Chapter 218

Chapter 218

"That damned fat-ass."

Krika ran into the pitch-black darkness. Despite his tired and injured body, he kept running.

'I can’t believe I got help from Bilker.’

It was a strange feeling to be helped by someone he had looked down on. It was like a wolf being saved by a rabbit.

‘Telling me to run?’

Krika stared out at the snowy landscape. He used the stars to find his direction. He hesitated as he looked eastward, the way back to the encampment.

"It's not because I'm afraid of death. It's because you saved me, so I'll follow your advice."

Krika did not head toward the encampment. He slowly lifted his head and began walking southward.

"...I too am going to the empire."

Krika was born and raised in the north. He had never thought about a life different than in the north. He lived and would die as a warrior according to Ulgaro's will.

The path of warriors was a shackle for the men of the north. For the first time, Krika felt that he was released from it. Northern warriors kept their eyes on each other and scorned those who weren't brave. But now, Krika was alone, with no one to scorn him for not living the warrior's life.

‘I’ll go see my enemies with my own eyes.’

He hated the empire and Solarism, but it was a hatred that had been handed down to him. During his upbringing, the north prospered under the empire's rule. Scarce resources were obtained through trade with civilized people, and the absence of tribal wars led to a population boom.

Many northerners were enchanted by Solarism, adopting their culture and technology. There must have been a valid reason for this.

"Huff," Krika exhaled, watching the darkness fade. The sun was rising in the east.

‘The sun.’

The Sun God Lou was not a personified god. As a natural entity, he transcended nations and peoples and thrived in all worlds. The sun was a symbol that was revered anywhere in the world.

"Ulgaro?"

Krika looked at the edge of the snowy landscape. Something moved. In the light of the rising sun, a shadow seemed to sway, making it look as if a warrior with a winged helmet was approaching.

Throb.

Krika clutched his chest and blinked. Upon closer inspection, they were northern warriors wearing helmets. They spotted Krika and approached him.

"Krika, you only managed to escape alone?"

A warrior with a long beard and hair asked. His eyes under his helmet were as cold as a frozen lake.

'Red Beard Inga,' Krika thought as cold sweat broke out.

Red Beard Inga was a well-known warrior among the northern warriors gathered at the encampment. He was called Red Beard because his beard would stain red with the blood of his enemies during battle.

Behind Inga were twenty warriors. It was the Inga’s Brotherhood, a notorious gang of robbers and warriors from the north.

"That’s right," Krika nodded, thinking he might be killed.

"Well, I’m sure you did your best. I can tell by the state that you’re in. If you help me, I'll persuade the others to spare you from punishment for letting Bilker get away. Prove yourself, Krika," Inga said, patting Krika on the shoulder.

'Ulgaro isn’t letting me go, huh.'

Krika thought and smirked as he looked at the south. Fate had crushed his will and resolve. Ulgaro did not let go of him.

"Bilker is traveling with the enemies. If they moved right after I escaped, they should be about a day's distance by now." Krika said, providing the information he had.

Inga nodded after being informed about Urich's party and their combat strength.

"It’s unfortunate that they came into contact with the Lou-believing apostates first. Even if we can't form an alliance, we have no other choice. Our priority is rescuing Bilker."

Inga urged the other warriors. They went after Urich’s party by looking for broken twigs and signs of campsites.

"Rescuing Bilker..." Krika murmured.

Upon hearing Krika's words, Inga turned and stroked his beard.

"Is there a problem, Krika? You're not going to pull out of fighting just because of some broken arm, are you?"

"Ah, it’s nothing."

After sending Bilker and Georg ahead, Urich and his warriors rested immediately. They ate well and rested fully, while Inga’s Brotherhood was quite exhausted from walking all night.

'We have the numbers, but it is still hard to guarantee a win.'

Inga drew his weapon and slowly approached. Urich and his warriors also began drawing their weapons, standing around the fire.

"Inga, they seem rested and warmed up. If we fight now, it won't be in our favor," a veteran warrior advised.

"We have the numbers, so it's fifty-fifty," Inga encouraged the warriors.

Krika, standing next to Inga, frowned and eyed Urich's party.

"I don’t see Bilker with them. The horses are gone as well."

Inga's eyes darted around at Krika’s words.

"Those cunning bastards... did they send Bilker ahead?"

Krika felt a surge of relief.

'Wait, I’m relieved? Because Bilker isn’t there?' Krika thought to himself.

When Inga and his warriors learned that Bilker was missing, they were confused.

"If Bilker isn't with them, there’s no reason for us to fight them," some warriors expressed doubt.

"That man over there is Urich, the one who killed Yorcan the Giant. If we beat him, his fame will be ours!" Inga shouted as he drew his sword.

"But you’re going to be the one taking the fame, Inga. There is no glory in this for the rest of us."

“If you still want to fight, count me out. I responded to your call for the sake of Mijorn’s descendent in the first place.”

The warriors who had been with Inga for a long time would fight with him out of comradery, but those who had joined recently expressed their intention to sit out of the fight.

"If fame is what you want, then have a duel, Red Beard Inga! We'll be the witnesses to your battle!"

Someone mentioned a duel.

‘These damned bastards.’

If Inga backed down now, the reputation of Red Beard would be in shambles. Northern warriors didn’t avoid fights without a good reason. Avoiding a fight instantly branded one as a coward.

"Inga! Inga!"

The warriors chanted Inga's name.

Krika watched Inga's back as he reluctantly stepped forward with his hand in the air.

‘He dug his own grave with this one, bringing up fame and whatnot.’

Inga coveted Urich’s fame, and he got a duel for it.

"I am Red Beard Inga! I stand here on behalf of my brothers!" Inga shouted, raising his sword high to encourage his warriors to shout.

"What is this? Are they asking for a duel?"

Urich tilted his head puzzled as he saw Inga stepping forward alone. He also walked up until he could clearly see Inga’s features.

"I'm Urich of the Stone Axe. I've already sent Bilker ahead. You won’t get anything out of this. Do you really want a meaningless fight?" Urich said, drawing his axe and sword.

'He's strong. Just by his movement when he drew his sword, I can tell he's a skilled warrior,’ Inga thought as he watched Urich.

Inga found himself feeling nervous around Urich who was younger than him. Urich exuded a quiet, yet heavy confidence that only a seasoned warrior could have.

"I might have missed Bilker, but your fame is still here. Surrender your head, Urich."

"How pointless."

Urich muttered, slowly flexing his warmed fingers. His thick fingers moved flexibly like spider legs.

"...But that's precisely what defines us, right? Moths to the flame, giving up our lives in this world for the fame and glory to bring with us after we die."

Urich smiled. The voices of men chanting Urich and Inga's names spread across the snowy landscape.

Forgetting their original purpose, two men fighting a stupid and foolish battle glared at each other with their weapons in hand.