Make the Barbarians Great Again

Chapter 43: The Heaviest Thing in the World (2)

Hindir stepped out to the wide clearing beyond the Choranchai and stood face to face with Moritz.

Alongside Bagman and Seff, spectators began to gather around them.

A particularly large number of Charun clan members had assembled, brimming with anticipation at the chance to witness Hindir fight properly.

Seff, too, was quite expectant, as she hadn’t gotten a proper look last time either.

“That opponent looks rather young.”

At Seff’s remark, Bagman suddenly asked, as if remembering something.

“By the way, how old is Hindir, exactly?”

“Hindir? He’ll be nineteen soon.”

“…What…”

He barely swallowed the words ‘That’s insane’.

He had always assumed the claims of being sixty or seventy were obviously lies.

But nineteen? That seemed a bit much.

He figured at least early twenties at the very least…

“Then Moritz must be a bit older.”

“I see.”

Seff quietly observed Moritz.

She was at least two heads shorter than Hindir and looked frail in build.

How could someone like that possibly fight?

“Is she strong?”

“She is. She must be even stronger now.”

Moritz drew her sword and aimed it at Hindir, then instantly closed the distance.

The ferocity of her charge was so intense that even Seff flinched in surprise.

But as if to calm her, Bagman added,

“But Hindir is stronger.”

Kwaaang—!

Hindir evaded the attack, and with a thunderous boom, dust burst into the air.

But as Moritz quickly raised her sword again, a bizarre phenomenon occurred—the dust that had scattered suddenly froze mid-air.

Fwhoooong—

The descending arc of her sword dragged the dust down to the ground.

Kururur—

Her sword was crushing space itself.

But Hindir wasn’t within that field of force.

Or rather, he was, but it was as if he wasn’t.

As though no matter how heavy it was, one could not suppress a mountain—Hindir remained serene.

Instead, he swung an even heavier fist.

Kwang—

Moritz barely twisted her head in time to dodge.

Her long hair was caught in the wind pressure created by Hindir’s punch, as if someone were yanking it from behind.

“……”

With clenched teeth, she swung her sword once more.

This was the first time she’d truly clashed with Hindir.

And Hindir was the strongest opponent she had ever faced.

So she poured all her strength into swinging her sword, determined not to waste this opportunity.

With the mindset that she would truly kill.

Tzzzeong—!

Every time her blade sliced through the air, shockwaves exploded.

Hindir stood firm, both feet planted on the ground, facing her head-on.

He narrowly dodged and deflected her sword, constantly counterattacking at her vital points, which gradually caused the onlookers to grow anxious.

“…Is it always this intense?”

Seff asked, but Bagman couldn’t answer.

No—he didn’t even hear her.

Unlike the others, who were worried that someone might get seriously hurt, he was completely engrossed in the fight.

‘How can he not retreat even a single step?’

What caught his attention was that Hindir hadn’t moved back even once.

It was the same when he fought Bagman.

He hadn’t seen the fight with the Parno Family Head, but it was likely the same.

Hindir didn’t retreat.

No—more accurately, he didn’t get pushed back.

It seemed that Moritz didn’t even realize she was being driven backward bit by bit.

That was how much she was being crushed by Hindir’s strength.

‘Incredible.’

A courage and decisiveness that no one could easily imitate.

And yet, something he couldn’t help but admire.

At that moment, the fight between the two began to shift.

Moritz realized that she could not pressure Hindir using the same method as before.

So instead of the heavy sword style she had been using, she began displaying speed sword techniques.

No, she would surge forward with speed, then slow and grow heavy again—repeating the shift back to speed sword.

As if she were trying to find a proper balance somewhere in between.

‘Did she reach that point on her own?’

Hindir was impressed.

From the edge of her blade, just barely out of reach, he saw the past.

But it wasn’t perfect. Her sword form gradually became chaotic and unstable, until—

Pwaahk—!

Suddenly coughing up blood, Moritz dropped her sword.

The blade then shot through the air like a bolt of light.

“Gasp!”

Those standing in its path sucked in a breath, which nearly became their final words—until Bagman suddenly appeared and caught the hilt precisely.

Thududuk—

As if the sword were alive, it tried to tear through his grip, and Bagman’s expression twisted slightly.

But with a single breath and a surge of strength, the sword’s struggle ceased.

‘It’s heavy…!’

The weight he felt in that moment, when the sword was trying to fly forward, was vivid.

This thin sword had felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

‘She let go because she couldn’t endure it.’

If even the lingering force carried such weight, the pressure Moritz had felt must have been far greater.

Bagman approached Hindir and Moritz.

He clicked his tongue again.

The ground around them had cratered as if a giant monster had stomped through.

But the spot where Hindir stood was untouched—as if a great tree had taken root.

“Are you alright?”

Of course, he was asking Moritz.

“…I’m alright.”

She stood as she received her sword back.

“Seriously, to the point of coughing up blood after taking such a precious elixir… It’s scary to think she might have expelled undigested energy.”

Bagman let out a dry laugh.

But Moritz went one step further.

She suddenly grabbed her long hair—and cleanly sliced it off with her sword.

“Whoa there.”

Startled, Bagman reflexively reached out as the hair fell, then cleared his throat as he straightened up.

Through the strands of her hair, Hindir caught a faint glint of reflected light.

Pretending not to notice, Hindir asked Moritz,

“Why did you cut your hair?”

“It kept feeling like someone was yanking it. I didn’t like it.”

To some, it might sound like an excuse, but Hindir, who knew the swordsmanship she aimed to use, understood completely.

It was something he hadn’t considered, never having grown his hair that long himself.

“Can you go one more round?”

Moritz wiped the blood at the corner of her mouth with her hand as she asked.

