Make the Barbarians Great Again

Chapter 45: The Heaviest Thing in the World (4)

“Hoo……”

Letting out a long breath, Moritz carefully rolled up the scroll… no, the secret manual.

“Not ‘Oxcart’, but ‘Forgetcart’.”

Contained within was the path her sword should follow—its identity and roots.

Here lay the complete form of the faint swordsmanship that Dardiom had once pursued.

But it felt overwhelming.

Moritz was well aware of her own genius.

Even so, watching the sword technique of that man Teran Turph, she couldn’t help but feel it was all meaningless.

‘It’s a whole different level.’

Back when she sparred with Hindir, the final move she attempted was one she wouldn’t have dared to even conceive of before her recent growth.

It was the act of converting the force generated by the extreme speed of the sword into weight. Naturally, the sword didn’t actually become faster or heavier—this was a conceptual matter.

Expressing that subtle and difficult-to-articulate mystery through the sword.

She had judged that such a feat could only be attempted after mastering the extremes of both pleasure and weight.

But how was one to determine the standard for those extremes?

Even Dardiom had suffered all his life without ever finding the answer.

He only managed a pale imitation right before his death—and it led to self-destruction.

Frankly, what Moritz demonstrated today surpassed even that level.

But after reading through all the sword teachings left behind by Teran Turph, she realized how arrogant she had been.

Even the clumsy mimicry she barely pulled off today was no more than a beginner’s level.

To be honest, she had her doubts.

Was what was written in this manual just exaggerated nonsense…?

But this had come from no one else but Hindir.

The one with fathomless strength and depth had given it to her.

He must have read its contents and understood how precious it was.

He could have mastered it himself or sold it for a fortune, yet after only a few words exchanged, he handed it over to her.

There was much Moritz hadn’t told Hindir.

She could tell that Hindir knew this as well.

And yet, Hindir had seemed satisfied and left without probing further.

But now, having read the entire secret manual, she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t questioned her more closely.

This was far too significant a gift to be exchanged for just a few vague words…

Suddenly rising from her seat, she opened the door and stepped outside.

Then she called out to Hindir, who was sitting below the railing.

Claire, with her unusual appearance sitting opposite him, was nowhere to be seen.

“Why did you give this to me?”

“Because the original owner must have done the same.”

The answer came immediately.

“What?”

“As you must’ve seen, that’s not a sword art anyone can master. It’s a sword—and a realm—that can only be attained by endlessly pursuing perfection.”

Hindir raised his head toward Moritz.

“If you think you can’t handle it, just give it back.”

“……”

“But you won’t do that, will you? You’re probably wondering if I have some ulterior motive, aren’t you?”

Hindir’s words struck right at the heart of the matter, and Moritz flinched.

She had never sensed any sinister intentions from Hindir’s demeanor up to now.

But after receiving Cheongweol and now this secret manual…

Even one of those would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, yet two such gifts had come one after another—it was only natural for her suppressed suspicions to surface.

“Moritz.”

Hindir called her softly.

“I’m just not used to conversations, that’s all. But you and I both already know. Of the two swords I carry, one is you. This isn’t my command, nor your request. We both accepted it naturally.”

Moritz unconsciously clenched the railing in her hand.

“And hidden motives? Of course I have them.”

Hindir smiled faintly as he said it.

“Now that you've started, master it perfectly. Then make the world know your name and your sword.”

“What?”

“That’s what I truly want.”

Hindir had never actually seen the completed Forgetcart Sword.

Though he had said many things, what Hindir really wanted most was to see that sword with his own eyes.

In that sense, it couldn’t be considered purely goodwill.

But it was impossible to read Hindir’s inner thoughts.

How could an ordinary human perceive the hidden desires of someone who had transcended five hundred years?

Suddenly, she recalled the figure mentioned in the manual—Teran Turph’s teacher and friend.

“…Orcus.”

“What?”

She had muttered it under her breath, but to Hindir it sounded like thunder.

“Orcus… he’s the ancestor of your clan, isn’t he?”

“Ahem. That’s right.”

Flustered for no reason, Hindir cleared his throat and answered.

In contrast, Moritz felt a long-held frustration finally lifted.

The Forgetcart Sword was born from Teran Turph’s jealousy and longing as he chased after Orcus.

That’s how Moritz interpreted it.

“I’m Teran Turph. And you’re Orcus.”

The one chasing after a giant shadow.

Longing—well, that was something to think about later. For now, she had understood part of the swordsmanship within the Forgetcart Sword.

“Ah, yeah.”

Hindir replied, feeling an uncharacteristic chill at the back of his neck.

He knew it was just a metaphor, but it was still uncannily accurate.

“Ah!”

Moritz suddenly exclaimed as if she had something more to say.

“I’m hungry.”

“Y-Yes! It’ll be ready soon!”

At that moment, as if waiting for the cue, Duar’s voice came hastily from the kitchen, and Hindir relaxed as well.

“…You’re such strange bastards.”

Claire, who had been quietly watching, clicked her tongue and took another swig from the bottle.

Only then did Moritz notice Claire, but she soon turned her eyes away and sat at a side table, beginning to eat the food Duar brought out.

Watching the two, Hindir was once again struck by how amusing the world was.

The former noblewoman was gobbling down food like a starved animal, while the servant from a noble house displayed refined dining etiquette.

What Duar had once felt while watching Hindir and Claire—this time, Hindir felt the same.

But among those idling about, not a single one of the Charun tribe was present.

They studied to adapt to the new world and did their best in Bagman’s training to keep up with their Great Warrior.

Ubol and Moritz also trained toward their own goals.

