Chapter 91: The Tribe Mourns It’s Own

Chapter 91: Chapter 91: The Tribe Mourns It’s Own

Victor woke to sunlight leaking through the tent flap and stretched until his spine popped. His muscles ached from yesterday’s fight, a deep, honest ache, but underneath it he felt good. Really good.

First thing, he opened his status. One glance told him what he’d suspected. The logout button was gray. He wasn’t leaving this world until the trial ended.

Which means this isn’t over. And it means I can’t run home when things get bad.

He pushed the thought aside and stepped out of the tent.

A heap of junk waited in front of it. Orc blades, bone swords, bundles of chest plate, and even skulls, all piled neatly. The tribe had been up since dawn, sorting through the battlefield. Lego was walking the line of barbarians, instructing them. "Like I said, take anything useful in front of the chief’s tent. The chief will decide what to do with them all."

Victor nodded at him, and once the pile had grown enough, he called Lego, Jaja, and Kiki over.

It was awkward. Very.

After Lego’s revelation yesterday, Victor just couldn’t stop looking at Kiki differently. She sat across from him, arms crossed, wild and sharp and impossibly striking, and he kept stealing glances. Damn. This hot, savage barbarian woman is supposed to be my wife. Did the ancestors really favor me that much? Did I do something great in my past life?

Kiki caught him looking. Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing."

Lego coughed pointedly.

Victor jerked his eyes away and coughed too. "Right. I gathered you because it’s time to share out the spoils. And to prepare to leave the village."

All three froze.

"Leave?" Jaja said. "Chief, why? We fought and we won. We killed all the orcs."

"Those were the ones who came to scout." Victor turned to Lego. "You questioned the prisoner, didn’t you?"

Lego nodded. Feeling awkward that the chief caught him. "Out of curiosity, I started the questioning myself." He smiled, and it was a nasty smile.

Curiosity? Yeah right. More like... revenge.

Victor guessed Skarn had had a very long night.

Lego continued. "According to the prisoner, the Blackfang Clan numbers almost fifteen hundred. The main host that’s coming is over seven hundred."

Kiki and Jaja scowled.

Victor nodded. "I thought so." That was exactly how it had gone in the game. After Kiki and the player left Barbarian land, they’d had to slip around the orc home to reach the Gathering point...a terrifying trek.

"We can’t stay," he said. "Two of our own betrayed us, Popo and Foto. That leaves fourteen. One died yesterday. Thirteen. Two more are badly wounded. That’s eleven who can fight, and most of them are low level. The two hundred who came as scouts already included strong orcs. We can’t face seven hundred. The only reason we won was because of the traps we set before hand. Even if we want to do that again, there is no time."

Jaja opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He wasn’t proud enough, or foolish enough, to claim they could win. But he still gritted his teeth, thinking of their ancestral land, where their forefathers had lived for generations. And now they had to run for their lives.

"This is all Boramo’s fault," he growled. "If he hadn’t wiped out the tribe, we’d be hundreds strong. With Chief Milkshake22 leading, seven hundred orcs would be easy."

Lego murmured agreement.

But Victor thought otherwise. Leading this few was already a miracle for him. He had never led anyone in his life. If the tribe had been any bigger, the challengers for his chief position would have lined up.

Barbarians always followed the strong, and he was a Level 2. The only reason Jaja and Lego hadn’t tested him was because he won their respect, and Kiki simply didn’t care to be chief.

He kept those thoughts to himself and gestured at the pile. "You three are the strongest in the tribe. I want each of you to pick a weapon of your choice."

Jaja shook his head and flexed his fingers, claws sliding out. He laughed. "Why would I need one? These cut metal like a hot knife through butter."

"But against an Awakened weapon, they won’t do much." Victor added.

"Then I’ll get stronger." Jaja grinned, like a man getting addicted to slicing. "Until they do."

Victor chuckled. Jaja had chosen his path. At this rate, he might unlock a class soon.

He turned to Kiki. She drew her broadsword from her back. "I’m not leaving her. Not for any of these." Her eyes narrowed, almost fond. "Besides, I think her time is near."

Victor understood instantly. Weapons became Awakened through long use and emotional bond, and through battle and bloodshed. Of course, it was rare.

But with Kiki’s Amplification skill, maybe her blade was already feeling it. A flicker of jealousy rose in him. Then he remembered. Wait a minute...She’s my betrothed now. His chest swelled with a ridiculous pride. My wife is getting stronger.

He nodded and turned to Lego.

"I’ll take one of those," Lego said, pointing at one of the bone swords. "An Awakened sword."

Victor handed it over. The sword was bone from edge to hilt, but unmistakably Awakened. The bone probably came from some creature out of legend. It was only that kind of bone that could stand against metal. Lego tested its balance and nodded. "It’s good."

"What about the ammo?"

Lego wrinkled his nose. "No... I don’t want that. It stinks of pig."

Victor smiled. He’d expected that.

He considered giving the rest to the tribe, but there was still the Awakened weapon Vrok had used. Lego had taken the guard’s. Vrok’s remained, and Victor didn’t think handing it to any of the weaker tribesmen was wise. Most of them were low level.

He remembered what it felt like when Vigil left his hand and that +5 stamina vanished, how weak he’d felt.

Training with a weapon like that would make them confuse its strength for their own.

"Since no one else is taking the rest," he said, "I’ll take it."

Nobody objected.

"Now get ready. Prepare the tribe. First, we must hold the funeral for the one we lost."

Lego nodded. "I’ll arrange everything. It’ll be ready within the hour."

"And Lego." Victor stopped him. "Put Vrok’s head in the center of the village."

Lego frowned. "Chief, why not bury it, or burn it with the rest?"

"Trust me. Just put it in the center."

Lego bowed and went to do it.

...

The funeral that afternoon felt like something older than all of them.

Victor had changed into mourning clothes, plain and dark with no ornament, not even his lion mane. He walked out, and the barbarians had already gathered.

The Dire lions stood a distance back.

Barbarians burned their dead. Last time, Popo had ordered it, as he was chief, and with so many bodies, there hadn’t been room for a proper ritual. He’d simply burned everyone in the arena together.

This time was different.

The fallen young man lay on a raised slab of stone, thatch and dry grass packed around him, with flowers placed in careful rings along his sides.

The whole altar looked beautiful. Beside it knelt a young barbarian girl, her shoulders shaking as she wept.

His sister.

The tribe stood in silence.

Victor walked up to her and placed a hand on her back. She looked up, eyes swollen. He nodded to her. She nodded back.

Then he stood before the altar. It was the first time he did anything like this. But in this game, he had experience with funerals.

He spoke.

"Tavo has gone back to the womb of the ancestors."

His voice carried over the silence.

"He fought beautifully. He fought violently. The ancestors will open their arms to him, because he made them proud. Please, brothers and sisters... remember his sacrifice. Remember his glory." He looked across the faces. "Be proud, for this warrior returns to the embrace of the ancestors."

"To the embrace of the ancestors," the tribe echoed.

Victor picked a flower from the altar’s edge and laid it on Tavo’s chest. One by one, the other barbarians came forward, taking flowers and placing them beside him until the altar was blanketed in color.

A tribesman handed Victor a lit torch. Victor held it out to the girl. She looked at it, then at him, then nodded. She took it and stepped forward. For a long moment she stood over her brother, touching his face one last time.

Then she lowered the torch.

The thatch caught. Flames climbed the altar, bright against the dusk. She stumbled back, crying, and another barbarian came to hold her.

They all stood together, silent, watching the fire burn.

(Author’s note: Let’s mourn Tavo in a minute silence. A Brave Barbarian he was. Thank you.)