The Veiled Man
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The Barbarian Awakening - Chapter 17
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 16:56:22 +0000 UTCChapter 17: A Dreadful Night The forest found a strange way of swallowing us whole. The deeper we went, the more the world behind seemed to
Chapter 17: A Dreadful Night The forest found a strange way of swallowing us whole. The deeper we went, the more the world behind seemed to
Chapter 17: A Dreadful Night
The forest found a strange way of swallowing us whole. The deeper we went, the more the world behind seemed to fade into a forgotten echo, leaving us with only the oppressive shadowed trees and thick, suffocating silence. The moon overhead barely managed to pierce the dense canopy, leaving the ground dappled in fractured patches of silvery light.
“You holding well?” I patted my horse's hide, making him neigh. It'd been a few days since we'd been riding, only taking very short breaks, less than three hours.
Even I was starting to feel tired.
All of our horses’ hooves made dull thuds against the moss-covered floor, the sound muffled in the night. There was something unsettling about this forest—the way the usual rustling and chittering of nocturnal creatures were absent, replaced by an eerie void. It almost felt like the whole forest was watching our group.
It didn't help that the urgency of our journey hung over our heads. The health of Princess Isolde’s father, the King, was failing, and every second felt like it mattered. Even though Ragna and I weren't even part of this nation, we could tell the tension in the group.
I- Thorvyn had lost his father as well. Dragan Valteria, as the previous chieftain, could be said to be the King of Valtherians, so thanks to his memories and emotions, I could relate to her worry. Although the way Thorvyn’s father died as a Hero during a battle, unlike in bed.
The old man's face was similar to my own father's, from back on Earth. So as I recalled the memories of Wodynn’s death, I didn't feel very good. Like every child, I would have hated to see my father die. Thankfully I never had to see it…
Unless I somehow return back to Earth, I guess. I sighed in my head.
“Pick up speed, everyone!” Princess Isolde shouted from her carriage. She didn't seem to realize how tired we were, being in a carriage and all. Perhaps grief blinds even the wisest eyes.
We'd fought more kobold and goblin ambushes for the past few days, their attacks growing bolder and more coordinated. They were just pests, but pests with numbers, and that made them dangerous enough. We were all on edge, our sleep very short, broken into fitful shifts, weapons never far from our hands. It was hard to speed up further.
I shot a glance over at Ragna. Her face that was usually so expressive, was now taut, her eyes scanning the treetops for any hint of movement. She caught my gaze and offered a smirk that was more teeth than smile.
“Miss the slabs of stone yet?” she asked, her voice low, a thread of humor buried beneath her wariness.
I grunted, adjusting the grip on my reins. “You mean our comfortable beds back home? Yeah, this endless journey makes those rocks seem like feather pillows.”
I couldn't believe we were fantasizing about sleep right now.
Ragna let out a huff of a laugh, but her eyes never stopped moving. She was always vigilant. The tension had been building between us and the Wolfsbane mercenaries for days now. They made no effort to hide their disdain for us—the “barbarian duo” as one of them had dubbed us.
I’d let the jabs slide as long as they weren't too much, plus it wasn’t worth the energy. But I could see it eating at Ragna. She wasn’t one to take insults lightly, and each taunt seemed to add fuel to a fire that I feared would eventually explode.
Ahead, the Wolfsbane captain raised his hand, signaling for a stop. The group began to slow, the mercenaries grumbling as they dismounted.
“Why did you stop?” Sir Allister asked.
“We’re taking a rest,” the captain announced, his voice carrying an edge of irritation, as if he was annoyed by the very air around us.
Princess Isolde, riding in the white carriage in the middle of the convoy, peeked her head out. Her blue eyes, filled with fatigue and something softer, swept over the group. She wanted to continue, to go faster even, but she wasn't blind. She sighed, “Very well. We’ll rest for a short while.”
She sounded reluctant, but there wasn’t much else to do. The mercenaries were tired, and pushing them further would only lead to mistakes. Mistakes could mean death.
