Surviving the Game as a Barbarian Chapter 2

Tutorial (1)

Shut your eyes.

And question yourself.

In the event that this marks the start of an incredibly harsh game, what should my next action be?

To begin with, grasp the circumstances and gather every bit of data available.

Following that, I regained a bit of composure.

Remembering the initial objective I assigned myself, I gradually lifted my eyelids and surveyed the area once more.

Regrettably, the scene remained unchanged from earlier.

""

Indeed, I found myself in a clearing encircled by forest.

Moreover, it wasn't modern LED lamps lighting the shadowy environment, but wavering torch flames.

The most eye-catching detail was the presence of brawny barbarians scattered in every direction I glanced.

"Congratulations! Young warriors!"

Damn, my vision wasn't playing tricks.

I had no clue what they were up to in the dead of night, yet their faces held a solemn reverence.

Did that figure at the center act as the tribal leader?

Anyway, it held no relevance.

"From this day forward, you shall depart the holy refuge and emerge as genuine warriors!"

I shut my eyes, allowing the supposed leader's declaration to pass in one ear and out the other.

I wasn't a physician, yet if I assessed my own state, I was dealing with blackout effects right now.

Utterly clueless about my presence here.

"Now step forward one by one, and select a weapon fitting for you!"

Thus, let's think this through.

What had I been engaged in moments ago?

The instant I attempted to remember and verify for any mental issues, the recollection surfaced instantly.

I had been immersed in a game.

The ultimate boss chamber loomed near, and I had triggered the portal while holding back my thrill. Abruptly, notifications flashed about finishing the tutorial or initiating transfer, followed by a dazzling glow. And then

Having snapped back to awareness

This only deepened the bewilderment.

"Come out, Karak, third son of Farun!"

To start, I opted to examine my physical state.

No aches registered, yet a thorough inspection was essential.

With this in mind, I lowered my gaze and froze.

What in the world was this?

"Two-handed axe! Excellent!"

The hands below me were ridiculously massive. Astonishingly, they responded to my commands.

While checking further, the rest of my form was astonishing.

Not merely shirtless, but an array of tattoos covered the robust muscles of my torso.

Yes, they all appeared uniformly sized, calibrated for this enormous frame.

Once I pieced together the scenario

No, truthfully, there was little to piece.

For whatever cause, I had transformed into a barbarian brute unbeknownst to me.

"O Karak, third son of Farun! With this, you stand as a warrior!"

Kidnapping schemes, surveillance setups, mind experiments, and the like.

I swiftly dismissed such notions from my thoughts. It would be idiotic to cling to optimism and force-fit the facts when the reality already pointed clearly.

Acknowledging the facts and advancing proved more effective.

The events unfolding for me defied scientific or contemporary understanding.

Beyond this hulking physique, abundant proof existed elsewhere.

"Next!"

Primarily, the tongue these barbarians used wasn't Korean, English, or Spanish.

An unfamiliar dialect, absent from any lifetime exposure in media.

The issue lay in my effortless comprehension, as innate as my native speech.

As though the comprehension was imprinted directly in my mind.

"Come out, Ainar, second daughter of Penelin!"

Secondly, this scenario felt oddly familiar.

I pondered the reason, but it held true.

Initially, all seemed alien, yet post-recovery, a peculiar déjà vu emerged.

"You chose a sword! A wise pick for one as clever as you!"

The juvenile barbarians sequentially picked their arms.

That shared trait alone, but

This evoked the opening of [Dungeon and Stone].

More accurately, upon choosing 'Barbarian' from the race options, the game commenced thusly.

Yet could this truly be happenstance?

The title I played amid the enigmatic radiance that engulfed me was [Dungeon and Stone], and my controlled protagonist was a 'Barbarian'?

"O Ainar, second daughter of Penelin! You are now a warrior. May 'Rafdonia's' graces accompany you!"

You must be joking'

I resolved to abandon resolving lingering doubts.

Rafdonia.

This single name from the tribal leader rendered all else irrelevant.

