Make the Barbarians Great Again

Chapter 30: Slaves (2)

The sun had set.

The Snowlit Crimson were elated over this absurdly overwhelming victory.

Though they hadn’t done much themselves, they had nonetheless driven Parno into defeat, and so, like true villains, they reveled in the downfall of the nobles.

While everyone was drinking and laughing, Hindir stayed outside Choranchai, where the cremation ground was still blazing.

Even so, Parno was still Parno.

Though he had felt disappointment and betrayal toward them, he had at least chosen to honor them with a proper cremation and intended to watch it through to the end.

With this, the five-hundred-year-old bond had come to an end.

From the ashes that remained, a new relationship would begin again.

Or perhaps it would continue to burn forever.

“Still here?”

The Snowy King approached, holding out a bottle of liquor.

“I figured by now you’d have finished whatever you took.”

“A perceptive insight, worthy of one called a king.”

“King, my foot. Just call me Bagman. I doubt you’d want to be called Snowy King anymore, would you?”

“I’m sick to death of the title of king.”

“Ha ha ha—”

After each took a sip, Bagman spoke again.

“Then should I call you Great Warrior instead?”

He remembered what Hindir had said when fighting the wolves.

Just as Ubol and Moritz had been shaken by Hindir’s words, Bagman had felt his heart pound again the moment he heard the term Great Warrior.

He had already confirmed that he wasn’t truly a descendant of Charun, so why had that title stirred him so deeply?

Even now, didn’t it feel as though something inside him was boiling up?

“Fine by me.”

Seeing Hindir accept it calmly, Bagman realized something.

It wasn’t the title Great Warrior itself that had moved him, but Hindir.

“Great Warrior. That title suits you better than anyone.”

Indeed, none wore it better than he.

“So, Great Warrior, what do you plan to do next? You and I didn’t intend for this, but in the end, Parno is all but destroyed. Well, as I said, I still think the true successor lies elsewhere.”

“Not only that. It’s possible even the Family Head was merely a decoy.”

When Hindir went further, Bagman looked at him with wide eyes.

“You think even the Family Head? You know what that means in a noble house, don’t you?”

Of course Hindir knew.

“When the Family Head said he foresaw his death, it wasn’t to mock his enemy. He truly seemed to mean it.”

That made Parno’s actions all the more incomprehensible.

They had feared such a catastrophe enough to prepare such absurd measures for so long—wouldn’t it have been better to part on good terms instead?

Better that than live in constant anxiety for centuries.

“In the end, someone’s greed has simply become the norm.”

Once you’ve tasted sweetness, you can’t let it go.

Greed had made the Charun slaves and forced them to repeat the ancient curse of the so-called pure bloodline.

“Hmm…”

Bagman once again sensed that Hindir wasn’t saying everything but didn’t pry.

He knew Hindir couldn’t speak of it anyway.

“If Parno had accepted your proposal, would you have stopped?”

“I wish they had.”

“You’re certain they won’t.”

Parno was no ordinary noble family. They had long ruled as masters beyond the Northern Sea.

So surely they still had some strength left.

But would they really risk everything out of pride alone?

“They’ll weigh the risk of acting openly against the disgrace of exposing their family’s shame.”

“They might even borrow outside power?”

“If that happens, this incident will no longer be confined to the Great Snowfields.”

“Click. That would be troublesome indeed.”

The Snowlit Crimson were already a band of outlaws who had fled from the continent.

Whatever their stories, villains were villains.

Bagman clicked his tongue as he glanced back toward Choranchai.

“Tsk. The days of laughter and drinking like this might soon be over.”

“Big or small, one must enjoy the moment of victory.”

“Ha ha, coming from someone who enjoys it less than anyone, that’s rich.”

“What are you talking about? I always enjoy myself.”

Hindir tapped the bottle lightly as he replied.

“Ha ha, drinking doesn’t mean you’re having fun. You don’t even get drunk, do you? Sometimes it feels like you’re fighting the liquor itself.”