I swung off my horse, giving the brown-furred beast a gentle pat on its side. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and pine, the kind of scent that clung to you and made you forget the world outside the forest even existed. Ragna landed beside me, her boots hitting the ground with a dull thud, she laughed to her horse, and we lodged the two fine stallions together.
Her eyes then flicked toward the mercenaries as they moved to set up camp. “Bunch of cowards,” she muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Let it go,” I said, keeping my voice even. “They’re tired. We all are.”
“Tired don’t make you a coward,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing at the mercenaries as they laughed among themselves, their voices carrying a mocking edge.
“No, but it makes you sloppy,” I replied, turning my back to them. “And sloppy gets you killed.”
Ragna huffed, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she followed me as we moved toward a small clearing on the edge of the camp.
We worked quickly, setting up our tent—just one, since there wasn’t time or energy for luxuries like separate shelters. The fire was already dying down by the time we finished our meals, its embers casting a faint glow that barely reached the edges of the clearing. I could hear the princess approaching, her footsteps soft, hesitant.
“You two will share a tent again?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity, perhaps even a little unease.
Ragna shrugged, glancing at me before turning back to Isolde. “It’s just Thorvyn. We’ve done worse. Besides, we’re all too tired to bother with modesty.” She flashed the princess a grin, her teeth catching the flickering firelight.
Isolde nodded, though her expression remained uncertain. “I suppose,” she said, her voice trailing off. Then she looked at Borric and said, “What about you, Mister Borric? You can sleep in my carriage.”
“Oh, no no,” the short, round man quickly refused with a sheepish laugh, waving his hand rapidly. “That would be unsightly. I'll just set up my tent near Thorvyn's.”
Isolde hummed but didn't argue, nodding. She gave us one last look before turning back toward her carriage, her cloak rustling softly in the cool night air.
I watched her retreat, then turned to Borric. “Need help with the tent?”
“No, it's alright. I've been sitting in the carriage all this time, I'd appreciate moving my body a little. Thank you for your offer,” Borric laughed, and I laughed along. Such a simple man.
“Let's head in, then,” I said, looking at Ragna. I yawned, watching her stretch out on the rough ground, her hands behind her head. She nodded, though my gaze drifted back toward the carriage. I found myself frowning.
Today, in particular, the mercenaries’ taunts, their looks, their insistence on stopping—it all felt wrong.
But there was nothing to do now except rest. We’d need every ounce of strength for whatever came next.
I decided to pull my head out of paranoia by chatting with Ragna, and walking towards the tent. “Heh. You think she’s starting to regret tagging along with a couple of barbarians?”
Ragna snorted. “If she hasn’t yet, she will. Especially if those mercenaries keep whining like they have been.” She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. “But she’s tougher than she looks. I’ll give her that.”
We stepped into the tent, and I settled down beside Ragna, the ground hard beneath me. The fire had dwindled to a faint glow, and the cold was seeping in as the forest around us seemed to close in, the shadows growing longer and deeper.
“I don't think you know the Princess is indeed tougher than you,” I said. “That lady is on the 4th Ascension.”
She scowled, “Yeah, I know that. You do remember that I have a similar Skill to your [Dragon's Eye], right? Although I can't literally see their ascension rank, I can feel their strength.”
“Ah, right.”
“Yep. I know she's at a higher level than me. But probably not by much. If she was 5th Ascension, then it'd have been hard to say how much stronger she's compared to me. But at 4th Ascension, I can't be sure who'll win between her and me. We're still Valtherians, Thorvyn, we're stronger than humans.”
“If you say so. Why would it be hard to tell if she was 5th Ascension, though?” I asked, making myself comfortable on the ground.
She tilted her head, giving me an odd look. “How do you not know, Thorvyn? Until the 4th Ascension, every Ascension covers ten levels. For example, the 4th Ascension itself covers levels 40 to 49. Heh, maybe I am the scholar between us two after all.”
“...My memory is a little blurry. Go on?” I paid attention to her words.
She perched herself on an elbow and took a good look at me. Then she continues, “Starting 5th Ascension, the level range gets higher and higher. 5th Ascension covers Level 50 to Level 74, while 6th covers Level 75 to Level 99.”
“....”
