Book 6, Chapter 48


Bearchild’s enormous body slowly keeled over, his knees hitting the ground before he fell on his hands. As he groaned in the agony of being unable to breathe, Richard walked over and lifted his head by the air.

*Smack! Smack!* A few teeth flew out from his face as Richard whispered, “You wanna fuck, don’t you? Well, you can fuck right off back to your tribe.”

Bearchild’s face turned pale before a blush of anger overcame his expression, blood still leaking from his mouth. A public defeat was one thing, but to be slapped around like this was entirely different; this was a shame that he could not erase in his lifetime. He had wanted to beat Richard up and spit in his face in front of everyone, but he didn’t expect this fight to spell his own end.

Richard had already walked back to the edge of the ring, but the referee still took a while to stare at him in surprise before snapping back to his senses and ordering people to drag Bearchild off the court, ”Number 509, Zassa! Zassa!”

Zassa was a warrior of more average build amongst the barbarians, but he looked to be carved of steel. He rubbed his iron gloves as he got on stage, staring at Richard like a wolf, “I don’t like you. I’m going to knock you down and slap you like you did to Bearchild.”

Richard didn’t even respond, staring blankly into the air in the midst of new simulations. Zassa screamed and rushed over like a leopard, but his fists got nowhere near close to Richard before he went stiff as well. Richard withdrew his leg once more and grabbed the stumbling warrior by the hair, slapping him twice and throwing him off stage.

The eyes of the shrine warrior changed from surprise to shock. He stared at Richard deeply before calling for number 406, Giwulu.

Giwulu was a well-built warrior in his forties that used a heavy two-handed axe. He raised his axe the moment he got on stage, “Do you not use a weapon? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Richard’s eyes finally regained clarity as he glanced at his opponent, shaking his head, “No need.”

Giwulu’s eyes turned red as he waved his axe, charging forward, but just as with both previous times he turned stiff before he could make a single attack. The axe left his hands and dropped to the ground, and Richard had walked back to the edge of the ring. This enemy had shown respect, so there would be no humiliation.


Richard had fought five short battles before he was sent off stage, each resolved in a single strike. The bonfires were lit once more when the sky turned dark, the winners naturally elated and the losers refusing to care. The atmosphere quickly reached a crescendo, and many winners snuck into the tents of the women to claim their prize. The night wind carried hundreds of heavy screams as none of them bothered masking their voices, revelling in their ferocity and stamina.

This time, Richard had one of the bonfires all to himself, eating and drinking as before. Naturally, nobody was here to provoke him this time; they knew that such an act would only humiliate themselves.

Gesang walked over and sat next to him, handing over a new wineskin, “So your name is Richard. I didn’t expect you to be so powerful, no wonder you didn’t come last night.”

Richard finally looked up and said softly, “Are you not afraid of me?”

“Why should I be?”

“No one else dares to sit nearby.”

“Because you outfought them. I don’t have any plans to fight you.”

Richard looked at the warriors who were participating in what was basically an orgy, “These people are supposed to be warriors? All I see is muscles, no mind. The strong ones just try to bully the weak, is that supposed to be courage?”

Gesang looked him in the eye, “You are not a barbarian.”

“Not important.”

“I just want to invite you to my tent.”

“Sigh. Sorry, I don’t want to. I don’t like the idea of these nightly visits.”

“I don’t either…” Gesang gave him an unexpected answer, “Do you want to hear my story?”

“You can speak, but I won’t necessarily listen.”

“Years ago, I was still living rather close to the sea and met a brave fighter from Norland. I… fell in love with the hunter who had come all the way to Klandor to find prey. He eventually told me he would come back to take me away, but during the next hunting festival the best hunter in the tribe walked into my tent. He was the hero of the tribe, bringing enough food for us to last weeks… I was very young then, and although I tried there was no way to resist. It…” she sniffled, “It was a painful night.

“The Norlander returned to Klandor one year later, but by then I already had a baby. He only looked at me once before turning around, and I never saw him again. I was scared that this would happen, I knew that some of the things that are accepted here are not okay in Norland, but…” she stifled another sob.

“Good story,” Richard commented, “You want me to replace him?”

Gesang shook her head, “We didn’t share a bed, even for a single night. I regret that, but you are not him. I don’t want to use you to replace him.”

Richard stood up at this point, “The story is over, I should rest.”

“Wait, Richard!” Gesang called after him, “You don’t want to enter my tent, but there were other winners today. Could you… Could you stop them?”

Richard looked her in the eye, “Why are you here then?”

“It was the only way to learn, to grow. If I hadn’t come, I wouldn’t become stronger.”

Richard didn’t say a word, just walking back to his tent. Tears started welling up in Gesang’s eyes, but then he walked out again with a long sword in hand. He walked over to Gesang’s tent and stabbed the blade into the ground right at the entrance before nodding and returning.

The elven sword flashed with a cold silver light in the middle of the night, but Gesang felt her heart growing warm. The welling tears did eventually stream down her face, but she walked into her tent in peace.


The noise slowly died down as the night grew darker. Many of the winning warriors had great stamina, but they were still tired after hours of non-stop copulation.

A group of drunk warriors stumbled around near Gesang’s camp, and one of them suddenly looked over, “I heard Gesang is beautiful.”

Another warrior smiled, “She is, but she’s also a thorn.”

“Who gives a fuck if she resists? I won all five matches today, I’m fucking her!”

The group headed closer to the tent and found the sword inserted at the entrance. The meaning was quite clear.

“Whose is this?” the warrior asked.

“I saw Richard putting it there, Number 1089.”

“Richard?” the leader sneered as he moved to pull the sword out, “He’s just a lucky fart that encountered trash—”

“Touch that blade and your arm is forfeit,” a voice whispered behind him. The warrior looked around immediately, but finding Richard in the distance he only grew enraged as he grabbed the elven sword and yanked it out of the earth.

The very next second, the sword was back in the earth. The warrior only saw Richard taking a single step forward, left hand flashing with bright red light as he slashed into the shoulder. By the time he regained his senses, Richard was already walking back into his tent.

It was only when the tent flap closed that the warrior realised exactly what had happened. Staring with surprise at the seemingly tiny cut on his shoulders, he watched as his arm broke away from the body and fell to the ground.

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OMA's Thoughts

Translated By: OMA

Edited By: Theo