Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 281: The Barbarian King (2)

Myst stirred through Bayern. It ran along his veins, filled the hollows of his muscles, and settled into his bones. The energy reinforced every limb and knit a second strength across his frame.

“Body reinforcement,” Ketal murmured, intrigued.

The Barbarian King was fortifying himself with Myst. The method itself was not complex. Even a Novice fighter could harden flesh a little if he knew how to breathe correctly. Yet, what Bayern was doing bore no resemblance to the crude practice that apprentices learned. Power rippled under his skin in a way that made the ground react to his balance, as if the earth had begun to treat his footfalls as heavy blows.

Cracks raced outward where his toes pressed. The weight that gathered in him felt like a single being multiplied a hundredfold and compressed into one place. It had the quality of a concept made real, as if the idea of strength had been poured into a vessel until no more would fit.

Is this truly possible? Ketal thought.

He knew enough Myst to understand there were limits. Simple reinforcement reached a ceiling. It was the most basic application a fighter could attempt, which meant its returns faded quickly. However, Bayern’s aura told him this was something else.

Ketal found the answer a heartbeat later.

“You have placed everything into your body,” he said quietly.

A Hero could lean Myst against the world and watch reality give way. The High Elf Queen, Karin, ruled the air with a thought. The Elder Dragon Ignisia unsettled laws by speaking. Bayern had that same right. He could have reached into the fabric of things and altered them.

However, he refused that path. He had taken the authority that touched the world and turned it inward. He had poured it into flesh and bone and chosen a power that did not ask the sky for permission.

Bayern spoke in a voice that settled like a vow.

“I am the master of the North. I am the King of the barbarians.”

He was the man who carried the greatest strength in this land. The authority that could shape natural law had been bent, by the insistence of self, into pure reinforcement. His ego had taken the power and twisted it into a form that suited him.

“I guess it can be done this way,” Ketal said, half to himself.

“He is a monster,” the Holy Sword breathed. “In theory, this is possible, but to enact it in the flesh is another matter. In all the records I carry, I have never seen a Hero perform this kind of conversion.”

Ketal admired it without reservation. The distortion sprang from stubborn self-definition, yet it was clean and consistent. Bayern had paid a price to hold it, and the result was beautiful as a piece of craft.

Bayern drew a short breath and settled his stance.

“How is it?” he asked Ketal.

“It is impressive,” Ketal replied with a nod. “If I do not respond with sincerity, this will not be easy.”

“That is the highest praise,” Bayern said, baring his teeth in a fierce grin. He closed both hands around his axe. “In that case, I will collect your sincerity with my own hands.”

Bayern vanished. The barbarians who had managed to track the fight by reading motion lost him completely. He did not fade; he simply left the place where eyes expected him to be.

He’s fast, Ketal thought, and moved to meet him. He lifted his axe with real weight behind the swing.

Steel met steel. The impact sounded like the world itself had been struck. The air fractured in a ring and ran outward in a shimmering wave. The sand of the pit lifted and fell again. Men who had sworn to watch to the end keeled over like trees in a gale and lay sprawled where they fell. Darkul swore, grabbed whoever he could reach, and dragged them toward the steps. From the rim, he looked back, breathing hard.

“This is impossible,” he whispered.

Power collided, and the plain below them buckled in long seams. The sky seemed to ripple under the pressure, clouds warping as if a hand were pressed against the underside of heaven.

Is this truly the strength of human beings, Darkul thought, and knew that he had walked beyond anything he understood.

Blows crashed, and the axes jumped. The force of the rebound tore at their shoulders and flung their arms back. Bayern rolled with the snap, poured more weight into the follow-up, and chopped down as if to divide the arena itself.

Block or evade, the choice is yours, Bayern thought. If you evade, I am the stronger.

Ketal laughed and chose to answer the challenge head-on. He met the blade without hesitation, steel ringing as neither man gave ground. Rooted where they stood, they let their arms speak for them, strike after strike flowing together in relentless rhythm. Each clash carried the force of a mountain breaking or a sea dividing. The air split with the sound, the ground cracked open beneath them, and dust rose and fell in a steady pulse.

There was nothing ornate about the clash. Feints meant nothing against that much intent, and technique served only as a vessel for raw power. Two wills bore down on a single problem, each straining to force the other aside.

