Chương 2

A Challenge would come when the stars aligned. Nobody really knew how soon that was. Only the Shaman would know, and even he had to wait until the Ancestors told him. But a challenge was a challenge. The young would fight one another, spilling their blood to determine who was the strongest among all those who went through the Rite. His father, the chieftain that came before him, and the chieftain before that had all been the greatest warriors among their peers.

Therefore, the challenge of the young would determine the next leader as well. Hakon understood what that meant. He had to emerge victorious in the challenge. It had to be him or… Or I will never be able to prove myself to my father. Becoming the next chieftain was a necessity. For his family but also himself. Because he would never truly surpass his father if he did not become a chieftain either. Hakon had already failed his father too often. One more time, and it would be over. His father would abandon him.

Just like he had abandoned Hakon's mother. Memories of his mother pulled on old scars, but he quickly swallowed the sorrow and pain. As a Barbarian, a true warrior, he had to be strong and resilient. Emotions were for the weak, and Hakon refused to be one of them. He was strong–or had been. The Rite turned the tide. It weakened him greatly. While the Bloodbearers and Blessed's physique were already much greater than they used to be, he was the same. Nothing had changed for him.

After all, Ancient Powers of the Mind did not reinforce the physique – the most important asset of all Barbarians. It was what they needed the most, for it protected them against the threats of the wilds, be it harsh winters or fierce monsters. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Ulfar felt more dangerous than before, and so did his followers. Even the Giant Blood warriors were a threat now. The Ancient Power's strength was one thing.

That did not even include the power they would acquire from the older warrior's teachings. For they too were Bloodbearers and Blessed. Hakon narrowed his eyes as his senses perked up. Something stirred in the back of his mind, but he discarded the odd sensation when the Shaman's voice rang out once more, each word resonating with the entire tribe.

"When the silver moon is ripe, Tribe Taskur's young warriors will fight. Wield the Ancestors' gift as a blade meant to kill, and grow strong enough to prove they chose right," he intoned as the tattoos returned to their original places. With that, the Rite came to an end. Excited, triumphant cheers echoed through the surroundings, and the older tribesmen joined the young. Many gathered around the Behemoth Blood. Most did, and their numbers included the men and women who had been with Hakon before the Rite started.

They changed sides, and Hakon could not hold that against them. Ulfar had awakened a great Ancient Power. Everyone could sense the presence of his power. It was everpresent, and he had yet to use it actively.

"Can you beat him?" Björn asked, the joy of his own awakening momentarily forgotten.

"No." Hakon answered without hesitation. There were no 'ifs' or 'buts'… Ulfar was stronger.

"You have several nights until the silver moon is ripe. That should be more than enough for you." Astrid spoke in a manner that didn't allow rebuttal. Björn, however, did not recognize her tone and quipped, "Astrid might win." Several sets of footsteps rang out from the side before Astrid could punch Björn, and several presences, some tinged with bloodlust, weighed down on the group. Ulfar greeted them with a smile that could not have been any more predatory as they turned around.

"The Ancestors recognized your worth. Or how worthless you are," he bellowed, towering slightly above Hakon when he had been shorter before the Rite. His Ancient Power lived up to its legends and provided Ulfar with the strength needed to lead a tribe. He would soon be powerful enough to stand side by side with the older Barbarians and would surpass them. Just like he had surpassed Hakon. And now it was time to make an example. To show the tribe that he was superior to the man everyone had once called his rival.

"Are you done?" Hakon asked. He was not that easily swayed. His temper may not be the best, but Hakon trusted the Ancestors. They would not be so cruel as to give him an Ancient Power weaker than Ulfar's. If they chose the Mind for him, so be it. He would use it to crush Ulfar. To show the tribe that he was more than just the chieftain's son. Even his father would have to acknowledge him. Ulfar's right eye twitched and his face hardened, but he did not stoop to crush him in front of everyone.

Not without a challenge. He knew better than to enrage the tribe.

"I will crush you," he growled and left, his Giant Blood followers spitting "Failure" at him. Hakon and Björn just stared at the leaving pack and then at each other. Ulfar was no fool, but he certainly acted like one at times.

"Astrid is going to kill them." Björn let out a laugh as they both turned to look at Astrid. She couldn't hear them, her eyes as cold as the fiercest winter, a crimson hue pouring out of her as her Arcane Power triggered subconsciously. Hakon shuddered, death looming over the group until Astrid finally calmed down.

"The chieftain would not mind the loss of a dozen Giant Bloods, would he?" she asked, a touch too calm. He shrugged.

"As long as you make up for the loss of their strength. So… no, he will not care."

