Surviving the Game as a Barbarian Chapter 780: Month 13 (7)

The Resurrection Stone.

In the world of Dungeon & Stone, filled with all sorts of strange items and powers, artifacts that allow resurrection are almost unheard of.

To get one from the 9th floor, you have to meet extremely precise requirements, and then there's an incredibly tiny chance of it dropping. Its scarcity is indescribable.

Truth be told, gathering all nine of those single-numbered artifacts might actually be simpler. That really puts it in perspective.

In Lafdonia, where dungeon exploration has been going on for thousands of years, the Resurrection Stone is seen more as a legend or tall tale than an actual item.

Folks aren't even certain if it's real.

But that's not the key issue at the moment...

‘Did that really just come from his lips?’

When Elwen’s uncle, Beleg, mentioned the Resurrection Stone, my initial response was pure bewilderment.

It hit me completely out of nowhere. A subject I never saw coming.

Yet, as I settled my nerves and reflected on it, another emotion started to rise.

Intrigue.

Or maybe... doubt.

‘Is he actually Crescent Moon...?’

The idea popped into my head suddenly and vanished just as fast—but I couldn't ignore it easily.

After all, it wasn't pure guesswork; solid clues supported it.

A fairy.

From the higher echelons.

With a peculiar fixation on the Resurrection Stone.

Very few individuals fit all those criteria.

And given that most revenants are between their mid-thirties and early forties, his age only heightened the suspicion.

Of course, I couldn't straight-up interrogate him with, “Are you the Crescent Moon Mask?”

“If it felt too sudden, my apologies. I mentioned it because I learned, Baron, that you favor straightforward talks...”

He offered the excuse cautiously, probably reading my quiet moment as unease while I gathered my wits.

I pondered it one final time.

‘What should I say?’

Two paths ahead.

Pretend I know nothing and brush it off.

Or accept it and listen to what he has to say.

After weighing it, I picked the latter.

He didn't seem to be fishing; he appeared to have arrived fully believing it.

“How did you find out about that?”

Not a full confession, yet it leaned toward agreement.

Beleg’s face changed a bit.

A quick glimpse of ease.

Then came the strain.

“...Hoo.”

He exhaled softly before replying.

“An anonymous note arrived at my door during the night.”

“A note?”

“Like I mentioned, no clue who wrote it. But it named Miss Kalstein directly, so I took it seriously instead of junk. That's the reason I'm questioning you here.”

“Can I take a look?”

As though anticipating the request, Beleg drew the letter from his pocket and passed it over without delay.

Luckily, it wasn't one of those eerie summons where the writing fades away—the message remained clear.

I scanned it rapidly.

‘Exactly as expected.’

Identifying the source wasn't difficult.

I already had a decent hunch.

[Hehe]

Those two symbols closing it off—taunting chuckles.

The writer made no effort to conceal their identity.

‘Ibaekho...’

Yet, it sparked more questions than answers.

I figured he'd resurface sooner or later, but since that incident, he'd vanished completely.

Now, he was meddling from the shadows in this manner.

‘...What’s his game?’

No idea.

The mystery only deepened the unease.

Why would Ibaekho share details on the Resurrection Stone with Beleg?

‘That guy's an utter enigma.’

Maybe catching my gaze fixed on the letter's end, Beleg chimed in.

“I heard it's a mark some revenants use.”

“Got it.”

“So, is it real? Do you actually have the Resurrection Stone?”

“Yes, it is.”

Denying it seemed pointless now, so I spoke the truth.

Though he'd likely guessed it, my direct confirmation hit him hard on an emotional level.

“...Y-you mean it!!”

My certainty grew stronger.

No other fairy could show such fierce fascination with the Resurrection Stone.

He must be Crescent Moon.

Still... a couple of details didn't fit perfectly.

‘Elwen’s uncle as a revenant...?’

If he were truly one, would he hold Elwen’s family so dear?

From the stories, he doted on the three sisters more than any true kin—

Click.

Out of nowhere, the entrance door swung open.

Voices echoed—Elwen attempting to hold someone back, and Mei fuming with anger.

