"Forget those toys. I've got something barely worthy of being called gear. It's yours for now."
Bul-Kathos spoke, ignoring Matt, and yanked a lamp fixture fused with the metal wall. With a tug, the entire wall came down, revealing a rack laden with weapons.
Luke Cage's eyes widened. "These…"
He couldn't discern how these differed from the haphazard pile in the corner, but he knew they weren't on the same level. Bul-Kathos wouldn't bother with a special rack otherwise.
"Luke, what's going on?"
Blind lawyer Matt Murdock couldn't see, his senses dulled since entering the basement—only slightly sharper than an ordinary blind man's. He didn't know why, but there was no need for panic. Luke vouched for this elder, and that was enough.
Though their time together was short, Matt understood Luke. A lone wolf in Hell's Kitchen, Luke was known for loyalty and justice—qualities that had drawn Matt to him. Since losing his sight, Matt had long adapted to the dark.
"A weapon rack, full of gear," Luke replied.
"These are proper equipment," Bul-Kathos said. "But even renting them costs a fortune—thousands of gold coins."
Luke didn't strike him as someone with that kind of wealth. Bul-Kathos cared little for money, but barbarians valued fairness. They never cheated others, nor let others cheat them. Anything less was unjust.
His gaze shifted to Matt. The man's physical condition paled compared to Luke's, but his movements betrayed a combat finesse far surpassing Luke's.
"I don't think better weapons will help," Luke interrupted, breaking Bul-Kathos's scrutiny of Matt. "That old woman's too experienced."
Luke was certain Madame Gao couldn't withstand his axe's edge—she'd dodged every swing, unable to take a direct hit. But he couldn't land one. Superior gear wouldn't change that. Like a child firing a gun, uncontrolled power only harmed the wielder.
Matt, though he hadn't faced Madame Gao, agreed from Luke's account. Even with him, victory seemed unlikely.
"Tch, you're too green," Bul-Kathos scoffed, tossing a menacing heavy weapon toward Luke.
"This is 'Warblade,' the shoddiest thing I've forged."
Luke caught it clumsily, feeling its weight—a heaviness he hadn't felt in ages. He could barely swing it one-handed; two hands were needed for control.
"Tch."
Bul-Kathos sneered at Luke's struggle. A single-handed heavy weapon, and he couldn't wield it freely? Such strength was nothing to boast about.
Though Warblade wasn't for novice barbarians, that didn't stop Bul-Kathos from scorning Luke's "weakness."
"I'll give you more help. Be my apprentice for three years."
He swigged from his flask, the sound of gulping filling the cramped space.
Luke's poor showing forced Bul-Kathos to offer more aid.
"Why can't I sense it?"
Matt's dulled perception caught the whoosh of Warblade through the air, but no matter how he focused, the weapon's presence eluded him. It puzzled him.
"Armor might suit you better, but I haven't forged any yet."
Bul-Kathos ignored Matt's question, opening a portal. A frigid gust blew through the blue ring, making Matt shiver.
"Follow me."
Without waiting, Bul-Kathos dove through the portal, heedless of their thoughts.
Luke, gripping Warblade, stepped through without hesitation. Matt followed close behind.
They'd seen plenty of strange things today; one more didn't faze them.
Beyond the portal, they stood at the foot of Harrogath's sacred mountain, snow-laden winds swirling around them.
"If you can climb to the peak, you'll earn more help. Give up, just say it—I'll hear."
Bul-Kathos eyed the stunned pair, then stepped back through the portal to his forge, tossing them coats to fend off the cold and two loaves of black bread.
If they reached the summit, their skills and strength could be honed. The mountain's countless ancestors awaited heirs, ready to make these two stronger.
But if they couldn't climb Harrogath, it was all for naught.
Bul-Kathos barely spoke to Matt. To him, Matt was a stranger. Only the faint echo of Kormac's aura on the blind man prompted any aid. Barbarians weren't philanthropists. In Sanctuary, there were only warriors of justice, not saints of pity.
Those who only took didn't deserve help. That was the barbarian way.
(End of Chapter)
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