Reborn As The Barbarian God

The corruption grew worse with every step.

Karathra led the masters through terrain that seemed to twist against them, the very ground resisting their passage. The air was thick with essence so dense it left a metallic taste on her tongue. Colors were wrong here, the rocks too dark, the sparse vegetation too vibrant, everything slightly off in ways that made her eyes ache.

They had been traveling for two days since leaving the Hive Fiend's corpse behind.

Two days of pushing through increasingly hostile territory, rationing their supplies, tending wounds that refused to heal properly in the corrupted environment. Drakira was recovering, but slowly. Every single one of them was having a hard time.

Only Lady Pelica seemed unaffected, gliding through the corruption as if it were a pleasant afternoon stroll.

"We're close," the enchanter announced, consulting whatever internal compass guided her. "The meeting point is just beyond that ridge."

Karathra squinted at the rocky outcropping ahead. It looked like every other piece of blighted landscape they'd passed—jagged, hostile, wrong. But if Lady Pelica said they were close, they were close. The woman had been unerringly accurate about directions so far.

"Rest here," Karathra ordered. "Five minutes. Check your weapons, check your wounds. We don't know what we're walking into."

The masters settled gratefully onto whatever seats they could find, boulders, fallen logs, patches of ground that seemed marginally less corrupted than the rest. Brakthar moved among them, doing what he could with their dwindling medical supplies.

Karathra used the pause to study their surroundings.

Something was bothering her. Something beyond the obvious dangers of the Abyssal land, beyond the exhaustion and the wounds and the constant low-grade fear that had become her companion since the Chief fell. Something specific.

She crouched and examined the ground.

Tracks.

There are multiple sets, overlapping, leading toward the ridge and the meeting point beyond.

The other banners had come this way, she could identify the distinctive prints.

All heading in the same direction. All days old.

"Lady Pelica," Karathra called quietly. "Come look at this."

The enchanter approached, her eyes following Karathra's gesture to the tracks.

"The other banners arrived at the meeting point days ago," Lady Pelica said. "Three days, judging by the weathering on these prints. Perhaps four."

"They should have moved on by now. The plan was to meet, coordinate, and advance together toward the core."

"Yes. That was the plan."

"But they're still there, waiting."

Lady Pelica was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was carefully neutral. "It would appear so."

Karathra rose to her feet, her hand drifting toward her axe. "Why? Why would three banners sit at a meeting point for days, doing nothing, when there's a Legacy to claim? We were so far behind, they should have ditched us."

"Perhaps they encountered difficulties. The Abyssal land is dangerous."

"Dangerous enough to stop three banners combined? They have more masters than we do. More resources. More everything." Karathra shook her head. "No. They're waiting for something."

"Or someone," Ashclaw interjected. He had approached without Karathra noticing, his face grim. "They're waiting for us, aren't they?"

Lady Pelica's expression shifted. The calculated neutrality cracked, replaced by something that might have been respect or might have been resignation.

"Yes," she said. "I believe they are."

"Why?" Karathra demanded. "What do they want with us specifically?"

"Think about it, Karathra. What do the Stronghide have that the other banners don't?"

The answer came to Karathra immediately, carried by memories of the Chief's explanations and her own growing understanding of the world.

"Barbarians. They want barbarians."

"Specifically, they want barbarian blood." Lady Pelica's voice was quiet now, careful. "Some of the Abyssal land in the Thirteenth Region are sealed with ancient protections. To open them requires a key. And in this land, where the Supreme Deity fell, that key is the blood of those who carry his death-mark."

"The barbarians," Karathra breathed. "We carry the mark of the Supreme Deity's death."

"Your entire race does. It's why you were enslaved so easily after the Abyssal War, the other races feared what you represented. The mark makes you... might valuable. In ways that most barbarians never realize. But it is also your doom. Your chain."

Karathra's grip on her axe tightened until her knuckles went white. "You knew. This whole time, you knew what we were walking into."

"I suspected. I wasn't certain until now." Lady Pelica met her glare without flinching. "Would it have changed anything if I'd told you earlier? You needed to reach the meeting point regardless. The mission required it. Your chief told you."

"The mission required us to walk into a trap?"

"The mission required you to find a way to rescue your chief. The other banners control the paths forward. Without their cooperation, or at least their acquiescence you cannot reach the core, cannot find whatever passage your chief is using, cannot accomplish anything."

Karathra wanted to argue, wanted to rage, wanted to do something with the fury building in her chest. But Lady Pelica was right. Damn her, she was right.

"What do they plan to do with us?" Ashclaw asked. He had joined the conversation, along with the rest of the masters. They all wore expressions of grim understanding.

"Sacrifice, most likely." Lady Pelica's tone was clinical, detached. "The blood of a single barbarian might crack the seal. The blood of several, especially essence masters, would shatter it entirely. They've probably been planning this since the expedition was proposed."

"The Chief knew," Brakthar said suddenly. His voice was hollow.

"Your chief is more perceptive than most give him credit for." Lady Pelica nodded slightly. "He understood the danger, even if he didn't know the specifics. And now that he's gone..."

"They think we're vulnerable," Karathra finished. "They think we'll come begging for help, desperate to rescue the Chief. Easy targets."

"Yes."

Silence fell over the group. The corrupted wind whispered through the rocks, carrying sounds that might have been distant screaming or might have been nothing at all.

Karathra's mind raced through options.

They could retreat. Turn around, go back the way they'd come, try to find another path to the core. But that would take weeks, maybe months, and they didn't have the supplies for such a journey. The Chief couldn't wait that long, assuming he was even still alive.