Barbarian Quest

Chapter 85

Nod, nod.

An old man was dozing off with his fishing rod in his hands. The shoulders that once bore the grand title of Sword Demon had significantly narrowed. Sitting in a chair with his back bent made him look even smaller.

Ferzen still fought with his sword in his hands. But how much longer could he continue? His eyesight was failing; in a year or two, he probably would become completely blind. Even a little exertion was leaving him gasping for air, and his sword felt heavier every time he held it. On top of that, wearing and removing armor left sores with pus on the skin under the pressure points of the armor.

Blink.

Ferzen opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry. No matter how much he rubbed his eyes, the murkiness that covered his vision didn’t clear.

‘I don’t have too much time left.'

His life as a warrior was coming to an end, but how much longer would Ferzen the human live?

'Ten years? Twenty?'

He was seized with fear. He lived the rest of his life as an old man in the backroom.

'How ugly.'

He longed for his youth. From a fledgling knight, he had surpassed numerous battlefields. How many comrades had he lost, and how many enemies had he killed to make a hill out of their corpses? The countless tales that had shaped the legendary Sword Demon Ferzen swept through his memories.

"Lou, you are cursing me."

Ferzen said, gazing at the sun reflected in the pond.

‘Yanchinus will probably discover the eastern continent. As long as it really exists, he will find it. If he took anything after his forefathers, it’s their persistence.’

To most, Emperor Yanchinus was a figure who was impossible to even approach, but to Ferzen, he was just like a young nephew.

'But even for him, it's a project that will take more than a decade at the least.'

The eastern continent held no meaning for Ferzen. It was the dawn of an era that would start after his time was long over.

'The Sky Mountains.'

Ferzen looked west. From the Porcana Kingdom at the eastern end, the Sky Mountains were not visible.

'No one who climbed those mountains ever returned.'

Emperor Yanchinus heavily invested in crossing the Sky Mountains. His men criticized it as a waste of the empire’s budget, and the priests rebuked the emperor for attempting to surmount the mountains. But the imperial power was strong. The authority built by the first and previous emperors easily silenced such complaints.

"He doesn’t tire. He’s young."

No explorers sent to the Sky Mountains had returned so far, but Yanchinus will continue to send more. Failure would label him a tyrant, success a great conqueror.

‘He is doing exactly what the first and the previous emperor did. Is this what the bloodline of conquerors looks like?'

The first emperor declared that he would unify the world and he did just that. He subjugated all civilized kingdoms and built a great empire. If he had failed, he would've been remembered as a war-crazed king.

The previous emperor expanded humanity's boundaries, conquering the barren south and north, blending two worlds that used to never interfere with each other. He created a world where civilization and barbarism coexisted.

And now Emperor Yanchinus. A young, intelligent, and ambitious emperor. He could easily lead the empire's golden age simply by focusing on the current internal affairs, but for him to be satisfied with that, his forefathers overshadow him. That was his flaw. He had a mighty grandfather and father. He carried their blood.

"My body is...too old to follow your grandson and your son."

Even with a willful mind, he could no longer stand on the battlefield. Ferzen felt it acutely in this war. It was overwhelming just to follow other knights, let alone lead them. Cross the Sky Mountains with this body? That was simply not possible.

‘I am going to die in my bed.'

An inner voice spoke. Ferzen opened his eyes wide. Cold sweat dripped down his back.

'I'm going to die like some dried-up kindling.'

He was afraid. He feared the quiet death. He longed to see the steely blue of blades.

"Oh, Mijorn."

Mijorn the Brave, his rival from three decades ago, a northerner who perhaps could have been the king of the north. The empire had offered him to become the king of the north with the intention of making the northern lands a subordinate state with Mijorn ruling as their king. But Mijorn refused subjugation, and instead, he led his followers south.

Sword Demon Ferzen led the Imperial army against Mijorn. They fought a battle that would determine the fate of civilization and barbarism.

Thud, thud, thud.

Never again would he experience such a war. A heart-pounding war. A great battle where everything was at stake.

"Oh, you men who returned to the Field of Swords, calling out Ulgaro's name."

