"What're you worried about?" Luke asked, surprised by Matt's unease.
To Luke, Bul-Kathos sending them here showed power beyond their imagination. If he wanted something from them, could they resist?
"Maybe I'm overthinking," Matt said, shaking his head, lying on the stone bed. His wounds, treated by the female barbarian, wouldn't kill him, despite his far-from-barbarian physique.
"Are we just staying here until we clear the trials? My mentor said I need to pass her five battles to complete this stage," Matt said.
Luke's eyes widened in shock. "Why'd mine say I need to go through tens of thousands of secret realms to finish?"
Their mentors differed, so did their trials. Madoc, a legendary barbarian, fought countless battles. If slaying a demon squad counted as one trial, Luke's human lifespan couldn't clear a tenth of them. Barbarians could slaughter demons in minutes, rarely resting.
Matt fell silent at Luke's words.
"Because my life was longer than you can imagine!" Madoc's voice boomed from outside. He'd taken Luke seriously, but only passing the first realm earned consideration as an heir. Failure meant no bond with the barbarians.
"Alright, kid, you can know my name. I'm Madoc, the Battle Prophet!" Madoc addressed only Luke, ignoring Matt, who wasn't his heir. "You're my candidate heir now. Die in the next realm, and I'll pick another. You're nothing yet."
Madoc's form solidified, sitting at the hut's entrance. "You don't look like a prophet, but that's fine. Not all barbarians rely on foresight," he said, swigging Bul-Kathos's liquor. Ancestor spirits only materialized during festivals, but as a summoned warrior, Madoc could become solid. Sharing barbarian tales with his apprentice was Harrogath's will.
Battle Prophet—Madoc's proudest title. He foresaw every fight's outcome, always winning, never losing ground. Bul-Kathos mocked him for "fighting what he could win, fleeing what he couldn't," but Madoc didn't mind. It was his way. If not for times retreat couldn't solve, he might still live.
"Kid, only Bul-Kathos cleared all my realms. He didn't start easy like you—he took my final battle, one he'd lived through, the only victor. Stronger, he breezed through. You? No chance," Madoc said, sneering at Luke. No goading, just truth.
"Wait, Bul-Kathos is the old man who sent us?" Luke asked, unbothered by Madoc's words, his first trial easy. "He didn't seem that strong!"
His doubts earned a heavier strike from Madoc's rod, splitting Luke's scalp. "Think I'm strong?" Madoc tossed the empty bottle, smashing Luke through the hut's wall into Harrogath's snow.
"You think demons are slow, rat-catching trash?" Madoc appeared, pinning Luke underfoot, his rod slamming beside Luke's head, buzzing, numbing him. "You're hopeless!"
Madoc vanished. Bul-Kathos's might and glory as Barbarian King weren't for a non-barbarian to scorn. Ignorant or not, Luke's disrespect was intolerable, even from a fool.
It happened too fast for Matt to react. Madoc held back, leaving only a minor wound. He wanted an heir, but not desperately. All must revere barbarians, especially on Harrogath.
Madoc planned to share barbarian history and combat tips, but Luke's words soured him. He'd train the fool but expect nothing. As Battle Prophet, he foresaw only combat, with glimpses of Harrogath's will.
(End of Chapter)
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