Chương 99: B2 Chapter 20 - Interlude

Ulfar He felt great. The Ancestors had rewarded him with power, as they ought. They rewarded him with several level-ups, his Skills improved greatly, and he finally completed the Skill Fusion of [Weapon Mastery]. Another Skill had been upgraded, likely yet another reward from the Ancestors. A gift in recognition of his gargantuan power. Ulfar's advancement had been rapid, and he only continued to grow. If he continued like that, he would reach the 3rd Ascension in a few moons.

Breaking through the Third Wall was supposed to be even more difficult than reaching the 2nd Ascension, but Ulfar was not worried. He had the power needed to beat foes strong enough to push him to even greater heights, let alone the 3rd Ascension. His Ancient Scripture confirmed as much. Ulfar Tyrath – Level 28 Race – Barbarian Ancient Power – Behemoth Blood Bloodline – Blood of Zeldron Studying the short version of his Ancient Scripture made him smile like a fool.

Yet, his excitement died as soon as he stepped back into the tribehold. He returned to Tribe Taskur for the first time in a long time, carrying the exhaustion that came from all the power he had used and earned in the last few nights. He retained enough control of Behemoth Blood to remain in charge, yet that very same control nearly slipped when he watched the tribesmen of Taskur celebrate something. Ulfar couldn't quite grasp why it soured his excitement. They do not celebrate your rise.

Behemoth Blood whispered into his ear, as if he were too incompetent to see what was going on by himself. His Ancient Power was weaker than he was. Of course, Ulfar was still in charge. Not even the greatest of legendary Powers would ever be strong enough to consume him. Yet, the voice of the Behemoth rang in his ears more often as his strength increased. Cracking his knuckles, Ulfar joined the celebration.

"Not expect the young to be powerful. Young generation stronger than the last." One of the older warriors hollered before taking a few swigs of the brew in his horn. Some of it dripped onto the warrior's bare chest, but he only laughed and took another large sip.

"More potential than us?" A Barbarian woman narrowed her eyes at the older warrior, who only shrugged.

"They ascended. The survivors. All of them." The older warrior swayed to the side, still grinning from one ear to another.

"And the brat ascended again. He was the first. Others will follow him, but he is the strongest." Maybe they came to celebrate my breakthrough. Ulfar mused, a smug smile tugging at his lips. A smile that died as soon as the Barbarian woman's words followed.

"Great potential." She nodded slowly.

"The Successor surprised me. He strong with weak Ancient Power. Defeated Ulfar and Astrid." The Barbarian woman said something else about the 'Successor' turning a weak Power into something incredibly powerful. She also praised the 'Successor' for a few more things, some related to the young warriors, others simply for him being so much stronger than his physical strength indicated. But by the time Ulfar heard that, his control of Behemoth Blood was already slipping. His body expanded and his muscles bulged. First?

Did they… FIRST?!? I was the first to ascend. I… Ulfar's breathing accelerated. He took several deep but rapid breaths to lock down his emotions and retain control of Behemoth Blood. Despite his efforts, bloodlust seeped out of him. His knuckles cracked once more, just like the stone beneath his feet. They do not acknowledge your power. Behemoth Blood growled inside Ulfar's head, fueling the fire burning in his chest. And he let it. The 'Successor'… is that it?!

He scoffed, though anger slipped through the facade he tried to build for a moment. Ulfar knew who the so-called Successor was. How could he not know that? But that didn't change the situation. If anything, it only made him angrier.

"Something has to change." A situation like that was unacceptable. Ulfar could and would never accept it. NEVER! He was the greatest of them all, and if they did not want to acknowledge him and his power, he would have to force them. Make them accept him by force, following the way of the Barbarians. For a moment, he thought about leaving the tribe to join Tribe Pearot, but that would be accepting defeat. And he had yet to be defeated.

Neither he nor the Ancestors had accepted the result of the Battle of Generation. That, if nothing else, was something Ulfar was certain about. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Hakon has to die. Behemoth Blood whispered into his ears, and it was right. There was no way around that. Hakon had to die, but in a way that would acknowledge his superiority to all those doubting his power.

Chieftain Ragna Hakon's father watched the lost one return from his hunt. He was stronger than he used to be, and he almost lost control of himself. Was that when the young Barbarian realized that the celebration was held for none other than Hakon, or was it something else that enraged Ulfar, wielder of Behemoth Blood? Chieftain Ragna could not be certain, but whatever it was that enraged Ulfar, it was enough to send him over the edge.

