Luke Cage's words piqued Bulkathos's interest, ignoring Jill's tug to leave.
"I'm not talking about that guy. If you were alone, you'd thrive here, but you've got a burden."
Luke saw Bulkathos's intrigued look and shifted topics.
He'd felt the Barbarian King's heart-shaking aura of rage that night. He believed even Kingpin couldn't harm this towering man easily.
But a strong man with a child had a weakness.
These weren't comic book villains charging head-on; they were gangsters exploiting every advantage.
Luke's overflowing justice pushed him to warn Bulkathos, but that was his limit.
Who helps strangers selflessly? Not Luke—not yet.
No saint would appear in Hell's Kitchen.
Unknowingly, the "tights-wearing freak" Luke mentioned, the Brother Hero, was nearly a saint.
Not quite, as he didn't naively reform punks but broke their limbs and dumped them at the police station.
"You're worried my troubles will affect this kid?"
Bulkathos seemed to ponder, but those who knew him recognized this as boredom, not thought.
Who expects a tribe quicker to act than think to plan ahead?
They wouldn't be called barbarians if they did.
"Young man, you misunderstand me. Why assume I'll cause trouble here?"
Bulkathos ruffled Jill's head, finding the short stubble oddly pleasant.
Luke stared at him like he was a monster.
With Bulkathos's temper that day, how could he think he wouldn't stir trouble in this violent place?
His aura screamed he'd slaughter all enemies!
Trouble in Hell's Kitchen wouldn't end easily.
It'd escalate from a personal feud to group conflict, only stopping when higher powers intervened or one side survived.
Jill pushed Bulkathos's rough hand off his head.
"Fine, if you insist."
Luke dropped the topic.
His justice had stretched far enough warning a stranger.
"If you ever need help, find me at the smithy. Don't worry, it's the only one around."
Bulkathos gave Luke a meaningful look, pointing toward his shop.
"Swords or armor, I've got what you need."
Smiling, he led Jill toward the supermarket.
In this country, fresh ingredients meant the supermarket.
Convenience stores offered only fast food or fillers, not ingredients—refrigeration cost money.
"Uncle, what're we buying?"
Jill craned his neck to see Bulkathos's towering face.
At eleven, his one-meter-thirty height was short.
No big deal—if he became a barbarian, Bulkathos wouldn't mind sharing blood for the initiation rite.
Barbarians weren't all as tall as Bulkathos, but even the shortest stood one-eighty.
With Bulkathos's Nephalem blood growing closer to the ancestors, Jill wouldn't stay small.
"First, vegetables you like, spices I like, and definitely meat."
Bulkathos kept his voice as low as possible, still sounding like a shout.
Thankfully, they weren't yet in the supermarket's enclosed space.
Else, bystanders might suffer.
"And milk. Mom said I need it to grow tall."
Bulkathos saw tears in Jill's eyes at "Mom." He crouched, ruffling Jill's head.
"Then we'll buy plenty. Our fridge needs stocking."
Seeing Jill force back tears, Bulkathos felt a pang.
"If I'd accepted those female warriors' advances, would I have grandkids now?" His mind wandered.
Female barbarian warriors—tall, muscular, undeniably beautiful.
Powerful muscles, sturdy yet supple frames, full of charm.
They were prized partners in Sanctuary, but only for strong men—proud women had no time for those who couldn't slay demons.
Bulkathos preferred a partner unlike himself—one barbarian per household was enough.
Off the battlefield, free from focus, his mind buzzed.
His warrior life revolved around few questions:
Where's the demon?
Bag's full—don't treat me like a mule.
Where's the next level?
Beyond that, he didn't even ponder the next meal.
A man who'd fill a room with hard black bread had little care for food.
Not a refined mage or faithful monk, his only food rule was: edible.
"Uncle, stop rubbing my head—it's gonna get polished."
Jill struggled against Bulkathos's grip, but held by one hand, he couldn't match barbarian strength.
His flailing went unnoticed by Bulkathos, lost in thought.
Even demons wondered what could make him react.
Covered in wounds, face blank, wielding weapons—demons questioned if they were angels and Bulkathos the devil.
Fire and arcane couldn't make him flinch; poison turned him green, yet he'd lop off demon heads unfazed.
"Alright, let's shop."
Bulkathos stood, leading Jill to the supermarket.
(End of Chapter)