“Khmm.”

At the accurate observation, Hindir awkwardly turned his head and stared at the blazing fire.

Bagman, too, silently watched the flames, each feeling something different within them.

Bagman saw the future; Hindir, the past.

“Bagman. I’m leaving Charun in your hands.”

“Hmm.”

Though abrupt, Bagman immediately understood what he meant.

“You’re trying to separate yourself from Charun?”

“Yes. Charun isn’t ready yet.”

“I told you before—I’m not even Charun.”

“But you’ve lived as one. That’s enough.”

Bagman gazed at Hindir for a moment, then shook his head.

“No. Charun should still be led by you. I don’t know much, but surely that’s part of the responsibility that comes with the title of Great Warrior.”

“……”

“But I admit—avoiding the current blaze leaves you little choice. Still, I hope someday you’ll change your mind.”

Then, staring closely at Hindir’s face, Bagman clicked his tongue again.

“And honestly, you look far too young to lead a tribe.”

“Ha ha, I told you, I’m seventy.”

“Didn’t you say sixty before?”

The two chuckled quietly.

“So when will you begin Charun’s liberation? Parno ignoring your words is a certainty now. Their people could be in danger.”

Hindir still held a vague faith.

Even if Parno tried to harm his descendants, they would never go down quietly.

If cornered, the instinct buried in their blood would awaken—of that he had no doubt.

But that didn’t mean he intended to sit idle.

“Tomorrow, I’m heading straight into Seolyong Valley.”

“Sorry, but if I leave here too, it might cause other problems. You’ll have to go alone.”

“I prefer it that way too.”

“We’ll hold off on deciding what to do with the Snowlit Crimson for now.”

Originally, Hindir had said he would entrust the Snowlit Crimson to Ubol.

But now, it felt like the situation had become too complicated to do so.

“Besides, the person in question probably doesn’t care much anyway.”

Bagman recalled Ubol’s expression as he watched Hindir’s fight.

He already knew what Moritz was like by nature, but seeing Ubol reveal such fierce determination had been a surprise.

“Truth is, I said I’d stay by your side, but after seeing the passion of those youngsters today, I’m not so sure. Heh heh, you should’ve seen the look in their eyes.”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want talented ones to sit idle either.”

He was curious to see just how strong those two could become.

“Thinking about it, this feels right. The old should seek stability, and the young should forge a new future. Don’t you agree?”

Bagman patted Hindir on the shoulder and stood up.

“I’m both excited and worried about how this Snowfield will change from now on. But still, I think it’ll be quite interesting. I’m counting on you, Great Warrior.”

Bagman then went back inside Choranchai.

Not long after, Ubol came by, breaking the silence.

“Hey. Got a question. That blade technique you used earlier today.”

Surprisingly, Ubol hadn’t been drinking, and without warning, he began swinging his sword like a maniac.

Watching him, Hindir couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of the madman. He offered a few pieces of advice, exchanged some sparring moves with him, and sent him back.

“Phew… damn it. The world’s unfair. Shouldn’t a musclehead like you at least be a little stupid?”

After expressing his own sort of gratitude, Ubol left, and next came Duar.

“Brother. You were amazing today.”

He placed a small bundle and some simple food beside Hindir.

“There’s going to be a storm soon, isn’t there?”

“Most likely.”

“But I don’t think running from it will help. So I’m thinking maybe it’s time I properly establish myself somewhere. Not that I’m any good at stabbing or beating people up, though. So I was wondering if I could maybe borrow your name?”

At his blunt request to use his name, Hindir nodded.

After all, how much trouble could Duar really cause even if he went around using his name?

“Heh heh, thank you. You’ll be surprised when you see.”

Hindir was curious what he planned to do, but since Duar seemed intent on keeping it secret, he didn’t ask.

Duar left, and after a while, Moritz appeared.

But she stood silently behind Hindir, keeping her distance.

