Surviving the Game as a Barbarian Chapter 783: Upgrade (1)

Folks usually set their grandest vows at a particular moment.

Should anyone pose that question, the majority would respond identically.

The first of January. That pivotal date marking the close of one year and the dawn of another.

Hope surges through everyone on that occasion. Those burdened by extra pounds pledge to slim down, while the idle homebodies promise to secure employment this year.

Yet, only a handful truly follow through on these intentions. Deep down, they crave transformation, but this harsh world shows no mercy to those seeking alteration.

Breaking free from the egg demands shattering its shell. Paradoxically, the road to optimism always travels alongside suffering.

‘Naturally, that’s why they claim New Year’s vows rarely endure beyond three days.’

Human resolve proves so fragile and pliable that, regardless of how solidly it’s molded, it inevitably droops over time.

Sure, certain individuals possess ironclad determination, but...

Hm. Still, would such resolute types even require the New Year as a spark?

Regardless.

“Did you rest properly during the final days of the year?”

“Somewhat.”

On the inaugural day of the fresh year, I headed to the palace to encounter Astarotta. This was to enact the vow I forged the previous night.

The night before, after quite some time, my sluggish thoughts whirled with clarity once more.

What steps must I take to not just endure, but thrive—to fulfill that ambition in this unforgiving metropolis?

Following an evening of reflection, I reached a verdict.

I need to stage a rebellion and claim the throne. Or at minimum, seize authority rivaling a monarch’s.

That alone will allow me to negotiate as an equal—or in other ways—and secure my desires.

Hence, I arrived here without delay the following day.

“Astarotta Berun.”

“Suddenly using my full name. It’s got me on edge. What’s up?”

“Is Countess Peproc still in her current state?”

“Yes.”

Though it matched my anticipation, this response solidified my doubts.

The Marquis had mentioned that eventually, Ragna would regain her composure independently. That’s precisely why he abandoned the diary there.

‘Yet she remains unconscious...’

It’s undoubtedly their doing. Despite lacking evidence for now.

“So today, like before, may I visit her briefly prior to departing?”

“Naturally.”

No matter what they’re inflicting on Ragna, I’ll consult Hyeonbyeol afterward. Though I suspect straightforward answers will elude me.

“Incidentally...”

Astarotta’s gaze sharpened, akin to a wagerer poised for a bold bet.

“When you slew the Marquis, did you spot a ring in the vicinity?”

“A ring? Nothing of the sort caught my eye.”

“Hmm. Understood...”

“What sort was it?”

“Nothing remarkable, merely a royal heirloom. It appears he removed it prior to death, or another claimed it from him.”

“In any event, I didn’t notice it.”

“Got it. Thus, the probable outcome is that Noark possesses it now.”

Hearing this, a wave of ease washed over me.

The royals continue to accept my earlier account.

Yet, raising this unmentioned detail at present suggests they’ve concluded their private probe.

‘Seems I’ve overcome a significant obstacle...’

Reflecting back, their trust was inevitable. The royal family recognizes the Marquis and I as foes.

Even harboring suspicions, they’d struggle to justify why the Marquis would voluntarily yield Urae to me. My version—that he unleashed it to eradicate us—rang far more credible.

Therefore, displaying excessive fixation on Ragna risks exposure. The royals might uncover the pact the Marquis staked his life on.

“Oh, did you catch wind? During the royal assembly you skipped, they selected the new Chancellor.”

“...Who?”

“Duke Kealurnus.”

“I see.”

“You don’t appear shocked.”

“Truthfully, the Duke was the sole remaining option.”

The aristocracy once split into three primary groups: the Chancellor’s allies, the Duke’s supporters, and the lesser nobles. Oh, plus the Melbeth coalition of diverse races I align with—though their influence is negligible, barely warranting mention.

In essence, the Chancellor’s group crumbled with the Marquis’s betrayal. The lesser nobles suffered heavy losses when Urae devastated the Palace of Glory, claiming many lives.

Solely the Duke’s faction retained their might amid the conflict.

“Yandel, your view on the Duke?”

“He’s fortunate. He contributed little, yet his chief adversary, the Marquis, self-destructed. And outwardly, he endured no substantial setbacks in the war.”

“Lucky, eh...”

Her murmured tone carried an unusual edge.

“...Know something?”

“No, not really. Just from my observations, those appearing fortunate often conceal the foulest truths. But... perhaps he’s truly just fortunate, as you suggest.”

“Should you uncover anything, inform me as well.”

“Certainly.”

Thus, the Duke discussion concluded, and we shifted to various matters.

Much of our exchange involved me extracting details from her, yet the most striking revelation...

Was this one.

“Also, Yandel... your advancement has been confirmed.”

The Yandel barony elevates to viscountcy status.

Though dubbing it a household feels generous—no estate, no servants, zilch.

‘...Or perhaps otherwise?’

