"You climbed the Holy Mountain—call yourselves warriors."
Bulkathos eyed the armed team, expression calm.
"It's the barbarian festival today. You're lucky to be here—stay for the feast."
Having seen them, he lost interest.
He took Jill's hand, heading to the Elders' Temple plaza.
He waved to the Ancient One but forgot to address the agents.
Barbarian feasts had no strict rules. After the opening performance, it was all drinking and gorging.
Want to spar? Get consent and go.
The feast ended when the moon descended.
Simple as that.
To join, climbing Harrogath granted entry. Do what you want—no other rules.
Bulkathos led Jill and the Ancient One away, leaving the baffled agents.
They'd sensed immense danger from him, so after his warning, they fought the urge to raise their guns.
Their mission was investigation, not combat.
No need to turn hostile with someone open to talk.
"Boss, what now?"
The agents stood stunned. One adjusted his camera, capturing Bulkathos's retreating figure.
They were unprepared for what they found atop the mountain.
Satellite scans showed no life here.
Ghosts were beyond imagination, but a living person was harder to accept.
"Look around, take photos, record!"
Rumlow maintained his senior agent's authority, directing his team.
Seeing the ghosts, they'd contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, now frantically researching spirits.
When Bulkathos appeared on camera, HQ scrambled to investigate him.
Jill was included in their probe.
…
"Director, Rumlow's team found something. You need to see this."
Agent Hill entered Nick Fury's office, briefing him immediately.
Days ago, when Rumlow's team reported failing to reach the summit, Fury sensed something off.
Failing to climb a non-treacherous peak was bizarre for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s elite, who'd conquer Everest with ease.
"Ghosts on that empty mystery mountain?"
Fury cracked a cold joke, easing his overworked nerves.
"Yes, and a person."
Hill placed her laptop before Fury, showing Bulkathos, Jill, and the Ancient One walking away.
"Motherf—!"
Fury's single eye widened, leaning closer to the small screen.
His shock wasn't Bulkathos moving shirtless in snow—it was Jill!
He and Frank Castle were friends; he knew Frank's family well.
After learning of their tragedy, he'd launched his own investigation.
Frank's son should've died in that gang clash!
Mages, though not mighty, could easily muddle ordinary minds.
With the Ancient One handling Jill's case, Fury's team never uncovered the truth.
Before that event, S.H.I.E.L.D. had no clue about her.
Mages excelled at evading tech detection.
Without the timeline slipping her grasp, the Ancient One would've stayed hidden, working silently.
"Why?"
Fury muttered, hands on chin, staring at the screen.
"Activate satellite imaging, focus on that mountain!"
His order was swiftly executed. The screen split: satellite view showed a barren peak; Rumlow's feed revealed active, celebrating ghosts.
Fury's head ached—he'd stumbled onto something massive.
"Rumlow's team is confirmed on that mountain."
Hill anticipated Fury's question, answering first.
"A sudden mountain, ghosts, a wholly alien culture…"
"Classify this as Level 10!"
Fury's eye locked on Hill, issuing the order.
A mysterious mountain could be treated as an ancient ruin.
But this alien culture demanded caution.
It reminded him of past alien encounters—delicate matters for Earth.
His hand rested on his waist's pager.
"Replay the old man's speech."
Hill prompted.
…
"Uncle, what meat is this?"
Jill watched Bulkathos skewer a massive animal leg on an iron rod, roasting it, curious.
The purified descendants of abyssal demon cows were prime meat.
Harrogath had other meats, but none matched this flavor.
"Demon cow meat—way heavier than any cow you've seen."
Even without explanation, Jill could see the beast's size from the leg, nearly as big as Bulkathos.
As he spoke, Bulkathos drew an orange-glowing dagger, stabbing the leg.
The dagger emitted a string of "squeak" sounds.
The meat was tough; stabbing holes let heat penetrate faster.
Jill eyed the noisy dagger, intrigued.
Even the Ancient One shifted her gaze from the leg to the blade.
A weapon that made sounds was rare.
Noticing their stares, Bulkathos tossed the dagger to her.
"It's called the Pig Slaughter Knife, a legendary weapon."
His explanation stopped there—barbarians rarely used daggers.
Some Crusaders wielded it in their odd style.
Barbarians didn't want comical "squeaks" mixing with their mighty war cries.
But that was the knife's legendary power—perhaps the squeals of pigs slain by it lingered.
"Fascinating."
The Ancient One examined the dagger closely.
Jill tugged her sleeve, leaning toward it.
For a child, handling such a weapon was too soon.
"Jill, when you pass the warrior trial, I'll give you a legendary weapon. Not yet."
Bulkathos sprinkled spices on the meat, stopping Jill's curiosity.
"When I'm a warrior, I'll wield my own forged weapon!"
Jill withdrew his gaze but kept gripping her sleeve, still drawn to the squeaking blade.
The Ancient One tucked the knife into her robe, watching oil seep from the roasting leg.
The Pig Slaughter Knife wasn't a top-tier weapon, but for her, it was plenty strong.
Bulkathos's subtle gift repaid her sword, broken by his hammer.
Though he'd crafted that sword with care, material limits couldn't match skill.
No technique could turn scrap into legend—craftsmanship didn't change essence.
(End of Chapter)