"Speaking about your father." Björn had stopped laughing and looked to the side, lowering his head for a moment.

"Chieftain." Astrid followed Björn's example, and so did Hakon as he turned to see the chieftain. His father didn't grace him with a glance. He offered a nod to Björn, and his eyes gleamed ever so slightly as he looked at Astrid.

"The Ancestors favor you, child. Make use of their blessing. Fight well, child." His gravelly voice rang in Hakon's ears even though the words weren't directed at him. This was as far as the chieftain ever went to praise someone. The words meant little from others, but from him–they were the greatest compliment Hakon had ever heard, and they were aimed at Astrid. That stung. It shouldn't have, not after so many cycles, but it still did. The chieftain turned away and walked back to the hut.

While he did not say anything to his son, Hakon knew better than to let his father wait.

"Do you want to hunt tomorrow? Together?" Astrid asked, but Hakon shook his head. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"I am sure your mother will pull you through the Deepshire Cavern Fracture. Even if she doesn't want you to be a chieftain, Blood Fury changes everything," he reasoned.

"It doesn't change much," Astrid sighed.

"The old hag wants nothing more than to torture me." The young warriors knew she didn't mean her words literally. Then again, Astrid's mother had considered leaving Taskur for cycles, and her voice had grown louder with every season the Shaman did not return to perform the Rite. Now that her daughter had awakened, that was no longer the case. She had a new project to pour her strength and energy into–Astrid"Have fun," Hakon announced and left to follow his father back to the hut.

The chieftain waited before the entrance, carrying a mace and a sword. No words were exchanged, but the meaning was clear when he lobbed the sword toward Hakon. They walked silently to the back of the hut, where an open field waited–a small area void of greenery. Specks of dried blood adorned the ground, giving it a savage touch. And that it was: savage. What looked like a makeshift arena to spar in was more of a ring of punishment, depending on who looked at it.

"The Tribes are on the move. Unlike us, the Onyr, some of the smaller tribes, and the Pearot retained the Ancestors' grace. Their warriors awakened every cycle, which the Pearot used to claim some of the smaller tribes. Or destroy them when they didn't submit. The Onyr will probably submit to the Pearot in a cycle or two if nothing changes," his father said matter-of-factly while hefting his massive mace. He entered the arena, and Hakon followed, balancing his sword in his strong hand.

"You think the Ancestors favor Pearot and their allies?" Hakon asked, ready to fend off his father the moment he stepped fully into the arena.

"No." The chieftain laughed coldly.

"They pitied them. We grew too strong too fast, so they begged the Ancestors for mercy." His father spat to the ground.

"But the Ancestors are fair. They would never abandon their blood. In exchange for taking the Rite from us for so many cycles, they blessed us all the more now that the Shaman has returned." Hakon raised an eyebrow at his father. His guard lowered for no more than a split second, but his father took advantage of it. He blurred, appeared before his son with blinding speed, and rocketed the mace into Hakon's side. It looked like a light blow at first glance, but Hakon knew better.

He braced himself for the worst, only to be hurled through the air. His side burned. Several bones cracked but did not break. Shooting up from the ground, sword still resting in his hand, Hakon stood once more.

"I knew the Ancestors would not forget our tribe. I expected a lot from them." The chieftain shook his head, disappointment sprawled across his face.

"And I was right. They did not forget us. Two powers of legend awakened in the same generation. That is unheard of. Yet, I was wrong as well. My expectations were wrong." Dark, emotionless eyes rested on him.

"You are a warrior now. You, just like your friends and peers, will join the warriors in the fight against Pearot once the time has come. But who will lead the young generation to battle? You?!" He blurred once more and appeared in the exact same spot. Anticipating the move, Hakon planted his feet firmly into the ground, sword raised. He leaned into the exchange, prepared to divert his father's strike. He slashed at the chieftain, only to phase straight through mace and arm.

His father appeared on the other side, the mace impacting a moment later and hurling Hakon through the air once more. A sickening crunch followed as Hakon pushed himself to his feet, his left arm and right side flooding him with pain. The chieftain allowed him to stand. He always did. He also never used his full strength. If he had wanted to, he could have knocked his son out cold long before Hakon realized what had happened. But he chose against it.

He injured Hakon badly all the same, but all injuries would heal overnight. The chieftain knew very well how quickly his son recovered. All Barbarians healed fast; however, his father remembered Hakon's natural regeneration all too well. Nothing escaped his notice. Hakon circled his father, knuckles white from his tight grip. The chieftain said nothing, but he wanted his son to represent him in the tribal wars. It was an order, even if it was never spoken aloud. But why did he not say it? He thinks I cannot do it.