Bayern caught the rebound along the inside of the haft, spun with the motion, and poured the turn into his next cut. The arc bit deeper, the strike coming with a growl. Ketal stepped in to smother the angle, set his stance, and answered with a swing so heavy the sand at his heels leapt into the air.

The blades slammed together again. This time, the shock forced both men to slide backward three clean steps.

“You are strong!” Ketal shouted, breath quick with excitement.

He could not treat this lightly. A heartbeat of carelessness would end with a blade buried in his chest. Even among his own people in the White Snowfield, few would have matched this level of power.

It surprised him, and the surprise lifted into pleasure. He bared his teeth in a smile.

This is good, Ketal thought. This is very good!

Bayern drove from his legs and accelerated with his axe out front. Ketal brought his blade up and caught the rush. Bayern did not break contact. He kept his weight forward and walked into the bind with small, fierce steps, trying to smother Ketal’s line and use his mass to make the decision for him. Ketal recognized the invitation. He knew that Bayern wanted to test him in raw strength.

Ketal laughed aloud. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to ask him for a straight contest of power. He could not remember the last time it had happened outside the White Snowfield.

“Good! I accept!” Ketal said. He set his elbows and gave his arms the kind of commitment that marked the edge of real effort.

The balance shifted, and the pressure turned. Bayern’s boots began to slide back against the sand. The Barbarian King’s eyes narrowed as the bind went from even to losing. He chose to break before the slide became a stumble. He leaped back and reset his feet. His expression had gone hard.

I was pushed..., Bayern thought.

A cheer rose from the seats like a storm breaking.

“The King is yielding ground!”

“What a great warrior!”

Voices that had trembled with awe now shook with praise for the challenger. Bayern made a sound that was part laugh and part disgust.

“They are wretched,” he said. “I have bled to hold those fools together, and they are ready to hand you my seat the moment you impress them. I am tired of the sight of it.”

“You already know this about barbarians,” Ketal said. “Expectation breeds disappointment.”

“That is true,” Bayern admitted, letting out a long breath. His eyes grew narrow and clear.

He was not thinking about the crowd. He was thinking about the bind and the feel of Ketal’s strength pressed against his own.

I lost in pure power, he thought.

He had traded the right to shape the world for the right to bear greater weight within his own body. It was a bargain that left him without tricks. In a contest ruled only by force, the one with less strength was fated to lose.

I do have a last measure, he thought, but immediately set it aside. This is still just a duel, not a killing. I will not use it.

He assumed the same was true of Ketal. Neither of them had emptied their hands. Even so, the scale was tipping. He could not pretend otherwise. He came on again with heat in his blood, and Ketal opened his arms to meet him.

Axe met axe in a hard series. Bayern tried to lean on finesse and position. Yet, Ketal did not yield. He had seen enough fights for ten lifetimes. He moved with simple answers that dismantled the clever steps before they earned him ground.

Bayern’s blade went wide. Ketal seemed to block, and then he turned his wrists, letting the pressure roll off the steel. The Barbarian King’s axe chewed a gouge into the arena floor.

The sand trembled and shifted as if a wave had passed beneath it. Ketal caught Bayern’s forearm, used the momentum, and slammed him down. Bayern hit with a grunt that sounded more like surprise than pain.

Ketal lifted his axe and chopped straight for the chest. Bayern pulled his own weapon up in time and caught the blow on the haft.

The earth cupped under him in a clean bowl. The arena floor sank under the bite as if softened by heat. Bayern held the block with both hands and laughed once through his teeth.

“I have lost,” he said.

They had been fighting with nothing but bodies and wills. If the other man owned the advantage in that kind of duel, there was no path to victory. Checkmate had arrived.

“You deserve praise,” Ketal said, and meant it. “A strength like yours is not easily found.”

Even in the White Snowfield, only a handful of barbarians could have lasted as long as Bayern had under those terms.

“Thank you,” Bayern answered. Another man might have bristled, but he accepted it plainly. A compliment given by a fighter like this one was a thing to be proud of.

Ketal held his axe poised and looked past Bayern. The barbarians had misread the moment and were already pouring down the steps to the edge of the pit. They believed the decision had been made. They wanted to be first to touch victory.