Even from her presence alone, he could tell she was deep in thought.

She probably wanted to ask about the battle earlier that day, but the reason she hesitated wasn’t something trivial like shyness.

‘She’s reviewing it.’

That genius among geniuses was replaying the battle in her mind, placing herself in Hindir’s position as she watched his back.

He could even sense her energy shifting slightly with each scenario she envisioned—only to get stuck and repeat the flow.

“From there—lower right.”

A single line from Hindir.

And immediately, her flow opened.

“Weight can come from speed. From low, then low again.”

Whenever Moritz’s flow hit a wall, Hindir offered a few words, and at last, once she had achieved what she wanted, she quietly turned to leave.

“Thanks.”

A faint word of gratitude carried by the night wind.

And so, the night went on.

The moon passed overhead, and Choranchai fell silent.

When the last ember of the cremation ground finally succumbed to the cold, Hindir rose to his feet.

Carrying the bundle Duar had given him, he set off toward Seolyong Valley.

It was time to find his descendants.

In the distant past—an age of myth, before humankind even existed—there had been the coldest Frost Dragon in the world.

The arrogant Frost Dragon had boldly proposed a wager to the god.

They would compete to see who could freeze the vast northern lands of the world faster.

If the god lost, the Frost Dragon demanded to be recognized as a god as well.

The god didn’t even bother to state his own terms and simply said, “So be it.”

The moment the words left the god’s mouth, the Frost Dragon froze the land in an instant and turned proudly to face him.

Or tried to—but couldn’t.

For the god had frozen even the world’s coldest Frost Dragon.

Thus were born the Great Snowfields and Seolyong Valley.

It was a tale capturing the majesty of nature, the grandeur of Seolyong Valley, and the dread of divine power—a legend well known across the continent.

But there were always fools who treated it as nothing more than a fairy tale. The rıghtful source is novel-fire.net

And so, many of their corpses were buried within Seolyong Valley.

In places where they could never be found…

Bagman’s decision to tell Hindir to search alone hadn’t been cold-hearted—it had been wise.

For even a master like Bagman knew Seolyong Valley was perilous.

Hindir’s plan was simple.

He would climb the tallest peak he could find nearby, watch for smoke, and open his senses fully to search for signs of life.

If he found nothing, he’d move to the next peak and repeat the process.

Eventually, something would appear—or perhaps he’d find a familiar landscape from his memories.

‘I hope it’s not too late.’

He had confidently declared that his descendants weren’t weak, but he still didn’t want them harmed or killed.

He wasn’t too worried about Choranchai, since the Snowy King remained there, but his descendants… would they be able to handle what was coming?

He spent the entire day moving, scaling dozens of peaks.

At night, he calmed and absorbed the remnants of the Family Head’s energy still raging within him, healing the minor wounds that remained.

It had not been an easy battle.

Even now, the stubborn energy of the Family Head that refused to dissipate showed just how powerful Parno’s bloodline had been.

And yet—it was disappointingly underwhelming.

If the former Family Head had faced his current self, perhaps he’d have barely managed to take one arm at best.

The difference between the two was so vast it almost felt wrong to compare them.

That was part of what drove Hindir to embark on such an audacious search.

‘Has the continent’s level fallen too?’

Ironically, he hoped not.

The revival of Charun mattered, yes—but if it came only as a reflection of the enemy’s decline, then this reincarnation would feel meaningless.

‘It must not be so.’

With burning eyes, he gazed up at the pitch-black sky. Before long, dawn began to rise.

Having spent the entire night awake, Hindir immediately stood and began running again.

He ran through Seolyong Valley for days—until, at last, he found it.

A familiar formation of jagged rocks, rising like the claws of the Frost Dragon.

And beneath them, a rising column of thick, dark smoke.

Sensing disaster, Hindir sprinted toward the ridge.

There was no time to circle back for a safer route. He slammed his foot into the cliff wall.

Boom—

With explosive force channeled through his legs, he hurled his body forward.