Hakon gritted his teeth. Had he failed one more of his father's impossible tests? Again?

"Come at me," he growled, no longer ignoring the prodding in the back of his mind. Hakon reached out to the weapon and grabbed it tightly. The chieftain blurred in the same instant and appeared to his right. But this time, something was different. After thousands of beatings from his father, he too remembered his movements to a fault. Usually, that mattered little. He was too slow to respond and was hit, his blood fertilizing the sparring ring. That was no longer the case.

Hakon noticed a shift in his father's movement. Barely, yet clearly enough to know what he had to do next. His father did not execute another feint. He swung the mace head-on at his son. Hakon was ready. The corner of his lips curled into a savage grin as he took a half-step back, sword raised in time to divert the incoming strike. His sword vibrated heavily, and his arms shuddered at the impact, but the mace failed to crack open bones this time around.

In response to his actions, the Ancient Scripture coalesced before Hakon. [Skill [Combat Awareness] has been learned.] Before he could check the letters etched on the tattered piece of leather that formed the Scripture, they dispersed. But Hakon did not need to read the ancient text to know what was written. His instincts took over, telling him all he needed to know; he didn't need the old warriors' teachings to wield the Ancient Scripture and learn new Skills. A slight change in movement caught his attention.

It was subtle and nearly slipped his notice yet Hakon responded to itHe raised his sword, his stance shifting as his father struck again. The second strike was averted as well, but something felt wrong. His father was all the same. Instead, it was him who was wrong. His stance, the way his feet shifted in response to the chieftain's every action, how he carried his sword. Hakon trusted his instincts and adapted. He leaned forward, sword coming down at his father. [Sword Mastery has been recognized. Skill generated. Level adjusted to proficiency.] He never even came close to actually hitting his father. The chieftain swatted the blade out of his face like an annoying Bloodmoth and kicked Hakon in the stomach. Hakon gasped for air as he was pushed back, his heart racing wildly. Clutching the sword handle even tighter than before, he barely recognized the pulse of warmth coming from his stomach. The pain faded, leaving behind a sense of curiosity. He tried to reach out to Lifeblood, but it escaped effortlessly.

Multiple ideas formed in his mind, each weirder than the last, and he wanted to try all of them. His father had different plans. The chieftain appeared beside Hakon, fist raised and ready to descend to crush his son. Part of Hakon wanted to retreat, but the other part screamed at him, urging him to grasp the opportunity. I need to be faster. The last attack was too slow. It felt wrong as well. That was new, but he didn't question it. Instead, he leaned into the wrongness as if he had never done anything different.

If he was too slow, all he needed to do was adapt. Find the problem and crush it! Hakon leaned lower, heel pressing firmly into the ground right before he shot toward his father. His adjustment was minuscule, but the result was as clear as day and night. He accumulated more speed in the short distance, and the sword surged toward the target faster as well. Sharper. Deadlier. [Proficiency gained. [Sword Mastery Lv. 16] improved to [Sword Mastery Lv. 17].] The more he listened to the sense of wrongness, the more flaws unraveled before his bare eyes. So much was wrong. Even now, his movement was flawed, his stance far from perfect. The sense of perfection he'd once felt when wielding a sword was nowhere to be found. It was like it never existed, as if it was a foolish dream to seek perfection. His steps felt sluggish even as he reached his father, moving faster than before, and he tried to adapt once more, but the chieftain didn't remain idle.

He twisted his upper body, his fist gathering momentum as it thundered against the side of Hakon's head. It felt like someone ground his skull in a mortar. His head throbbed, his sight was blurry, and the rest of his body threatened to escape his grasp as well, but Hakon was not done. He was nowhere near done. Lifeblood pulsed and spread through his stomach. It moved almost eagerly, like it wanted to aid him to victory. Its warmth filled Hakon with the strength needed to continue, so he charged once more.

This time, something about his footwork caught his attention. He searched for the source of wrongness, only to realize that it was everywhere. Reading his sword's movement, Hakon stabbed at his father, trying to move between the chieftain's exposed openings, desperately seeking ways to improve and vanquish the sense of wrongness. If that was what it took to cut his father, so be it. But no matter how painfully obvious his father's intentionally exposed spots were, Hakon failed to reach them.

More warmth spread from his abdomen, but the strength it provided eluded him as a crimson hue oozed from the chieftain's skin.

"I expected worse," he grunted, their eyes meeting for a moment. In the next instant, Hakon felt a heavy impact, and the world around him turned dark.