However, unlike Moritz, who had a clear purpose, Ubol had only a vague sense of direction, so progress was slow.

Though undeniably a genius, he wasn’t at the level of a Grandmaster, so this was only natural.

Still, it was fortunate that Ubol showed no signs of impatience.

As with anything, but especially with the Ice‑Blood Qi, rushing only led to danger, so his steady mindset was commendable.

‘Just maintaining calmness will help him master the power.’

Since Claire had refused, there was nothing to do for now but watch.

And most important of all was Hindir’s own condition—put bluntly, it was smoother than anyone else’s.

He had absorbed only a tiny bit of Cheongweol’s mana, and that was inevitable since he hadn’t been in a life-or-death fight or something comparable, which limited absorption.

But by diligently training his body each day, he was calmly preparing. When the time came and he fought in earnest, he’d surely leap several steps forward.

However, the Parno side was strangely quiet, and for now, it was difficult to guess their intent.

Because of that, Hindir felt a growing sense of unease.

If a larger battle than expected broke out and his tribe, still unprepared, were hurt…

‘Should I make the first move?’

With that concern in mind, he stood in front of Duar’s restaurant, which was opening a bit later than planned.

And just like that, all his worries vanished.

A two-story building—restaurant on the lower level, lodging above.

A signboard that seemed oversized for the place stood out impressively...

[Warrior’s Restaurant]

Seeing the ridiculous name, Hindir stared quietly at Duar.

No, he glared at him.

“Haha, how is it?”

But Duar, entirely oblivious to that gaze, asked with a look of pride.

It somehow felt like an insult to warriors, but judging by Duar’s expression, there was clearly no malice.

Recalling how Duar had gone on grandly and he had seriously offered advice, Hindir let out a dry chuckle.

“Hehe, it’ll be a place of rest for warriors and somewhere they can spend the night safely. That’s what I’ll make it into.”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

He had no idea how Duar intended to make that happen, but he appreciated the sentiment.

If someone with that kind of heart had existed five hundred years ago and had run such a place properly, perhaps more Charun warriors would have survived.

“Now then, in celebration of our grand opening today, I’ll treat you all. Come on in!”

With a loud voice, Duar led Hindir and his group inside, but in truth, it was just the same food as usual—nothing particularly special.

After all, the current Choranchai couldn’t yet secure supplies in abundance or variety.

“That’s the real problem. Parno controls the only port in the Great Snowfields, so all supplies ultimately have to come through there.”

Bagman, seated across from Hindir, explained.

“With ties with Parno completely severed, we can’t trade like we used to. So we’re relying on a few nomadic tribes or smugglers who travel through Parno territory. And it’s not like we can steal from other places like before.”

“Can’t we develop our own port?”

Ubol asked, tearing into lamb at the next table.

“Easier said than done. The cost to develop a port alone is an issue, and even if we suddenly declared we’d start trading, who’d actually use it? Honestly, trying to reconcile with Parno has a much better chance of working.”

“Hmm. So that’s a hard no.”

Ubol shrugged and turned his head.

“No, seriously—where the hell did all the ribs go? You again? I told you to stop stuffing your face!”

As Ubol exploded at Moritz, Bagman burst into laughter.

“If you need more, just order some.”

“…Then do it for me.”

“You little—hey!”

Responding to Ubol’s request, Bagman called out loudly.

Then Claire, who had been sitting in a corner drinking alone, stood up and approached.

Now in comfortable clothes with her hair tidied, she no longer looked like a beggar.

However, the uniquely cold and hollow aura she gave off remained, making it hard to treat her like a normal staff member.

People just regarded her as an uncomfortable presence.

Still, the fact that Ubol hadn’t noticed a thing meant Claire was doing a good job of concealing her aura.

“Got any lamb ribs left? These kids still act like they’re growing—eating like horses. And bring some more booze, will you?”

“Understood.”

She replied curtly and returned to the kitchen to place the order.

Then Bagman, seeing her head out the back toward the liquor storage, murmured quietly.

“She’s handling it better than I feared.”

As the one who had to practically oversee both Choranchai and Charun, Bagman had been told about Claire’s true identity.

Of course, he hadn’t been told her circumstances—only that she’d be working at Duar’s restaurant and he should leave it at that.

Knowing she was the source of the unsettling aura that had lingered nearby for days had been both relieving and concerning for Bagman.

The Mistress of Parno, working as a restaurant waitress?

What kind of madness was that?

But from the looks of it, she seemed dead serious.

Thud—

Claire placed a large liquor crate lightly beside Hindir and Bagman’s table.

“Hmm… I didn’t ask for quite this much, though.”

“The guy sitting opposite you will drink it all.”

Unfriendly, but at least she spoke politely.

Then she pulled a bottle from the crate she had brought and returned to her seat, once again swigging from the bottle.

Before they realized it, everyone in the restaurant was staring at her blankly, but Claire didn’t care.

“Ahem. Let’s drink.”

Bagman, slightly embarrassed, opened a new bottle.

And so, the first day of Warrior’s Restaurant’s business continued late into the night, with Hindir—as always—being the last one standing.

Surprisingly, there was one more.

“You can hold your liquor.”

Hindir said, watching Claire tidying up in the corner.

“You kids who drink banking on youth wouldn’t understand.”

Claire replied, rolling her eyes.

“That even this cheap booze can taste sweet.”

“……”

Leaving the gloomy Claire behind, Hindir stepped out of the restaurant.

Then, on his way back to the inn, he suddenly stopped and looked back at Duar’s restaurant signboard.

[Warrior’s Restaurant]

What he had to protect had grown.