Ferzen envied them. The immortal warriors. Even in death, they remained warriors, repeating the eternal struggle of battle on the Field of Swords. The god of the north loved warriors.

Bodies pierced by metal, graves full of skeletons, all in the desolate northern frozen land.

Memories of the past overlapped. The harsh land nurtured great warriors. Northerners did not cremate their dead warriors. They believed that they would resurrect with Ulgaro, so instead, they buried them with their weapons.

Chirp, chirp.

A bird was crying. It was a warm day. His grip on the fishing rod was weak, and drowsiness returned.

Plop.

The fishing rod shook. Ferzen opened his eyes and lifted the rod, but the fish had taken the bait and escaped.

"Oh no."

Ferzen sighed, re-baiting the hook as he clicked his tongue. He yawned deeply.

Clang.

Someone made a metallic sound. It was the sound of weapons clashing. Ferzen turned around.

"Hey gramps, you catch any fish?"

Urich was sitting at the base of a tree. Ferzen's eyes gradually widened. His lips slightly curled up.

"Do you think I’m here to catch some fish? I’m just here to catch some time. Ohoho."

Ferzen threw the fishing rod aside.

"You’re always talking like an old man."

Creak.

Urich spun his sword tip on the ground like a top.

"Do you have something you want to ask? Urich."

"Do you know where I come from?"

"I have an idea. I heard from Donovan that the first time he met you was in Ankaira, which is not far from the Sky Mountains. Plus, the moment I heard your acted-out northern accent, it told me everything I needed to know."

After hearing Ferzen's words, Urich stood up.

"I see. Here, use this sword. It's an Imperial steel sword. I'll use my axes."

Urich tossed the steel sword in front of Ferzen. Urich swayed his twin axes, loosening up his body.

"How merciful you are. You could have just stabbed me in the back in my sleep."

Ferzen grabbed the sword as if he had seen everything coming.

"That's not my way. Oh yeah, and I’m asking just in case, does the emperor know?"

"I’m the only one who knows where you are from. I haven't told anyone else, the man who crossed the Sky Mountains."

Urich's eyes widened. He didn't understand Ferzen.

'Why didn't he tell anyone around him?'

That was the only thought. It didn't look like Ferzen was lying. But his words and actions were strange. Ferzen was deliberately provoking Urich.

"So, you’re the only one I have to kill, old man. Thanks for telling me that."

"No need to thank me."

Ferzen bowed gracefully. He held the sword.

"I am Urich of the Stone Axe Tribe. I came here today to end your sorrowful life, gramps."

Urich swung his axes, whooshing through the air. The sound of the axes slicing the air was chilling.

"My name is Ferzen," Ferzen answered briefly. Urich tilted his head, asking in return.

"That’s it? "

"That’s sufficient as my introduction."

Ferzen raised his sword high. It was the Owl Stance. His shoulders, rigid like a bird spreading its wings, were solid and made it seem like he could even cut through a rock.

'Impressive.'

Urich was in awe. It was hard to believe that such vigor came from an old man who was over seventy years old.

'Could I be like that at his age?'

It was hard to be sure of it. Any warrior would have no choice but to respect Ferzen. His bone-carving rigorous self-discipline was evident.

"Hooh."

Ferzen inhaled deeply. The only time he exhaled was the one moment that he was bringing his sword down.

It was as if an inner light was flowing within his pale eyes. His lifetime of honed stance was flawless. The elasticity of his sword-wielding muscles was very much still alive.

Ssshh.

Urich let his arms, each holding an axe, hang loosely as he approached his opponent. At a glance, it seemed a defenseless stance, merely extending the trajectory of his weapons.

'But my opponent is a barbarian. One with extraordinary physical abilities at that. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that he was blessed by the gods.'

Barbarians, despite their unrefined stances, could swing their weapons at astonishing speeds. In fact, the longer trajectory of their swings made each strike excessively heavy.

'How many of our knights have fallen to such attacks?'

