Make the Barbarians Great Again

Chapter 8: The Life of a Warrior (6)

“It’s not Blood Bear! It’s a person!”

Hindir’s form fully emerged and the misunderstanding was cleared.

Of course, that didn’t mean he stopped retreating.

“Brother!”

Duar came running breathlessly and stood behind Hindir as though hiding.

Duar’s frame was also fairly sturdy, but Hindir’s even larger physique looked all the more dramatic in comparison.

“Wh‑ who are you?”

“Hindir.”

“…….”

“There’s nothing else I can say. And I have no thought of fighting, so put away your blade. I only want directions, and if possible, to rely on your hospitality for a day.”

He said he had no intention to fight, yet somehow the atmosphere made it feel like he was demanding surrender.

So Chaaju couldn’t easily retreat.

Still, as a man and as the branch head Chaaju, he had pride—could he truly sheathe his sword the moment he drew it?

One couldn't survive on this Great Snowfields with such weakness.

“Brother genuinely has no intention to fight! So please, everyone, lower your swords!”

Duar added in urgency.

“And by the way, a few days ago he single‑handedly killed those cannibal bastards, so he is on our side!”

“What?”

“And do you see this? This is real Blood Bear skin!”

“Mm!”

Pride told him not to step back, yet stepping back seemed the right thing.

“…How can we trust those words?”

“Trust what?”

“That you tried to deceive us from the start. And besides, you were secretly watching us. So isn’t it only natural that we don’t expect this situation to resolve peacefully?”

“I apologize for that part. I thought stepping forward myself might be perceived as a threat, so Duar—who was originally part of the Snowy King’s army—stepped forward first.”

“…….”

A threat… he couldn’t deny it.

Indeed, when speaking with Duar, even if Duar simply barked orders in his usual manner, it didn’t feel offensive.

“Actually, I don’t know exactly what this one said here. But even if he had told the truth, can you guarantee you wouldn’t have drawn your swords? If so, be honest and say it.”

“W‑ wait! I don’t really want to hear tha….”

“I am going to fight the Snowy King. So will you guide me to him?”

“Bloody hell.”

He just knew nothing good would come of this.

Chaaju’s face contorted viciously, and irritably he sheathed his weapon.

“That simpleton. You should have said that. How on earth can we stop a madman aiming to fight the Snowy King?”

“No….”

Duar felt wronged.

If you drop such accusations on a first meeting, no one would believe you, right?

But Chaaju needed a plausible reason to back down immediately, so even if it felt forced, he had no choice.

“I am Choranchai branch head Mordon. Come in. I hope it is not a lie that you have no intention of fighting.”

Hindir nodded and followed him.

Mordon sat opposite Hindir in Chaaju’s quarters, extremely nervous, but he tried to appear composed.

Hindir likewise didn’t dismiss his effort and treated him naturally.

“Do you like alcohol? Well… from your face it’s hard to tell your taste, but from your build I’m confused, it seems like you’d carry a crate to drink from.”

“I can’t drink at all.”

If the Charun clan’s favorite thing was fighting, second would be alcohol.

During the final years of Orcus’s time they had been at war for years, so for many years they hardly drank, so even beyond the current life it had been very long.

“Aha. That’s good.”

Mordon took out alcohol he had hidden deep beneath the bed and poured it for Hindir.

Hindir closed his eyes and savored the scent for a moment, then gulped it down in one.

A burning sensation from tongue to throat.

It was a strong liquor that befitted this snowy plain.

“Perfect to drink before freezing to death.”

“Heh heh, that’s right. It’s tradition of the Snowy King’s army to take one flask when patrolling. Helps resist the cold, and can reduce pain in the final moments.”

The Snowy King’s army didn’t seem old enough to have traditions that ancient, but in any case most traditions start like that.

But considering Duar or Ratan from Hurakche didn’t have alcohol, it seemed like something invented on the spot.

“And though it’s cheap, it’s truly precious here. Especially these days… I’m sorry this is the only hospitality I can offer.”

“It’s the finest hospitality since coming to the Great Snowfields.”

“Well. You met the Snow Fiends? If they’re those madmen, they would attack immediately without even a moment’s leisure.”

“That’s right. But the Snowy King’s army was no different.”

“Ahem. Ratan is a bit hot‑tempered. Anyway, I wanted to continue the thing you said earlier… you really intend to fight the Snowy King?”

Mordon refilled the cup and asked again, and Hindir immediately drank it in one.

“So. Are you planning to stop me?”

“How could I possibly? That hide you’re wearing—it really looks like a Blood Bear. I wouldn’t think I could do anything to someone who took down that monster. Anyway, you really can drink. My men haven’t even brought food yet and that’s your second glass already…”

With that, Mordon poured another drink.

“Most of the Snowy King’s army won’t care even if you say you’re fighting him. Guys like us are just stationed here by orders from people we’ve never even seen. We don’t really have loyalty or anything like that.”

“That’s how it is with most loose groups.”

“Exactly. Most of the men were originally from small tribes in the Great Snowfields or were bandits who got absorbed into the force. The real core is the direct unit led by the Snowy King and his three generals.”

Mordon looked down at Hindir’s empty cup and poured again.

‘Damn it. How the hell is he drinking this trash like water? Did someone water it down?’

“Guh…!”

He took a sip himself just then, but the disgusting, bitter, and fiery taste was just as before.

“Generals, huh. Calling themselves generals and even kings—sounds like they plan to start a nation someday?”