I now recognized this location.

This realm was the very game I had devoted almost ten years to.

"This is, Dungeon and Stone?"

Huh, was that a voice? What did that phrase signify?

As I peeked at the barbarian beside me, astonishment struck. He differed markedly from the surrounding brutes.

"What, what is this, why am I here"

His breathing labored, eyes brimming with disarray.

He even recognized [Dungeon and Stone]. Perhaps he shared my predicament?

I sensed the urgency to investigate, but alas, opportunity evaded me.

"Who just spoke!"

The roar assaulted my ears, causing a brief stupor and head spin.

Naturally, it didn't persist.

I regained clarity swiftly, and spotting the tribal leader glaring down intensified my alertness.

"Was it you?"

I denied with a head shake the moment the query arose, and instinctively directed my stare to the adjacent barbarian.

A response so swift and fluid that I marveled at my poise.

Consequently, the leader shifted focus to that neighboring savage, sparing me further scrutiny.

Sorry, but you bear the fault. Why utter a word?

"Was it you?"

"Yes?"

"I asked if you were the one who muttered just now."

Only then did I notice the leader's face bore an odd demeanor. Merely observing hinted the matter exceeded mere accidental speech.

"Oh, you mean Dungeon and Stone? Yes Why?"

This fellow hadn't grasped the tension yet.

"It was you"

A fleeting sorrow flickered in the leader's gaze.

Sensing impending peril inexplicably, I instinctively shifted aside slightly.

Then he cocked his head and queried,

"Is this like an event? Oh, maybe because I noticed too soon "

What transpired next eluded even my sight.

A flash erupted, succeeded by a thudding impact.

That concluded it.

In that instant, the head tumbled with a heavy roll across the earth.

A brutality so surreal it defied belief.

My vision transmitted the recent horror to my mind.

""

A man's throat severed before me. Exposed bones and torn sinews peeked through the wound. White matter sprayed my face amid crimson blood and grimy tissue. What could that be? Fat?

Well, certainty escaped me.

Yet the impact fell short of anticipated shock.

As though viewing a film or animation, no revulsion or psychological burden arose, like a mere reverie.

Observing the arterial spray from the stump, a single query lingered.

Why on earth executed the chief him?

"An evil spirit dwelled in the soul of Oreum, son of Kadua. Young warriors, banish from your minds all words this evil spirit spoke!"

Upon hearing the leader's decree, details assembled seamlessly in my thoughts.

Detail 1, I qualify as an evil spirit.

Detail 2, discovery means death.

Detail 3, this doom nearly befell me.

Reaching that realization, a shiver crept up my spine, resilient even amid my fellow's decapitation.

"Vulcan! Swiftly inform the temple and retrieve the body!"

"What of the coming-of-age rite?"

"I shall continue it!"

Though blood abounded, the ceremony persisted.

Evidently, such incidents were routine, with none flinching in my view. This applied to the seated young warriors too.

Perhaps from enduring countless grueling games?

No guidance came, yet I discerned my imperative clearly.

• Complete your coming-of-age rite unscathed, concealing your evil spirit nature from all.

In a benevolent game, such a prompt would display.

With the revised objective fixed, I quelled my tremors forcibly. Mimicking the others' demeanors, I schooled my features.

None must detect any oddity in me.

To them, exposure would label me merely an 'evil spirit' usurping this vessel's rightful inhabitant.

"Next!"

Yet the subsequent event plunged my heart.

"Kennicks fourth son, Serum, come out!"

My identity eluded me.

This posed a dire threat to survival.

Should the call sound and I remain inert, suspicion would mount inevitably.

"Next!"

Certainly, one might claim mishearing.

Undoubtedly, that seemed plausible.

But further probing for confirmation altered everything. Suppose merely. What if the leader queried from doubt?

I'd lack any response.

"Next!"

Did this fervent anxiety ignite cerebral chemicals?

Optimistic notions surfaced.

A faint hope, If summoned last, ignorance of name matters little, correct?'

"Next!"