“7th Ascension is a bigger jump, covering Level 100 to Level 149. 8th Ascension is similar, it covers until Level 199, and 9th Ascension is anything beyond Level 200. Uh, I don't know where 9th Ascension ends,” she finished with a shrug.
I hummed, narrowing my eyes. I didn't… know that. Thorvyn certainly didn't. He had never been a smart head, he just went ahead and leveled up. I suppose Ragna is more intelligent than the original Thorvyn.
I yawned, “Alright, then. Thank you for explaining. Now go take a nap,” I said. “I'll keep watch for the first bit.” That was what I’d done last time since she fell asleep immediately after entering the tent.
But this time, something was different.
"...Well, I can stay up with you? If you want." Ragna dragged her body closer, the heat of her radiating against me in the cool night air.
I paused, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. The fire outside cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips.
"We can both stay awake together," she said softly, her face inches from mine, close enough that I could count each freckle scattered across her nose. Her eyes, those fierce amber orbs that had glared down countless enemies, now held something else—something vulnerable and questioning.
Was I reading the situation wrong, or...?
Her hand reached up, fingers threading through my white hair with surprising gentleness for a woman who crushed skulls with her club. Her touch lingered at the base of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. Her eyes grew hazy, unfocused, as if she were looking at me but seeing something else entirely.
"That... Princess Isolde. What do you think of her?" The question hung between us, weighted with unspoken meaning.
I couldn't help but laugh—a quiet sound that rumbled in my chest. "That’s a silly thing to ask. Even if I have thoughts about her, she's a princess and I'm a barbarian." I studied Ragna's face, noting how the flush crept up her neck to her cheeks.
“Does that mean you have ‘thoughts’ about her?”
"Is that jealousy I sense, Ragna?" I meant it as a tease, but the way her face reddened made my heart drum against my ribs.
"Just answer the question, dammit," she growled, smacking my chest softly with her other hand, though the heat had gone from her voice. Her hand then rested against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. "It doesn't matter if she's a princess.”
“It does.”
“No, it doesn’t. Listen. Although I don't know much about how the larger world works, I understand hierarchy a little. This nation is small and weak. If we take the Pillar of the Tribe, for example, nations like this would willingly send their Queens to his bed. Let alone Princesses. I’m not exaggerating, you’ll see when we meet the man." Her voice dropped lower, her breath warm against my neck. "So... what do you think of her?"
I hesitated, not because I was unsure of the answer, but because of what this moment meant. Ragna's body pressed against mine was anything but subtle—all hard muscle wrapped in soft curves, her strong thighs and broad shoulders built from years of combat.
Yet there was a softness to her I hadn't noticed before, in the swell of her breast against my chest and the vulnerability in her eyes.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached across her waist, my palm finding the curve of her hip. I pulled her closer until our bodies aligned perfectly—her softness against my hardness, her warmth against my cool. I heard her swallow, felt the slight tremor that ran through her body as our chests pressed together.
The air between us crackled with tension, thick with desire and something deeper neither of us was ready to name.
"Ragna," I said, my voice rough with restraint. "We met Isolde mere days ago." I traced my thumb along the edge of her hip, feeling her shudder at the touch. "Firstly, I don't like her like that. She's beautiful, and quite fun to talk to, but I don't see her like that." I leaned closer, my lips nearly grazing her ear. "And even if she was... I don't think she stands any chance against the woman who's rubbing her thighs against mine right now."
Her face burned crimson as she buried it against my chest, her mumbled "mhm, I see," vibrating against my skin. Her body relaxed against mine, tension draining away like water through sand.
It was clear she didn't want anything more right now.
The question had been answered, and now she was hiding her satisfied grin against my chest, her fingers idly tracing patterns on my arm. Not that we could do anything more in this situation, camping in the middle of nowhere with people surrounding us.
Ragna giggled once, a soft sound I'd rarely heard from her, before she fell quiet. A long moment later that felt like energy amid this tension, her breathing slowed and deepened as sleep claimed her. Her body was still tangled with mine, her hand resting possessively on my chest.
