Barbarian Quest

Six-Fingered’s fate was decided for him from the very moment he was born with six fingers on his hands. A child could not become a warrior with such a deformity, so if he survived, he would become a shaman.

Six-Fingered became a shaman. The tribespeople believed that the more grotesque a shaman's appearance, the more spiritual power they possessed, making his deformity an advantage rather than a disadvantage in the shamanic world.

Splat, splat.

Six-Fingered smeared a mixture of insect corpses, four-legged animal blood, and charcoal dust onto his face, painting it black.

“Huuup.”

He took a deep breath and grabbed his staff. The sound of bone fragments clattering echoed.

Six-Fingered was summoned by the chiefs. Divining before making important decisions was an ancient tradition based on the belief that humans must not go against the will of the heavens. Those who did would only face disaster and misfortune.

‘We must return to our homeland.’

As he stepped out of the tent, Six-Fingered looked westward where the Sky Mountains were no longer visible.

They should not have crossed the Sky Mountains. Violating the taboo of the Sky Mountains and invading another world had caused much bloodshed.

‘No one should have broken the taboo.’

Urich, who crossed the Sky Mountains, was praised for his achievements by the warriors, but some still whispered that he had violated a taboo.

“Breaking a taboo only incurs the wrath of the heavens.”

Six-Fingered longed for his homeland. He missed the barren land and the life of living day by day, facing the arid winds.

Shamans were needed by everyone back in his homeland unlike here, where there was no need to look at the stars for navigation nor the need to see a shaman to treat one’s injury.

As the warriors became more enthusiastic about foreign knowledge than mystical shamanism, the standing of shamans was diminishing by the day.

‘What a fertile and rich land.’

Six-Fingered walked barefoot on the blackish soil that was so sticky it could be kneaded as it was. It was a blessed land where anything would grow well if sown.

Other shamans had already finished preparing the ritual and were waiting for Six-Fingered. There was a makeshift altar made of wood, and the chiefs and warriors stood at a distance, waiting for the ritual to begin.

“Where are the sacrifices?”

Large warriors brought out about ten captives, more than usual as this was an important ritual.

With Urich absent, there was no one to stop the human sacrifices. The watching warriors thirsted for blood.

“Ah, uuuuugh.”

The captives, who included some high-ranking knights or nobles among other soldiers, knew what fate awaited them.

“I-I am…!”

A noble shouted something, but his words were drowned out by the roar of the warriors. The higher the status of the sacrifice, the better, as valuable offerings held greater worth.

“Kuuuugh! Cough!”

The shamans forced a potion with a yellow tint down the throats of the imperial captives.

Whirr.

The strong potion quickly made the captives’ eyes lose focus and made it feel as if their limbs were floating. Even the captives who were thrashing around more than others slowly turned their heads and sat quietly like turtles.

The warriors of the Alliance wanted to know Urich's fate and the outcome of the war. Urich, who was the source of their firm belief in victory, was no longer among them.

‘If we’re going to get these exhausted warriors to fight again, we’ll need the will of the heavens.’

Six-Fingered blinked and looked at the blue sky.

‘The sky never changes. It’s the same no matter where we look up at it from.’

The earth might have changed, but the sky remained the same.

Six-Fingered took out a blood-stained dagger from his inner pocket. It was a dagger that had slit the bellies of countless animals and humans.

“Uuuuuugh.”

A captive, dazed from the potion, groaned and drooled.

Shamans who wore nothing but fur coats held the captive’s limbs and laid him on the altar.

Stab.

Six-Fingered unhesitatingly plunged the dagger into the sacrifice's belly. He avoided the internal organs as if skinning an animal.

Rip!

As the skin split, the inside of the human body was exposed. Six-Fingered and the shamans stared at the writhing internal organs.

“Ee-eeeeeek!”

The captive with his belly split open screamed. No matter how drugged he was, seeing his own guts laid bare was unbearable.

“Kuuuugh!”

Six-Fingered cut out the heart while the captive was still alive.

Thump, thump.

The hot, living heart thumped in Six-Fingered's grasp.

“Oh, oooooh!”

The warriors shouted in excitement upon seeing the beating heart.

“Offer the blood to the heavens!”

“Take the life!”

The shamans beside Six-Fingered shouted loudly. Their voices echoed throughout the Porcana-Alliance camp.

Boom, boom, boom.

Apprentice shamans beat drums at regular intervals, mimicking the sound and rhythm of the human heart. As the drums and heartbeats gradually synchronized, the excitement turned into madness.

Slash!

Other captives, hung upside down, had their throats slit. Human blood dripped onto the trays placed below.

Splat, splat.

The shamans dipped their hands in the blood and bestowed blessings upon the warriors.

It was a festival of blood that the warriors had long forgotten. Blood was life, and life was most precious. Offering such life to worship the heavens was the noblest ritual in tribal society.

“I-I am… Kodomos… of one of the founding Houses of the empire…”

The captive with the highest ranking among them was dragged out, still speaking quite clearly even in his intoxicated state.

“We have offered enough sacrifices to gain the attention of the heavens.”

Six-Fingered said, wiping the blood-stained dagger. It was time to ask the heavens of its will.

“I am Kodomos…!”