“Haha, as if. With the Parno family still standing strong. Anyway, the Snowy King won’t just accept a challenge just because someone declares one. He didn’t become the master of the Great Snowfields just by being strong.”

“We’ll see when I meet him.”

“Well, that’s quite the confidence. But I’ll tell you now—I’m willing to open the path, but I won’t guide you there.”

Mordon didn’t ask for details or reasons and just prioritized his own safety.

Hindir actually preferred that kind of honesty.

“You only need to tell me the direction. I can just take Duar with me.”

“That one from earlier? He looked a bit dim-witted.”

“He may be lacking, but he’s an honest guy.”

“Hmph.”

Mordon casually shook the bottle he was holding.

He heard the faint swish of liquid inside and swallowed dryly.

‘Shit… I’ve only had one cup…’

From refilling the cup repeatedly, the bottle had emptied in no time.

But it felt like a waste to take out another bottle…

‘No, wait. Maybe I should just keep pouring and make him pass out?’

He hadn’t had a single snack and kept drinking nonstop—how was he still sitting up so straight?

Still, he couldn’t drink forever.

“Hahaha! You really are something else. How can you drink this strong liquor like that… Ah, to hell with it! I’ll bring out all the booze I’ve been saving!”

Just then, the subordinates came in with pork bone soup boiled for days and some meat.

“I had this hidden because there’s not much liquor left, but you drink so well, I can’t help it.”

Mordon pulled out all the bottles he’d stashed under the bed and lined them up on the table.

Five bottles total—it didn’t look like much, but honestly, drinking all of them could kill a man.

“Help yourself!”

His eyes welled up a little, but if Hindir passed out or lost consciousness, it would still be Mordon’s win.

So then…

“There’s a host here—how could I drink everything alone? It’s just been so long since I had alcohol, I lost my senses for a bit. Let’s drink together from now on.”

“…Huh?”

Mordon stared at Hindir, who was filling his cup nearly to the brim.

There wasn’t a trace of deceit in those eyes—just genuine enjoyment of drinking.

In the end, Mordon raised his cup too.

‘Fine. Let’s see who wins. I’ve never lost to anyone in drinking!’

“…Hahaha! Sounds great! Let’s drink ourselves to death tonight!”

Mordon shouted cheerfully…

And that was the last thing he remembered.

“The ones who came yesterday? The fat one got shoved into a spare room, and the big guy sat by the campfire all night drinking. He should still be there. But is he really human? How can he still be alive after drinking that much? Did he water it down?”

“That bruise on the branch head’s eye? Nah, he didn’t get hit. Did you see that guy’s fists and forearms? If he got punched, his bones would’ve been shattered. He fell—he didn’t get hit.”

“We all rushed in after hearing a commotion last night, and he was crawling on the floor alone.”

He drank all the remaining alcohol by himself and still lived…

“Goddamn. Is he even human?”

Holding his pounding head, Mordon stepped outside.

Just as the subordinate had said, Hindir was lying motionless on his side in front of the campfire in the middle of the open space.

‘Insane…’

Though he wore a leather cloak, he had nothing on underneath, and his pants were little better than rags—hardly enough to block the cold.

How could he sleep on the bare ground like that in such a state?

“Thanks to you, last night was enjoyable.”

As Mordon approached carefully, Hindir spoke without even turning around.

“Haha… How’s your stomach holding up?”

“Shame there’s no more liquor.”

“……”

“So I was thinking of going out to get more.”

“Huh?”

“You said there was trouble with Choranchai not far from here?”

“Uh… what…?”

“They said you intercepted all the liquor supply, so the other bases aren’t getting any.”

“Uh… no, how did you….”

Even if he tried to deny it, it was obvious how he knew.

It must’ve been something his memory-wiped self had blabbed about.

‘This crazy bastard!’

There was no way of knowing what had been said and how far it went.

“Haha… That’s true, but is there any need to poke at that and stir up trouble?”

“You asked me for help, didn’t you?”

“…I said that?”

“Still, you must usually care about your subordinates. You hid alcohol for yourself, but said you felt bad seeing how your men haven’t been properly drunk in a long time.”

“Ha… haha……! R‑right. How embarrassing.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had such thoughts, but with all his subordinates watching, how could he deny it?

“Last night, I sat here too and observed the atmosphere of Choranchai. Surely, not a trace of joy could be seen in anyone’s eyes.”

“But how could I burden a guest with such a nuisance? Just think of it as drunken rambling sparked by the joy of drinking together after so long.”

Hindir stood, dusting off the dirt.

Far too steady for someone who had been drinking all night.

“Have your skilled subordinates do a bit of hunting. I’ll send plenty of alcohol either today or tomorrow. Ah! I’ll only take one person to guide the way, so be aware of that.”

“Wait… just a moment….”

The situation was spiraling in an entirely unexpected direction, and Mordon’s hangover instantly vanished.

But by then, Hindir had already left, taking Duar and one member of Choranchai with him.

“Shiiit……”

The curse slipped out quietly in the end.

But what could he do?

This was a mess brought on by his own drunken antics.

However, Mordon didn’t know.

Among everything Hindir said, the only thing Mordon had actually said was this:

That Choranchai had intercepted all the liquor supplies destined for this base.

Ah, and that he was disappointed there wasn’t enough liquor—that part was also genuine.

As for the rest…

Didn’t they say the Charun tribe liked alcohol second only to battle?

Last night, that ranking changed.

He realized that in the past, he drank so often that he never appreciated its value.

At least for now, alcohol was number one.