I smiled. Before I knew it, sleep claimed me too, despite my attempt to stay awake and keep a watch. Fatigue claimed me too quickly, pulling me into a shallow, restless sleep I didn’t intend.
It was the kind of sleep that hovered just at the edges, never quite pulling one under, never quite letting them rest. Odd.
****
How many hours had passed? The campfire had burned low, its embers a dim glow swallowed by the night.
The chill had set in, seeping into my bones, a biting cold that even the fur blanket couldn’t fend off. I wasn’t sure what had woken me—a sound, perhaps, or just that gnawing sense that something was off. Ragna was still asleep by my side.
The world outside the tent was cloaked in darkness, the kind that made one's skin crawl, that whispered secrets you weren’t meant to hear. I pushed the tent flap aside, squinting at the clearing. My fingers found the cool iron of my ax, a reassuring weight in my palm. Something had changed.
The forest had fallen silent, an unnatural kind of quiet, as if it, too, held its breath. I scowled, turning my head around to find the horses weren't where I left them. The only two horses large enough to carry Ragna and I were gone. Where did they go?
I looked around more, taking a step forward, but instead of the solid ground, my foot landed on something solid. I hadn't seen it earlier because it was lying on the ground. My eyes trembled. Something dark, sprawled at the camp’s edge. My heart gave a sudden lurch, a cold knot forming in my gut. I quickly took a step back.
"Borric?" The name slipped out, barely more than a whisper. My breath fogged in the cold air, hanging there unanswered.
I moved closer, my boots crunching softly against the frozen ground as I crouched down. My fingers tightened around my ax, knuckles pale. The more I lowered myself, the clearer the shape became—a lump of shadow, lifeless. The glint of metal caught the moonlight, and then the sight of him. The innocent man's body was twisted, eyes staring blankly at something only he could see, blood dark against the forest floor.
Borric…
Borric was dead.
Death never chose the deserving. It claimed the innocent first, leaving the guilty to ponder why they remained. I swallowed hard, chest tightening… The air seemed to thicken, as if the forest had closed in around me, its breath warm and sour against the back of my neck.
“Damn it,” I muttered, feeling a flicker of something hot and bitter rise in my throat. Borric, that lighthearted man—gone, just like that. I knelt down, pressing two fingers against his neck, hoping for some trace of life, some mistake.
Nothing.
Cold fury gripped me, a searing heat that spread from my chest to my limbs. The night around us was heavy and wrong. We were exposed, prey to whatever lurked in the dark. I rose, turning to the rest of the camp, my voice rising above the thick silence.
“We’re under attack!” The shout cut through the stillness, echoing through the clearing. My eyes scanned the tents—no movement, no rustle of hurried footsteps. Nothing but the oppressive dark swallowing my voice whole.
“Get up!” My shout grew desperate, my pulse pounding in my ears. Something was wrong. This kind of quiet—this wasn’t sleep.
It was a trap, and we were caught in the center of it.
Then, finally—a rustle. The flap of a tent pushed aside, Ragna stumbling out, her hair a wild tangle. She blinked at me, disoriented, and then her gaze found Borric. Her eyes widened, breath hitching sharply, horror washing away the last traces of sleep. The color drained from her face, her mouth opening in a small, horrified gap.
“Thorvyn…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, and I turned, my gaze narrowing on the shadows that seemed to crawl toward us, thick and black.
“Stay close,” I said, my own voice tight. This wasn’t right. We were being toyed with—pawns in some twisted game. And someone out there, someone in that darkness, was pulling the strings.
I had a feeling who.
Trust was always a double-edged sword. Offer too little, and you stand alone. Offer too much, and you find it buried in your own back.
As if rattled by my thoughts, a branch snapped in the darkness. We weren't alone in these woods, we had enemies, and those enemies weren’t the hungry type.
Comments
The Hand Behind the Veil
I guess the "chipped handle" description gave it the woody vibe, but it's always been some form of metal. The head is obsidian, but the body is metal. Maybe iron. But yeah steel doesn't fit, I've changed it to iron
BubblyGhost
cool steel? I thought the axe was obsidian and wood?
IdolTrust
Damn my man. Borric is dead and ragna got jealous oh weee