The noble shouted once more. Despite being drugged, his repeated declarations suggested a strong sense of pride.

Slash!

Six-Fingered shoved the blade into the noble’s mouth, cutting off his tongue.

“Your mouth is not the place we are seeking answers from.”

The severed tongue fell to the ground.

“…It is your life.”

Six-Fingered's vision narrowed from the smoke he had been inhaling. The faces of the warriors appeared distorted, and it felt like the sky was spinning even when he stood still.

‘Heavens, grant us an answer. Show us the path…’ Six-Fingered desperately wished. No one was more desperate for answers than he was.

‘Forgive us for breaking the taboo and deceiving the will of the heavens.’

It was true that the Alliance seldom moved according to the will of the heavens, therefore it would not be strange if they faced the wrath of the heavens countless times.

‘Samikan and Urich paid the price for defying the heavens and breaking taboos.’

The priest of the Alliance had falsified omens over and over again because of Samikan, speaking words different from the will of the heavens before the warriors. It was always a torment for him.

‘I will not go against the will of the heavens any longer.’

Six-Fingered imagined a faithful life lived according to the will of the heavens.

He smiled contentedly as he disemboweled the noble captive and pulled out the entrails before waiting for the result.

Splaaash!

The intestines were pulled out, stretching long. Six-Fingered threw the entrails on the ground, observing the position of the bloodstain.

Amidst the rising stench, he sought the will of the heavens. The blood shone in vibrant colors, and the blood-filled tray reflected his face like a mirror.

Boom!

The drumbeat echoed once again. The rippling blood in the tray blurred Six-Fingered’s reflection.

He blinked several times as the blood in the tray settled again.

“G-gugh, cough, cough!”

Six-Fingered suddenly clutched his own neck and groaned with his eyes filled with terror. What he saw in the blood was the image of Urich.

Splash.

Urich reached out from the blood and wrapped his fingers around Six-Fingered’s neck.

‘A-am I afraid of Urich?’

But no one was surprised by Six-Fingered’s seemingly self-harming behavior. They were simply waiting for Six-Fingered to return from seeking the will of the heavens.

‘Why are you showing up here, Urich!’

Six-Fingered screamed internally. He glared at Urich, who still had his hand around his throat. Urich, rising from the blood tray, glared fiercely at Six-Fingered.

“Gaaaah!”

Six-Fingered exhaled deeply and shook his head. Breaking free from the hallucination, he lay on the ground, staring at the bloodstains and entrails.

“My god! Look at that!” The warriors exclaimed in shock.

The noble captive stood up with his insides completely empty.

The captive muttered incoherently with unfocused eyes. It was more like a strange sound than a language, almost as if he was singing.

—He is alive.

But that was what it sounded like to Six-Fingered. The grotesque sound which was more noise than anything, seeped into his ears like human language.

Anxiety and fear took shape, ready to devour Six-Fingered.

Thud.

The noble captive finally collapsed. Six-Fingered hurriedly crawled toward the captive.

All signs pointed to Urich’s survival. Six-Fingered searched desperately for other signs to deny the omen but found none that symbolized Urich’s death.

‘No. This can’t be.’

Six-Fingered searched through the blood and entrails for any signs that pointed to death.

Boom, boom, boom.

The drumbeats gradually softened. The chiefs and warriors were waiting for Six-Fingered’s words as the frenzy subsided, and blood cooled and hardened.

“Priest.”

The shamans murmured. The omen had to be spoken before the excitement completely died down.

‘This is a good omen.’

Other shamans vaguely knew the omen’s result, as every tribe had similar symbolic signs. In this sacrifice, the captive’s strong vitality stood out. There were no negative signs.

‘Great Chief Urich is alive. Though it might just be a matter of time before he isn’t, he’s alive for now.’

The shamans watched Six-Fingered's back, gauging his reaction. After Samikan's death, the new Great Chief Urich did not interfere with the shaman society, allowing Six-Fingered to seize all the power in the shaman society. Six-Fingered was the priest of the Alliance with unparalleled power.

Clatter.

‘Just one more time,’ Six-Fingered thought as he grabbed his staff and stood up. He looked at the chiefs and spoke slowly.

He had lived his life falsifying the omens of the heavens for various reasons; sometimes for Samikan’s benefit, and sometimes for political survival. He had often lied about the will of the heavens.

‘This will be the last time.’

He could return to his beloved homeland where shamans were revered by the warriors.

“Mmmmm, Oom, Um.”

The shamans made a grand sound with their breaths.

“…We must return. The earth that supported us has grown distant. Our vitality, which was born from the land, has waned.”

Six-Fingered murmured. He raised his head calmly and continued.

“Let us return to our homeland and honor the death of the great Urich,” Six-Fingered declared. The chiefs and warriors were given the justification to return home.

The shamans standing behind Six-Fingered remained silent. They too knew that in the rapidly changing alliance, there was no place for shamans. To stop the change, they had to return home.

Not everyone believed and followed Six-Fingered’s omen. There was a faction that insisted on continuing the fight, believing Urich was still alive. But the weary warriors listened to Six-Fingered’s comforting words. Many warriors believed Urich was likely dead, omen or not.

Warriors who lost their land could no longer stand.

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