“It must have been hard to lead those idiots,” Ketal said.

“It is your burden now,” Bayern answered.

“No,” Ketal said, and smiled. “You will have to work a little longer.”

Bayern blinked. The line did not make sense.

At that instant, Ketal slackened his arms. His axe flew up and away. The release sent him sliding back, heels carving grooves. The blade tumbled end over end and stuck in the far side of the arena with a hollow clang.

“What..?” Bayern said.

“What are you doing?” the Holy Sword blurted. “Why did you—”

“Amazing,” Ketal said, genuine admiration in his voice. “That last push was powerful. It not only tore the axe from my hand but even left a hairline crack in my wrist. I cannot continue the fight. The victory is yours.”

Bayern looked completely at sea. A moment earlier, he had been pinned to the ground and waiting for the final weight of a blow. Now Ketal was conceding.

“What are you doing?” Bayern began.

A roar drowned his question.

“Your Majesty!”

“As expected of our King! We believed in you!”

“You are the only one who can lead us!”

The barbarians had covered half the distance by the time Ketal released the bind. From where they stood, the exchange looked like a last reversal. Their King had been forced down and then had exploded with one last measure and turned defeat into triumph. Their voices shook the stone.

Bayern’s mouth tightened as he understood the shape of it.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “You...”

“I told you,” Ketal answered, laughing under his breath. “You will have to work a little longer.”

The barbarians had watched Bayern fall back, then rise again. They had seen the axe fly from Ketal’s hand. They had not been close enough to feel the pressure of the bind or know who had truly owned it. In their eyes, the King had reached deep into himself, found a final card, and thrown it down. He had overcome a formidable foe. Their loyalty caught like dry kindling and burned bright.

“Your Majesty, we knew it!” they shouted. “We knew you would win!”

Bayern’s face twisted. Earlier, those same mouths had been chanting Ketal’s name the first time he pushed him back. Now, they flipped the coin and held it up as the truth. However, he had no time to scold them for it. He looked at Ketal instead, eyes still unsettled.

“You, you are—”

“This is your victory, Your Majesty,” Ketal said. “You will continue to be the King of the North.”

The confusion left Bayern’s eyes, and calm returned.

“I understand...,” he said.

***

That night, the city celebrated. They had witnessed the power of a great Hero. Their King had stood against a terrible opponent and not fallen. The only answer they knew was to drink until their arms hung limp and their throats were ragged.

The two men at the center of it sat in a small building and shared a quiet bottle. Ketal looked around the room and spoke his thoughts aloud.

“This is very modest for a king’s house,” Ketal said.

“You know how they are,” Bayern said. “Those fools want symbols of savagery. If I wrapped myself in gold and lived in a hall of light, it would teach the wrong lesson.”

“That is fair,” Ketal said. “They are needy men for people who claim to love hardship.”

“They truly are,” Bayern said, and allowed himself a small laugh.

They traded a little gossip about barbarians, and then the King set the cup down and changed.

“Let me ask you now,” he said.

“You are the winner,” Ketal answered. “As the man who lost, I will answer anything.”

Bayern’s eyebrows twitched. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

“Why did you throw—” He stopped and shook his head. “No. That shouldn’t be the first question.”

He lifted his eyes and spoke with the weight that had nothing to do with Myst.

“There is a greeting I owe you. I have not made it properly.”

Bayern met Ketal’s gaze.

“It is good to meet you,” he said softly. “You are the king of the ashen-haired barbarians of the coldest place in this world. You are the king of the White Snowfield.”

“You noticed,” Ketal said, smiling.

Bayern had seen what he was. It did not surprise Ketal. From the first moment, the King had stared at his gray hair with a startled look. He had watched him with a testing eye. When Ketal had given his name and place, that suspicion had turned to certainty.

“I was absolutely sure only when I met your true strength,” Bayern explained. “A man like you cannot exist in this world, not as it is. On the Inside, he can.”

“That is a strange way to put it,” Ketal said.

It sounded like a man who knew something of the White Snowfield speaking carefully around the edges of what he had seen.

“You have gone Inside,” Ketal said, eyes narrowing.

Bayern answered with a wry smile. He did not deny it, he did not say yes, but it was enough.

Ketal’s gaze cooled by a degree.

“Have you seen us?” he asked Bayern.