I pitied my plight.

Was reliance on fortune my lot?

When luck had evaded me lifelong? Evident from my transport here during gameplay.

For a misfortune like mine to navigate this peril, a far sounder strategy was vital.

"Next!"

Hence, I scanned ceaselessly.

Chin forward firmly, eyes traced the countenances, motions, and quirks of others.

In this process, a solution dawned.

"Next!"

Admittedly, this approach lacked absolute assurance.

Nevertheless, time pressed, prompting my ultimate choice.

This offered the highest survival odds.

"Next!"

"Next!"

"Next!"

Invocations proceeded.

I tallied roughly two seconds internally per call.

And after eight repetitions

"Come out, Bjorn, son of Yandel!"

At last, the anticipated juncture arrived.

Even post the two seconds following the summons, no one budged.

Acknowledging this, I advanced. Boldly, chest puffed, I approached the tribal leader.

.

Fear didn't absent me.

Even now, striding forth, certainty of the name evaded me.

.

Should my assessment err, this mad leader would denounce my suspicion instantly.

And likely inquire, who is your mother?

Response would fail me.

However.

.

Hesitation found no place.

Despite thundering heartbeat, I regulated breathing and pressed on.

For a straightforward motive.

I deemed this most credible.

"Young warrior, choose your weapon!"

Ultimately, my decision proved correct.

The leader's gaze toward me held no skepticism.

A kindly look, mirroring treatment of fellow novices.

I restrained breath, curbing the odd elation swelling within.

Under ten minutes since awakening.

Yet I embraced the confronting truth wholly.

Odd to some, perhaps, but

Rejecting truth suits fools.

This isn't reverie.

'Bjorn Yandel.'

Henceforth, this identity must guide me.

No, beyond name, total assimilation as this barbaric figure was required.

Duration unknown.

Return to origin feasible? If so, requisite actions?

Ignorance prevails as yet.

Well, perhaps fulfilling game clearance enables reversal.

Premature to conclude.

Frankly, I dread that criterion.

No, the 2D edition eludes my conquest, how in reality?

Likely, lifelong residence here awaits.

""

In this vein, arm selection mattered greatly.

Prolonging might invite doubt, yet I meticulously reviewed each implement.

One-handed blade, two-handed broadsword, club, iron rod, lance, barb, two-handed hatchet, chain mace, sledge, etc.

Absence of bows or wands noted.

These brute folk scorned effortless roles[1] like healers, mages, or bowmen.

Though, given racial traits, it aligned.

"Bjorn son of Yandel! Hurry, pick your weapon!"

As deliberation extended, the leader prompted impatiently.

I finalized deliberations.

Barbarians lack arcane aptitude, boasting potent bodily prowess.

Thus, in character builds, I invariably wielded close-quarters arms, positioning vanguard.

Experimentally, I attempted barbarcher, but failure ensued.

Excellence shone in melee eternally.

And amongst those

This one.'

After extensive pondering, I selected my armament.

"Hmm."

The leader, praising each prior selection, exhibited an unprecedented response.

The reaction was wholly comprehensible.

"Bjorn son of Yandel! Thus, you are a warrior!"

For I had opted for an 'arm' untouched by others.

Meanwhile, in a shadowed chamber with muted illumination.

Synchronization achieved.

Character data and records logged and dispatched to overseer.

The silent CPU fan whirred anew, monitor glow rekindling the vacant space.

Yet normal startup faltered.

Amid beeps on the obsidian DOS interface, text input streamed.

You have successfully completed the coming-of-age ceremony.

You have installed new equipment.

Item Level has risen by +12

As if live input persisted, those echoes softly filled the deserted area.

Relentlessly, perpetually.

Bjorn Yandel

Level: 1

Body: 25 / Mind: 35 / Ability: 1

Item Level: 24 (New +24)

Combat Index: 67 (New +6)

Editor's Notes:

[1] (lit. eating raw) means taking it easy, getting a free ride etc. Comes from the expression that eating things raw and uncooked requires no effort.