Ferzen smiled. The barbarians with their crude metal weapons seemed easy to conquer. But it was a big miscalculation. The war against the northern barbarians was truly a series of agonies. The unfamiliar cold tormented the knights, and even Ferzen himself lost three toes to frostbite. Moreover, every barbarian man was a skilled warrior. Their god loved the warriors, and they fought to earn that divine favor.

Step.

Urich approached. The distance between the two warriors was closing down. There was only one more step to be within the range of their weapons.

Both stances showed that their wielders preferred attack over defense. The fight wasn’t going to last long. The faster and more cunning warrior would come out victorious.

Step.

Urich stepped forward again. Ferzen, with his sword, had a longer range of attack.

'I’ll give him the first move.'

Urich’s eyes sparkled. His arms moved along.

Ferzen's Owl Stance was a stance with the sword raised high. Directly from that stance, he performed a diagonal slash. The skill was known as the Owl's Fury, and it was a simple diagonal cut. But among knights, it was considered the strongest technique.

'The simplest yet strongest technique.'

Stabbing used muscles that were not normally used. Unless it was trained heavily, the movement itself felt unnatural. Slashing, on the other hand, was purely instinctive. Give a child a sword, and they first make a diagonal cut from above. The Owl's Fury was the most natural swordsmanship. Thus, it was strong.

Clang!

Urich lifted his axe blades to entwine Ferzen's sword. Ferzen's sword path was disrupted.

“Oooooh!”

Urich roared and closed in on Ferzen right in front of his nose. He leaned his head back and then thrust it forward.

Thump!

A powerful headbutt shook Ferzen's brain. The old skull cracked. Ferzen, dazed from the attack, closed his eyes.

Urich, eyes wide open, swung his axe and severed Ferzen's right hand. The sword-wielding right hand fell to the ground.

"Ugh."

Ferzen swallowed a scream and struck Urich's chin with his left hand. Urich nearly bit his tongue. His head shook, making him stagger his steps.

Thump.

Ferzen then kicked Urich between the legs. Despite the leather protection of the region, the impact surged deep into his abdomen. It was a blow to a vital spot that was practiced in real battles.

"Grr."

Urich wanted to clutch his groin and roll on the ground at that moment. He grimaced.

"You damned old man!!!!"

Urich yelled as he charged at Ferzen. He dealt a merciless blow to the old warrior who was now without one of his hands.

Swish.

Ferzen drew a small self-protection dagger from his waist. Holding only the dagger in his left hand, he faced Urich. He resembled a hunter fighting a bear, except this bear was clever, could speak, and on top of that, had axes instead of claws in both his paws.

If he tried to block an axeblade with the dagger in his hand, his wrist was going to shatter. Ferzen rolled on the ground. The once-great Sword Demon, a knight among knights! But at this moment, he was merely a weakling before a stronger opponent. If the weak wanted any chance to beat the strong, he had to roll in the dirt.

Urich was young and strong, and Ferzen was an old man. Legendary fame did not strengthen the physical body.

Woosh!

Urich's axes sliced in all directions like a storm. Ferzen, like a nimble mouse, leaned back, avoiding the axe blades.

Urich feigned the wild swings with his axes and then launched one of the two toward his opponent. The rusted pale eyes could not read the movement ahead.

Crunch!

The axe was buried deep into Ferzen's chest.

"No more dodging around like a mouse," Urich said as he breathed heavily.

Ferzen did not remove the axe embedded in his chest. Pulling it out would lead to excessive bleeding and death by bleeding out. The axe was that deeply lodged, and his heart was moments away from stopping.

"Urich," Ferzen spoke, with his face a pale blue.

"Huh?"

"Bury me in the ground when I die."

Ferzen lunged in as he inhaled his last deep breath. Urich easily sidestepped and struck Ferzen's back with his axe. Ferzen collapsed powerlessly to the ground.

Ferzen opened his eyes as he lay on the ground. His lips trembled, and his heart grew cold.

"Ulgaro."

Ferzen's dim eyes were staring into the Field of Swords.

Those who betrayed their god were cursed. Ferzen's curse was over.

"What...?"

Urich clearly heard Ferzen's last words.

'Ulgaro.'

Urich's pupils quivered.