“We’ll talk more shortly. I’ll visit you personally next.”

Beleg shot me a wistful glance and stated this.

I agreed with a nod.

Moments later—

“M-Mei...! Uncle and the Baron are in a discussion—”

Elwen’s panicked words followed as the door flew wide, and Mei stormed inside.

Heaving breaths, obviously enraged, and exuding intensity.

I offered a subtle acknowledgment.

‘She found out about the town incident.’

An unexpected blow stings worse. But I’d prepared myself for this one.

“...I figured you for someone respectable.”

She stared daggers at me in disgust and whispered harshly.

“...Filth.”

Every bit of goodwill I’d earned vanished in an instant.

***

To steer clear of Mei, we left the house and headed straight back to the Sanctuary.

Occasionally, for errands, I’d spend the night in the city. Elwen even softly proposed I do so again, but...

“Home’s where I want to crash.”

Particularly not amid a festival with crowds everywhere.

Plus, I hated throwing away coin.

‘Just two festival days remain...’

Riding in a cart fixed to the wall as it moved along the urban path, I gazed at the festivities and let my mind wander.

Though night had fallen completely, the streets below shone vibrantly. Laughter and shouts carried up clearly.

“Elwen, won’t you join the festival fun?”

“Hmm, not really... Crowds that noisy aren’t my thing...”

“Really?”

“Well, strolling with you could make it enjoyable... but next year. I’ll hold off for then.”

“How come?”

“It’s okay for me... but I sense you’re not set yet.”

“...What prep does a festival even require?”

“Come now... it does! It worked that way for me, at least.”

Her cheerful tone clashed with the faint sorrow in her smile, leaving me without words.

“So we’ll head out another time. When the sadness wears me down no more, and I crave joy and yells once again.”

“...Sure. We’ll make it happen.”

“Promise. My sister once shared a myth—that marrying in the festival leads to endless bliss and endless wealth.”

“Oh... really?”

I knew nothing of the myth. But one truth stood out: she’d evolved.

Nobody mentioned it—but she brought up her sister grinning.

Click-clack—!

Thus, with casual chat flowing, we reached the Sanctuary at last.

As expected, the Sanctuary buzzed with energy and revelry.

Barbarians knew how to savor a festival.

Sure, some fighters ventured to the city—but the majority hunkered down in the Sanctuary for occasions like this.

“I’m off to sleep. Exhausted...”

“Okay. Today was great. Rest up.”

After bidding Elwen farewell, as I strolled to my tent, the clamor faded step by step.

It wasn’t dead quiet—just less boisterous than the woodland clearing hosting the festival frenzy.

“Beheeeell—raaaaahhhh!!”

“Quiet down! This is the silent area! Keep hollering, and Emily Raines will appear!!” (That’s the warriors’ nickname for Amelia Rainwales.)

Thanks to Amelia, the spot remained fairly peaceful.

She’d demanded quiet to let sleepers rest.

Logical enough, but... likely it was for my sake—

“That lady’s ruthless!”

“Right! Banning yells at a festival?! No one’s tired anyway!!”

Right then, I caught recognizable voices amid the rowdy fighters.

“...What was that?”

“Eeeeeek—! Emily Raines!!”

Amelia materialized like a specter, sending warriors scattering in terror.

“I said zilch! Honest! I’m a model barbarian in the silent spot!”

“It was Merik’s second boy, Kizan! He’s the loud one!”

“You traitors...!!”

“Merik’s second son Kizan is a silly fighter! If you wanna cheer and roar, hit the noisy area! Why disturb the calm one?!”

I had to ask myself—what had she done to make them quake from a mere glance?

Though... it tracked.

Not even Ainard could face Amelia. Regular fighters stood no chance.

“Resting folks remain. Yellers, off to the racket zone.”

“Y-yes ma’am!! Heading elsewhere to shout! Apologies!!”

Her command just uttered, the warriors bolted like scared beasts.

It struck me as amusing, honestly.

Barbarians, yeah. But Amelia using terms like “quiet zones” and “noise zones” as if they were set rules...

“...Back already?”

“Uh, yes...”

