Surviving the Game as a Barbarian Chapter 782: Month 13 (9)

Having dismissed Amelia by saying I'd return to bed for more rest, I settled back onto the mattress once more. Yet, as anticipated, slumber eluded me. Sleepiness wasn't the issue after my earlier solid nap. The truth was, in recent times, nights had become a battleground for my restless mind. By day, I kept occupied enough to push through, but darkness brought no such mercy. Night after night, thoughts twisted into knots.

"Hoo..."

Thus, on this night too, following my usual pattern, I ventured out for a midnight walk. I leisurely circled the entire Sanctuary. Despite being the festival's closing evening, the area buzzed with activity.

"Behell—RAAAAAAAHH!!"

"Bwahahahahaha!"

Steering clear of the barbarian roars resounding from the woods, I instinctively gravitated toward that well-known location. On reflection, perhaps those very echoes were drawing me there repeatedly.

SwaaAAAAAA—!

The chilly wind of the 13th Month grazed my flesh. Abruptly, I halted my steps and gazed skyward. A slender crescent moon dangled above. Staring at it evoked a fleeting sense of being back on Earth, only to sharply remind me of my alien reality.

The explanation was straightforward. Upon closer inspection, its form deviated subtly, and—

'Full moons never grace Lafdonia.'

Throughout the 365 days of the year, whenever you glance at the night sky, that identical moon greets you. Ah, it's not that full moons vanish entirely. Perhaps occasionally, akin to Earth's solar eclipses, a full one emerges? I'm unclear on the precise rhythm or underlying mechanics—I'm no astronomer, after all. In a realm teeming with magic and enigmas, such curiosities hardly demand scrutiny—

Tap.

"Who’s there?"

I whirled toward the subtle rustle, and a barbarian fighter stepped out, rubbing his neck sheepishly. Recognizing his features brought an unforeseen meeting.

"You... Vekta, third son of Kiltau?"

Relief washed over me that it wasn't Ibaekho, dissolving my initial strain—though I hadn't foreseen crossing paths with him here.

"Oh! I never imagined you'd recall my name! Such an honor, Chieftain!!"

The fellow bellowed joyfully in the dead of night, simply elated that I knew who he was. No grounds for reproach—he fit the barbarian mold perfectly. Since fate had aligned our encounter, I opted to converse briefly.

"How could I forget? You're the warrior who bested me, remember."

"Hahaha!! Chieftain, match my drinking prowess, and you'll surpass even that!!"

Sure, perhaps... But emulating him might unleash city-wide tales of Baron Yandel soiling himself during a binge.

"What brings you out here, anyway?"

"Krhhrh!! They told me my home would rise here, so I arrived ahead of schedule!!"

"...What?"

"I’m too thrilled about finally owning a house to sleep! I’ll camp here till it’s done! It’s mine already!!"

"Uh... y-yeah. But why this location? It’s right by the cemetery..."

"It’s refreshing, and I love it!!"

Our exchange deepened, dragging me into an odd undercurrent. I began to question if I'd misjudged him entirely.

'Could he truly be... from the modern world?'

This might mirror how Secret Security's specter trackers viewed me. Without witnessing his coming-of-age rite, I'd never suspect. No chance I'd peg him as a specter.

"Incidentally, did you select a shield for your ritual?"

"Oh! Yes! I’m amazed you recalled that as well...!! What an honor!!"

"How’s it treating you? Still wielding it?"

"I ditched it for an axe! I chose the shield initially because the chieftain had, but it wasn’t for me!"

"You picked it on my account?"

"Isn’t Bjorn, son of Yandel, the ultimate warrior ever?! I aimed to emulate you! But securing the proper essence proved impossible, so I quit!"

Yeah, sure. How would you know my identity right at your awakening during the ceremony?

A grin tugged at my lips as I peered down at Vekta.

'Yet... he does vibe like a player.'