By sheer count, my adherents might outnumber those of any noble lineage.

After welcoming every refugee from Viphron.

“Did the incoming Chancellor voice any objections?”

“He couldn’t protest even if inclined. You’re the legend who infiltrated foe lines solo, dispatched the Marquis, and halted the war briefly. Ah, do you and the Duke share poor relations?”

“Not especially. We’re not intimate, but no animosity exists.”

“Then there’s scant cause to hinder your rise. Still, rumor has it he lodged a minor grievance. Since your ceremony coincides with his induction, he wasn’t pleased.”

“I don’t follow. Why an issue?”

Upon my query, Astarotta glanced at me momentarily, then grinned.

“You truly seem oblivious. That’s positive. Were you aware, it’d prove irksome.”

“Spit it out.”

“Consider it. With simultaneous events, who draws the crowd’s gaze?”

“Ah...”

I hadn’t pondered that angle.

Naturally, the war champion like me would eclipse the Duke, who merely assumed an open position.

“I heard he even proposed separating them, willing to postpone his start. But urgency vetoed it.”

Regardless, my elevation rite and the Duke’s assumption will occur simultaneously, same venue.

“Heading to see Countess Peproc?”

“Only a quick glance.”

“So loyal.”

As our chat tapered and I rose to depart, Astarotta recalled another point abruptly.

“Oh, yes. One thing I meant to inquire.”

“...?”

“Are you on good terms with Jerome Saintred?”

...Why mention the village head abruptly?

“Not really. We ventured the first basement level jointly, but that’s the extent. Why inquire?”

“He vanished the day Urae struck the Palace of Glory.”

“...So?”

“Some advocate deeming him a war loss, but I sense deeper layers. Merely checking if you held knowledge.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“...Apologies for the bother. Proceed onward.”

Thereupon, I exited the chamber where Astarotta and I conferred.

‘Vanished, is it...’

Frankly, I doubt the chief perished in the °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° conflict.

More plausibly, he entangled in events—or fled intentionally.

I reminisced our final encounter.

Mere moments pre-Urae’s impact, while confined below, he approached and uttered enigmas.

[“It’s commencing. The day all perishes in flames.”]

Indeed, Urae descended shortly thereafter. As he hastened away, he added:

[“Endure. Upon doing so, I’ve words for you.”]

Amid the frenzy then, I dismissed it lightly, yet retrospect reveals oddity.

Against his prophecy, the war spared the world from total blaze—

‘...Or did it?’

Districts 7 and 8 indeed razed completely.

Yet I ignited those, and the chief’s inflection diverged sharply. It evoked apocalyptic doom.

‘Ultimately, that apocalypse evaded...’

Hostilities ceased, and I persisted.

Yet the chief, pledging postlude discourse, not only omitted contact but evaporated entirely.

‘What urgency drove the chief’s secrets?’

Uncertainty lingers.

One certainty: Locate him I must.

For thwarting the Heart of Karui’s royal seizure demands it.

Presently, he safeguards it.

His intentions remain unknown—but nonetheless...

***

Prior to palace exit, I detoured to Ragna’s quarters.

She slumbered princess-like, under Hyeonbyeol’s vigil.

“You intend lingering until her awakening?”

“Uncertain events await my absence.”

Hm. Royals’ schemes render location irrelevant... Yet I withheld voicing it.

“Any occurrences during your watch?”

“None noteworthy. Boredom consumes me. Even the Chancellor’s heir freed, leaving no conversants...”

“Indeed, tedium suits the setup.”

Elthora Tertherion, offspring of the renegade Chancellor, earned recent liberation post-hearing. Despite paternal treason, his defection aiding me factored in.

Truthfully, Astarotta orchestrated it. And I influenced Astarotta.

‘His future path intrigues...’

Elthora attained survival—his goal. Noble privileges stripped, predictably.

‘Many harbor grudge...’

Amid refugee hordes, “Tertherion” incites fury.

Abandoning it for plain “Elthora” might ease existence.

‘Perhaps visit later to gauge his pursuits...’

Such musings on Elthora concluded. Mere idle interest.

“Until next.”

“Eh... departing so soon?”

“Return imminent.”

“You claimed that prior, yet delay stretched eternally.”

“This occasion holds truth. Palace visits will frequent henceforth.”

“...Palace?”

Hyeonbyeol cast a nuanced, probing glance.

Then observed me silently.

“You appear... altered?”

“Altered?”

“Difficult to pinpoint, but altered. Something shifted...”

“Beneficial or detrimental?”

“Beneficial, naturally! Your visage improved markedly too.”

Her acuity persists—and I comprehend. Even mirrored, my reflection seemed wretched long.

“Farewell then.”

Upon Sanctuary return post-palace affairs, a visitor awaited.

“Ah, at last you arrive!”

Elwen’s uncle it was.