Overwhelming Firepower

The curtains parted without ceremony. There was no music this time, no grand narration. Only the sound of boots striking stone, slow, measured, and alone.

The knight stood beneath a blood-red sky; behind the knight, walking forward was the illusion of torn banners.

He who had protected the kingdom from all harm had been banished and was now walking with no destination.

The knight walked alone beneath the crimson sky.

No armor weighed upon his shoulders. No crest marked his name. Each step echoed too loudly in the emptiness, as if the world itself were listening.

The sound carried farther than it should have, bouncing off stone and broken ground, returning to him distorted, too slow, too hollow.

It reminded him of empty halls where his presence once commanded silence, not because he demanded it, but because people trusted him enough to listen.

He had been the kingdom’s shield. Now he was nothing more than a man on a road that led nowhere.

The illusion shifted. The torn banners faded, replaced by jagged hills and broken earth. Smoke rose in the distance, crude fires, not the orderly kind of camps used by soldiers.

He stopped and looked around. From the ridgeline, figures emerged. Broad-shouldered. Fur-clad.

The audience already knew who these people were. One of the threats that the Thorneharts pacify yearly. The Barbarians.

A few tribes have a friendly exchange with Norvaegard, and a few barbarians even come to the Capital City to exchange monster material for other goods.

The barbarians, even though they were humans, were born with much stronger bodies than most humans.

Even though they, too, can learn how to use aura, they don’t, as they have their own way of strengthening themselves, which they call spirit tattoos.

The more tattoos a barbarian had, the more powerful they were. Of course, not just anyone could get a spirit tattoo. They needed to prove their bravery first to get more.

Each mark represented a trial survived, a fear faced directly, a moment where retreat would have been easier than standing firm.

To the tribes, these markings were not decoration. They were proof that the bearer had been tested and had not broken.

Also, depending on various factors, not all barbarians can handle multiple spirit tattoos. So for those who had proven their bravery and could no longer have more spirit tattoos, they are instead given a sacred weapon.

These so-called sacred weapons were weapons blessed by the tribe’s shaman, and placed the power of the Ancestral spirits into them, which was very similar to Spirit Tattoos.

So when the people saw the barbarians approaching, the former knight had numerous tattoos and held weapons with engravings on them, they knew that these barbarians were the elite of the elite, comparable to veteran knights.

The barbarians stopped several paces away. They did not rush him. The two sides simply looked at each other.

The former knight stood still, hands empty at his sides. He made no move to reach for a weapon, because there was none to reach for. The wind tugged at his cloak, thin and worn, nothing like the banners he once carried.

One of the barbarians stepped forward. He was massive, his body covered in layered spirit tattoos that pulsed faintly beneath his skin. In his hand was a heavy axe, its blade carved with ancient symbols.

”I know of you.” The barbarian spoke in the native tongue of the former knight, which surprised him.

”Great warrior of the high stone walls. Why have you come here with no weapons or the gleaming armor?”

The former knight did not answer immediately. For a moment, he simply looked at the barbarian before him, the tattoos that marked countless trials, the sacred weapon humming faintly with ancestral power. Strength recognized strength, even across borders.

”I was told to leave, that I no longer was welcome in my own home,” the knight finally said. His voice was calm, almost empty. ”The kingdom, I guess, for you, it’s my tribe. They no longer have a use for me and tossed me out.”

Hearing what the former knight said, the Barbarians frowned, and the one speaking to the former knight spoke in an almost growl-like tone filled with annoyance.

”Those weaklings in your tribe call us Barbarians, and think of us as less intelligent humans, but in our eyes, those you had protected are not even humans, and even less than beasts!”

The Barbarian with the axe roared, and the other Barbarians nodded their heads in agreement.

”A warrior as honorable and as brave as you deserves more! To the warriors you have killed in the name of protection, dying in your hands was the greatest honor even among the various tribes.”

The barbarian’s roar faded, leaving only the crackle of distant fires and the low wind sweeping across the broken land.

The former knight did not flinch. For the first time since his exile, someone had spoken of his deeds without fear, without suspicion, without calculating what his strength meant for their own safety.

”You honor me too highly,” the knight said quietly. ”I only did what I was ordered to do.”

The barbarian’s brows furrowed.

”Orders?” He spat the word onto the ground. ”No one, not even the chieftain, can command the will of a warrior! We fight because our spirits demand it. To show our bravery, to bring about glory and honor. At times, we do so to protect what is in front of us.”

He planted the butt of his axe into the ground. The tattoos along his arms flared brighter, reacting not to hostility but intent.

”Warrior who has brought the glory and honor of death in battle to many of our brothers. If you have no place to stay. Then come with us to the Red Wolf Tribe, we always accept warriors!”

Seeing how openly the Barbarians spoke in the play, the audience started to wonder if real barbarians acted like this.

Despite being able to see them every now and then, most people have never spoken to barbarians before.

”Still, this is a play written by Lucen Thornehart; among everyone here, those of the North have the most interaction with the barbarian tribes.”

”Yeah, this might actually be how Barbarians are.”

”I guess thinking about them like fools who only know how to fight was wrong in the first place.”

”Another prejudice we got because of a lack of communication.”

While the people started discussing other things, the play continued regardless. The murmurs among the audience faded as the illusion on stage shifted once more.

The barbarian chieftain’s offer hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. The former knight did not answer.

For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face, not fear, but hesitation. His gaze drifted past the barbarians, past the fires and jagged hills, toward a horizon stained red by a sky that refused to change.

”If I walk with you,” he said slowly, ”Then that means I have truly...”

”Why hesitate? You have already been abandoned by the jackals you have protected. I do not know what has happened, but a warrior with such honor as yourself wandering around with nothing is an insult.”

The barbarian pounded the handle of his axe on the ground.

”Proud noble warrior! Know your value! We might have been enemies at one time, but out of battle, we are all simply beings that strive to live to see what tomorrow might bring. So come with us, and we will show you how a warrior should be treated.” The barbarian extended his hand forward.

The former knight no longer hesitated and grabbed hold of that hand. Who was he to deny the helping hand of another?

As their hands clasped, a distant horn echoed across the hills. The barbarians turned, not in alarm, but in recognition.

Far away, beyond the illusory horizon, banners rose. Those banners that the former knight stood and defended. The former knight did not look back.

The curtains fell.