Our discussion solidified my hunch. Naturally, embracing him as a kindred modern soul carried a tinge of embarrassment...

'I was once that eager too.'

Ah, excluding the urination mishap. I mean, I endured my own “Vekta stage.” When I first crossed paths with the chieftain, I stiffened up and overplayed the barbarian role myself.

Though our words were few, the sensation was clear.

'...He’s bound to endure a long life.'

His full-throttle barbarian impersonation. The audacity to discard pride and harness taiji secrets for profit. Types like him rarely perish young.

"So, what draws you here, Chieftain? Ah, off to the cemetery once more?"

"Nah. Just patrolling."

"Oh! Understood, keep up the fine effort! I’m famished, so back to sleep for me!"

Vekta appeared eager to shoo me away, yet I had no intention of departing.

"I’ll share some jerky. Stay and talk a while."

"Oh! For real? Thanks!! You’re a noble and shrewd warrior, Chieftain!"

A brief pause before his reply—but solid barbarian facade regardless.

"So, what topic interests you...?"

Vekta probed cautiously, feigning oblivious barbarian simplicity while brimming with intrigue. It made sense—if the chieftain abruptly seeks dialogue, unease is inevitable.

"Nothing major. Just curious about your struggles."

"My... struggles?"

Bewilderment crossed Vekta’s face. Fair enough. I hadn’t voiced any issue or sought counsel—I merely expressed interest in his woes.

"Share them. What troubles you?"

"Well, I don’t have much..."

"Impossible! You must! Confide in me! As chieftain, it’s my prerogative!"

"...Prerogative?"

Not obligation?

I sensed the unspoken query, but it merited no pursuit. Moments later, Vekta eyed me oddly.

As if thinking, 'This dude’s a die-hard barbarian for sure...'

Truth be told, it irked me slightly. I refused to be judged so by someone who’d soiled himself over a drink.

"Ahem! Out with it!"

"Uh..."

"Immediately!"

Channeling chieftain authority, I prompted him, and Vekta at last spoke.

"I suppose... there’s an issue with a companion."

"Oh? Describe this companion."

"A human ally from before the dungeon sealed. Hans Elibon..."

"...What?!"

"Why the shock? You’re acquainted?"

"No, I feigned it. So, what’s the deal with this ally?"

"I bumped into him in town lately. He mentioned a promising venture and invited me to partner—"

"Refuse it."

"Huh? I haven’t detailed the venture yet—"

Venture, indeed. Has he lost his mind? Teaming with Hans? For real?

"I commanded refusal, so refuse."

Infusing menace into my tone for emphasis, the threat subdued Vekta into hasty agreement.

"Ah, understood! I’ll pass!"

Excellent. Should have voiced that sooner.

"B-But could you explain why?"

"His name spells doom."

"...?"

Vekta stared as if pondering, 'What’s wrong with this fellow?' The expression faded swiftly.

Thus, I ignored it entirely.

"Fine, first issue resolved. Now, the next one."

"...Next? None exist..."

"No, there must be."

"Uh... funds? Earning coin is tough nowadays—"

"That’s trivial."

"Then what should I reveal—?"

"Reflect. Can’t reflect? Recall then. Still blank? Consult your soul. Truly no woes?"

Intensifying pressure, I urged him on, and Vekta relented, mind churning. Perhaps he aimed to appease me with anything. Fortunately, this proved a genuine concern.

"...I yearn for the dungeon’s reopening."

"As mentioned, funds aren’t—"

"Not that. I crave power. The war amplified that urge."

"Hmm?"

"...Many warrior comrades fell in battle. Greater strength might have shielded them."

His earnest, clumsy admission prompted a silent nod from me. Thus, the “house” served as a pretext—he lingered here for the cemetery’s sake.

"...Their deaths aren’t on you for failing to safeguard them."

"I realize. Survival demands self-reliance here. Still, regret lingers. If they endured, we’d revel and jest through the festival together."

"......"