But even more blood came away, and only then did the others notice that her palm was torn and bleeding profusely.

She was, in every sense, a madwoman.

“No. That would be too much.”

Hindir firmly refused.

He knew better than anyone where Moritz was aiming.

Which meant he also knew exactly what she lacked.

“You pushed yourself too hard, trying something new after being inactive for so long. Save it for next time.”

“…Alright.”

Moritz turned away without another word.

Her fierce aura made people instinctively step aside, and Ubol, who had just arrived at the scene, recoiled in shock when he saw her.

“Holy crap. How badly did you beat her up?”

“Good timing. Didn’t you want to check your own condition too?”

As Hindir beckoned him, Ubol flailed and shook his head.

“No thanks. You said my problem was the mana technique, right? Getting beat up won’t help that.”

Half excuse, half truth—Ubol declined.

“Ahem…”

Instead, Bagman cleared his throat and stepped in front of Hindir.

He’d been eager for days now, so it was impressive he’d held back this long.

“Haha, let’s get started.”

Hindir’s match with Bagman offered a more realistic spectacle.

Their fight was close combat, with every punch unleashing explosive sounds—how could anyone not get excited?

Especially the Charun clan—they were completely entranced by the two.

It was, quite literally, the very image of a warrior’s battle they had always imagined.

In truth, it was Hindir’s way of guiding Bagman—confirming his progress and shattering his limits.

But to the audience, it looked like an evenly matched duel.

“Whew… That should be enough.”

After a prolonged exchange of blows, Bagman finally stepped back, wiping off his sweat.

“Though… It feels like you’ve grown more than I have.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is that so? Then perhaps it means that by climbing higher myself, I’ve caught a glimpse of just how vast your vessel truly is. Hoo… Still a long road ahead.”

But Bagman looked satisfied.

Through his sparring with Hindir, he had confirmed that he had taken a definite step forward.

And having proven his ability in front of the Charun clan, Hindir took the opportunity to introduce Bagman to the gathering.

“This is Warrior Bagman, who will serve as the new instructor of Charun.”

Bagman and the Charun built camaraderie in their own way—through a hearty wrestling match.

Watching them briefly, Hindir decided it was time and headed to Moritz’s quarters.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Come in.”

With her permission, Hindir entered.

She was seated on the floor in a formal posture.

“Were you meditating?”

“Yes. I’ll have to do it properly next time.”

Hindir nodded and placed a chair across from her, taking a seat.

“I’ve respected your silence until now, but it’s time I knew.”

His sudden words made her gaze silently at him.

Hindir stared right back and continued.

“I have three questions: your origin, your connection to the First General, and why you came to the Great Snowfields. Just those three.”

His questions were clear and concise, with no unnecessary words. Moritz lowered her head for a moment.

She, too, understood that she couldn’t continue receiving from Hindir while pretending not to know.

She had even been given a spirit elixir.

It was hard to believe someone would offer such kindness while knowing nothing—but the important part was that she had accepted it.

“I don’t know where I’m from. I’m an orphan.”

Moritz spoke cautiously.

“I didn’t even know where I lived—just served as a servant in a noble household. Then I caught the eye of Dardiom, who visited as a guest, and became his servant.”

There was no need to ask the name of the family.

The fact that she hadn’t mentioned it meant she didn’t want to reveal it.

“When did you leave with Dardiom?”

“I think I was about fifteen. So roughly ten years ago.”

“Then you started learning the sword after you left with him?”

“No. That’s when I first held a sword.”

It was a vague answer, hard to grasp, but Hindir understood immediately—and was impressed.

It meant she had thought about and understood the sword even before she held one.

Even if she hadn’t met Dardiom, Moritz would have ended up wielding a sword.

Her choice of the word ‘servant’ instead of ‘disciple’ seemed to reflect that.

“Dardiom gathered several children starting with me and formed his own sect. I believe it was some sort of experiment.”

“An experiment?”

“He said he’d pass down the sword technique that had been passed through his family for generations. But he taught each of us a slightly different sword style. Even different from the one he used himself.”

“How did you realize that?”

“I could see it. And later, I understood. The essence hidden in each of our styles was originally one—and when put together, they formed a new and unfamiliar sword style. That was the one Dardiom was secretly practicing.”

“The Oxcart Sword.”

“Right. Of course, Dardiom knew I was secretly observing him. But I think we were both testing each other. He feared I might complete the Oxcart Sword—but also hoped I’d find a clue. And I always had to stay silent and hidden. A servant can be discarded at any time, right?”

A flicker of bitterness crossed Moritz’s face.

The reason for her long, painful silence was now clear, and Hindir patiently gave her time.

“…You asked why I came to the Snowfields.”

“Yes.”

“One day, Dardiom came back extremely excited. He didn’t show it openly, but it was obvious. Apparently, he found something here in the Great Snowfields. But to us, he claimed we were leaving the continent to start a new history. In truth, he was running out of room to maneuver because of various incidents he’d caused on the continent, so it wasn’t a bad choice overall. And that’s how we got here.”

It was a thorough explanation.

Even if some details were left out, all the essential questions were answered.

Was there a chance she was lying?

Hindir had never seen a liar who could remain silent so well.

If she was, then she would be a genius of deception.

‘If the First General had something to find in the Snowfields… it must be Teran’s trace.’

Dardiom had already learned part of Teran’s sword.

And later, he came to the Great Snowfields seeking that trace.

Was he just lucky to discover Teran’s sword style… or was he a descendant?

If it was the latter, then time itself was to blame once again.

Both the Parno bloodline and Teran’s had been terribly broken.

‘But if it’s Teran, he’d prefer a prepared successor over one born of unworthy blood.’

Hindir made his decision.

Then, from within his garments, he drew the sword that had slept for five hundred years.

The heaviest sword in the world.