used your knee, though.”

“I held back.”

“Much appreciated!”

“You’re welcome.”

Agron’s strength was known not just within the [Winter Wardens] but also among neighboring tribes.

Even ‘White Bison,’ regarded as the tribe’s strongest warrior, couldn’t last beyond five exchanges against him.

“By the way, I received the letter.”

“Did you?”

“Did you read yours as well, Master?”

“I had a separate letter sent to me.”

Dumurka sat down, rubbing his shoulder.

“Agron, have you spoken with ‘White Bison’?”

“Briefly.”

Among the [Winter Wardens], each member had a ‘True Name’ given by nature and a ‘Given Name’ used in the outside world.

Those who interacted more with outsiders preferred their Given Name, while those who stayed within the tribe used their True Name.

Agron and Dumurka were accustomed to their Given Names, so people mostly addressed them by those.

“What do you wish for me to do, Master?”

“What do you mean? Do whatever you want.”

“I see. Then, I’ll take my leave.”

“Hold on!”

Dumurka suddenly sensed something amiss and stopped Agron as he was about to step outside.

“…When you say ‘leave,’ do you mean my house, or the tribe?”

“Both.”

“You crazy bastard!”

Dumurka glared at him in disbelief.

This was the problem.

“You have the instincts of a wild beast, the mind of a scholar, and the body of a monster—so why are you so lacking in humanity?”

“Humanity…?”

“If you leave so suddenly, how do you think the tribe will feel?!”

“…That I left?”

“You—!!”

Dumurka barely restrained himself from flicking Agron’s forehead.

‘Baekun, you really left me with a headache.’

Dumurka, once a wanderer of the world, possessed vast knowledge and experience. During his travels, he had formed many relationships, one of which was with ‘Taoist Baekun,’ who had entrusted Agron to him.

“Agron, you damned brat. Let me be honest. I want you to be the next chieftain.”

Dumurka acknowledged only one person in the tribe as being more intelligent than himself—Agron.

Unlike the rest of the tribe, who lived by instinct and shunned new knowledge, Agron absorbed learning like a sponge from a young age.

He was fluent in multiple languages, including the kingdom’s tongue, proficient in arithmetic, and well-versed in magic and sorcery.

Simply put, Agron was a genius.

“The chieftain?”

“Yes. As you know, no one in our tribe cares for learning, so there’s no progress. But you’re different.”

“Yes, I am.”

“…You arrogant brat. Anyway, I had you in mind as the next chieftain. So why not settle down here?”

Dumurka’s words echoed those of ‘White Bison.’

A sincere plea for Agron to stay, to truly become family.

Agron felt deep gratitude toward the entire [Winter Wardens] tribe.

In truth, his memories of his parents were vague, and Dumurka had been more of a father, mentor, and friend to him.

“I believe ‘White Bison’ is better suited to be chieftain.”

“…I see.”

Still, his parents were his parents.

More importantly, they hadn’t abandoned him—they had entrusted him here to break a curse.

“I will live as a warrior and as the heir to my family.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Dumurka’s question carried many meanings.

Agron nodded.

Of course, he was sure.

That was why he had endured all this time.

“The path will not be easy. You’ve lived here since you were a child. Life outside the tribe will be unfamiliar to you.”

“I’ll be fine. I learned about it in books.”

Dumurka nodded.

‘That’s what worries me, you brat.’

Agron gazed out at the cloudy sky.

“I am a great warrior of the [Winter Wardens]. Ignoring the death of my family would be unworthy of a warrior.”

“That is true. A blade for a blade, blood for blood.”

“Yes. That is how it shall be. Besides, I’ve always wanted to build my own domain.”

His father, the lord of House Veilain, had spoken to him about fiefdoms since infancy.

About being a good ruler, about cherishing one’s people, about managing an estate… All concepts that had been difficult to grasp as a child.

Perhaps because of that, Agron had naturally developed a dream of becoming a lord.

Dumurka placed his hands on his beloved disciple’s shoulders.

“Go, then. Show the world your dream. You will be a great ruler.”

“Thank you. Farewell.”

“Hey! At least say goodbye to the tribe, you brat!”