"We dreamed of homes always."

"Yet now you possess one."

"True. At last, it’s mine. But no one to boast to."

Unclear why, but the notion resonated deeply. Perhaps—just perhaps—his half-drowned drinking, even the embarrassing accident to claim victory, stemmed from this. From an unyielding refusal to surrender. From persisting through collapse.

"That marked my second concern..."

"I understand."

Perhaps voicing his hidden truth lightened his load. Regardless, Vekta’s face now held a measure of relief.

"What path should I take...? Advise me, Chieftain."

Hope flickered in his gaze. As though expecting my flawless # Nоvеlight # solution. And I delivered.

"Forge new bonds."

"...Huh?"

"And grow mightier. To prevent future losses."

"......"

"Very well, second concern settled. I’m leaving. Stomach’s growling!"

Having addressed the fledgling warrior’s surprising burdens, I proceeded to my true aim with a eased spirit.

*

SwaaAAAAA—!

A brisk gust swept by, stirring the parched winter grasses. In ancient times, barbarians deemed the noise their departed kin clashing and chuckling. Quite lyrical for barbarians, surprisingly. Their rite involved sky burial—exposing bodies to elements for natural decay. A warrior merges with the earth, feeding the local trees. Erecting a tomb alters little in that cycle anyway.

[Brown Rotmiller]

[Versil Gowland]

[James Carla]

This night too, I positioned myself before their markers. Hunting solace for the weight pressing my heart.

SwaaAAAAA—!

Naturally, mere presence yielded no revelations. No spectral whispers rode the breeze. No sensing their desires or intents. Even amid ghost monsters, such hauntings remained fiction.

My existence confirmed it.

"......"

They’d vanished. Absent from this plane. And I lingered, ensnared in my musings.

What hopes did they harbor, abandoning one like me?

'Riol Worb Dwalke.'

His request was basic: watch over Misha. Yet I’ve faltered there. Surely not this nebulous tie he envisioned.

Ah, but vengeance I executed thoroughly. On second thought... that likely fulfilled my own craving.

"......"

Revelry echoes citywide, yet the departed miss it all. Festivals belong to the quick.

SwaaAAAAA—!

Abruptly, Vekta’s words resurfaced.

'If they were still alive, we could’ve laughed and had fun together during the festival.'

I concurred fully. Good fortunes always evoked thoughts of those gone ahead.

Imagine Dwalke present? The dwarf’s mischief would flush him crimson with fury. Rotmiller alive? The event might’ve drawn him nearer to Shabin Emure. And Versil Gowland, James Carla...

Should all who preceded me in death remain, how might the present unfold?

"......"

I pondered deeply. Naturally, mere imaginings. Actual outcomes elude knowledge. That timeline’s lost.

Indeed. Thus—recollections summon this grief and remorse anew.

"...I’m weary of it."

At last, I uttered the long-throttled ache in my core. This realm’s flawed. Be it Earth or Lafdonia.

Upon reflection, similarities abound. Perhaps existence unfolds thus.

Yet acceptance doesn’t justify it.

Human, barbarian, beastkin, fairy—

'I know. This is a world where everyone has to survive on their own.'

A realm fixated on mere endurance.

I tire of it—

"Ah..."

In that instant, clarity dawned. On my deepest yearning.

"Ahh..."

Mere daily endurance suffices no longer. I crave true living. Amid cherished souls.

Heh.

Naturally, idealistic fancy. A skeptic might dismiss such benevolent visions as naive.

But why not?

I’m barbarian-born. Toothless, I grind with gums. Mind fractured, I mend it. Desirous of outcry, I roar.

No overcomplication needed—it parallels this.

Absent such a realm— I’ll forge it.

'Endless tasks await.'

Seated by the stones, sketching a near-mad scheme, distant cheers boomed, prompting a time check.

Tick.

Yes, the racket explained itself.

[00 : 00]

The tumultuous year had reached its close.