“Rest easy.”

“Will do...”

We locked eyes briefly, traded a quick hello, and I entered.

After cleaning up, I hit the sack.

Still, despite squeezing my eyes shut, slumber evaded me. I flipped around, aiming to clear my thoughts—

“Bjyooooooorn—!!”

“...Ainard? What’s up? It’s late.”

“What’re you # Nоvеlight # doing in the silent zone?! Fun’s everywhere! And early sleep won’t make you taller now!”

“...Exhausted. Freshly returned.”

“You’ve claimed that three nights running!! Come join! Party with us tonight!”

I grinned at Ainard slipping into her pleading phase.

‘Better than threats to ditch the Anabada Clan like certain others.’

That said, I had no intention of diving into the festivities.

Insomnia meant I’d likely wander the cemetery, as in recent nights.

However...

“Bjorn, the fighters require you.”

That line swayed me.

“...Sigh.”

First festival post the major happening. As acting leader, skipping it entirely wouldn’t sit well...

“Alright, I’m in. Quit the pleading.”

“Yay! For real?! Great! They’ll all cheer!!”

Once Ainard left, I swiftly donned classic barbarian garb.

Or rather—“donned” isn’t quite right.

Closer to stripping down.

Barbarian tradition begins bare-chested.

“Onward!! They’ll go wild seeing you!!”

Secretly, I wished they wouldn’t.

“Sure...”

Tugged by Ainard, I reached the woodland clearing—the “loud zone”—alive with festival chaos.

“Beheeeell—raaaahhh!!”

“Wow!! Chieftain’s arrived!! The chieftain’s among us!!”

“Bjyooooooorn, Yandel’s heir!!! Surface’s mightiest fighter!!”

“Peerless prodigy beast!!”

Without barbarian ears’ natural durability, the racket would’ve burst them.

Now I saw why nearly all Sanctuary residents were barbarians, despite human abundance.

“See! That way! Looks like a brawl!!”

Ainard’s initial stop was a ring of deadly warrior combat.

“Finish him!! Yank his fangs!!”

“Snap his limb!!”

“No issue!! That won’t end him!!”

Two fighters in savage tussle, encircled by roaring fans.

I seized a close fighter and queried:

“What’s the fight over?”

“Beats me? Didn’t bother asking.”

He eyed me oddly, then refocused.

So the bout outranked chatting with me?

Praising me as a legend one moment, snubbing me the next. But it clicked.

Clashes formed our prime pastime.

‘They claim festival brawls gauge its success...’

Yeah, captivating stuff.

Our fighters truly dominated close quarters.

PvP amps up fiercely at lower tiers.

“Waaaahhhh!!”

Victory went to the crimson-haired battler with a solid elbow strike to the chin.

But as I considered shifting spots...

“Hey, everyone!!!!”

Ainard bellowed abruptly, drawing all eyes.

“Behold, our chieftain has joined us!!!”

Clueless to her scheme, the fighters whooped on reflex.

“Ooooooohhhhh!!!”

“Beheeeell—raaaahhh!!”

I merely observed, baffled.

‘...Why the ominous vibe?’

As usual, my instinct nailed it.

“Tonight, the chieftain battles every warrior present!!!”

Who authorized that—

“Ooooh...?”

“But... chieftain’s a legend...”

“I couldn’t take him...”

Good news: the response cooled off.

If it stayed that way, the plan could die quietly...

“Relax! Hits anywhere count! Land one drop of blood on the chieftain—you claim victory!!”

Ainard rolled out a quick adjustment.

“Oh...?”

“That could work...”

Naturally, a key issue lingered:

“Why do we fight?”

“We bleed too! It stings!! Worse from the chieftain!!”

Fighters turned surprisingly sensible.

Ainard hadn’t anticipated the pushback.

“W-well... it’s a shot at clashing with the chieftain! Real warriors crave that... right...?”

Rattled, she squeezed her eyes shut and yelled her last pitch:

“Prriiize...!!! Victor scores three homes!!”

No need for more details.

“...Three homes?”

“Justifies the danger...!”

The warriors’ gazes—transformed.