He half-expected the young, foolish warrior to charge at the next-best target or to seek out Hakon to kill him. Yet, against his expectations, Ulfar walked away from the Monolith and the celebration. You are in control of yourself. A little, at least. Chieftain Ragna mused, wondering if he had done the right thing. Ulfar was finally done. No matter how calm he appeared to be now that he'd retained control of Behemoth Blood, his bloodlust never faded.

It only grew more potent, confirming to the chieftain that Ulfar was finally lost. Had he pushed him too far? Did I force him too much? He asked himself, but no answer would come to him. His son had grown much stronger in the last few moons, but so had Ulfar. And, by now, Ulfar was maybe even stronger than Hakon. Maybe it had been a mistake, but Chieftain Ragna would see to it. He had to. They had to. Time was running out, and Ragna could not afford to unleash his full power.

Not if he wanted to keep the Silver Dragon in check. Useless. Ragna growled inwardly, finding himself cursing the Ancestors for the umpteenth time. What's the use of transcending when I can't do anything? Transcending the mortal limits and reaching the 6th Ascension should have given him the power to do all he pleased, yet it restricted him more than anything. He failed not only himself but those around him all the same.

And now Tribe Pearot was causing trouble, the Ancestors were growing more impatient with every passing night, and the Blood Pact with the beings outside the dark forest was about to end. It was written in his blood, for he was the descendant who changed it all. And now he could do nothing more than restrain all those powers, acting like foolhardy, greedy bastards… All while waiting for his son to grow strong enough to stand beside him. You have to grow faster, son. Much faster.

Ragna knew Hakon had defeated a Young Drake, and that was an even greater feat than Ulfar could have achieved at the peak of the 1st Ascension. But would that be enough to defeat Ulfar now that the one-armed fool had grown even more? It had to be. Turning to the forest, he peered into its depths. The presence of the Currentstalker was still there. It was well-hidden and almost perfectly camouflaged, but he could still sense it – her. How could he not sense her when he was so familiar with the elemental being?

She would never escape his attention, not as long as she roamed through his forest.

"Aqui," he whispered under his breath, a pained expression marring his face.

Thorian Blainslay – Alliance Being the seventh son of a regular noble house was nowhere near as grand as the common folk likely expected. All it provided Thorian with was a recognized family name, some coin – even if it wasn't as much as the common folk liked to believe – and good genes. And, of course, thorough training. Years of training with the sword and the mind until the calling finally reached him as well. All members of House Blainslay awakened the System.

They were all granted access to the mythical structure that separated the common folk from the Chosen. Rarely, members of the common folk awakened the System; less than five out of a hundred if the history records were to be trusted formed a connection with the System. Even fewer possessed enough potential to form a Mana Core or a Will Seed, locking them out from the realm of the Chosen. Thorian, being the youngest of the Blainslay, had been a late bloomer.

He gained access to the System when he was six, which was very early, almost comparable to the prodigies of the royal house, yet while he advanced quickly, he never got to form a Will Seed or a Mana Core. Not until his 21st birthday. By that time, his Skills had grown considerably and were only waiting for the power of the right Will to transform them into something much greater. But even after forming the first of what was supposed to be many Will Seeds, the Blooming never came.

Even now, 25 years old, he was only a Squire with a single Will Seed. He reached Level 20 the year he became a Squire, and yet, four years later, he was still stuck. A family disgrace. A loser, one even his family didn't want to deal with any longer. That was why they sent him to the baron's forces. To join the campaign into the Devil's Lair. He had two options. Either he would fight the greatest of monsters and attain enlightenment to finally become a proper Knight, or he would never get to leave the Devil's Lair.

He'd die to the horrendous creatures roaming the treacherous forest. His family didn't care which of the two possibilities would come true. Either he would be dead and they could forget all about him, or he would finally break through and become a full-fledged Knight. Even if I survive, what comes next? They won't stop until I become a Grand Knight. No, that won't be enough for them either. Thorian snorted. His family wouldn't stop bothering him until he advanced to a Lord Knight.

Only then would he finally receive their acknowledgment… by becoming the first Lord Knight of House Blainslay. He really loathed his family, yet it was also the family that showered him in love when he was a child. They only wanted the best for him and provided love, care, and all the resources one could wish for.

"We're moving out!" A deep voice hollered across the campsite, pulling Thorian out of his thoughts. It was time to move into the Devil's Lair. To grow stronger, so that his blade could drink in the blood of the devious beings haunting the Alliance. And, of course, to claim dungeons to acquire more resource points for the Alliance. The Gods knew that they needed more resources. Badly. But before he could conquer any dungeons, Thorian would have to survive his first night in the gloomy forest.

That was enough of a challenge for a Squire.