"Ha! Bulkathos, you're back? Who's the little guy?"
Vidia shouted at Bulkathos, who had just appeared on Harrogath's Sacred Mountain.
"Is Jessica's trial over?"
Bulkathos set Rorschach down on the ground. Assassin Monkey leapt from his shoulder, scampering wildly across the mountain.
Perhaps that was a monkey's true nature?
"Jessica didn't pass the trial, but Orak chose her."
Vidia grinned broadly, shouting back.
"A bit of a shame, but not a bad outcome."
Bulkathos replied casually.
Rumlow, having passed his trial, earned the freedom to choose his path. He didn't have to follow Talic's footsteps to become another Talic.
But Jessica, failing to gain the Nephalem bloodline in the trial, could only receive Orak's gift, becoming a barbarian of the Big Bear Tribe.
For her, this might be the better outcome.
Never having seen herself as a warrior, Jessica now had a clear standard to follow. Advancing along Orak's path didn't mean she'd be weaker than the other recruits.
Orak was a monument on the path to strength, and being mentored in his direction was a boon.
"I still don't get you. You nearly killed Rumlow back then."
Vidia's tone carried a teasing edge.
The gap between Rumlow and Jessica was vast—one had willingly walked a path of sin, the other a controlled puppet.
Yet their treatments were worlds apart.
"How many times do I have to say it? Rumlow's price was paid by Mokot and Talic together. No one paid Jessica's."
Bulkathos frowned at Vidia, clearly annoyed. Diving into this topic would waste time.
His knowledge of Jessica was limited to her being a controlled, pitiable child. The other ancestors knew even less, unaware of her hopeless past.
Ancestors judged by aura alone, unable to grasp her full story.
Even Orak only knew bits from Bulkathos's sparse words, hence his doubts.
Jessica wouldn't broadcast her dark past either.
For Rumlow, the ancestors knew the eerie nature of the Mark of Shame weapon, so their attitude was kinder.
The trial wasn't about justice—it was a chance to gain power.
The opportunity depended on their resolve to uphold justice, not their righteousness.
Rumlow earned recognition before his trial, while Jessica, not warrior-like before hers, only gained Orak's approval after resolving to become one.
Their painful pasts fueled their commitment to justice.
Gaining power was merely the first step toward redemption.
Their treatment hinged on Talic and Orak's differing views on past sins.
Talic, ever open to second chances, focused on the present and future, embracing Rumlow's past.
Orak, the war god, lived for endless battle and slaughter.
He never paused his killing to ponder. Forgiveness and understanding weren't his domain; his life was spent turning the tide for barbarian survival.
He didn't care about others' pasts.
Some say might makes right—not entirely wrong.
Power is the foundation of justice. Without Tyrael's near-peerless strength among archangels, justice would belong to Imperius.
"Alright, Bulkathos, just a joke. You're always so serious."
Vidia kept grinning, knowing Bulkathos wouldn't get too mad—just mildly irritated.
"Vidia, when your jokes anger someone, don't blame them for not taking it. Apologize for your jest."
Bulkathos shot Vidia a glance. The man's slick demeanor, though still respectable as a barbarian, often lacked tact.
Rorschach, listening to the brief exchange, agreed with Bulkathos.
Why was it the fault of the serious for disliking jokes?
Rorschach stuffed his hands in his pockets, scanning the surroundings.
He didn't realize he was the privileged one. Other recruits climbed from the mountain's base, but Bulkathos brought him straight to the Sacred Mountain's gate.
"Fine, Bulkathos, you're always so stern. I'm sorry."
Vidia dropped his smile, sincerely apologizing.
But it likely wouldn't change him much. Vidia flouted rules, often annoying others.
"Whatever. Everyone sticks to their ways."
Bulkathos ignored Vidia, waving Rorschach toward the Elders' Temple.
In the distance, Assassin Monkey still frolicked, oblivious to the scene.
Once Bulkathos settled Rorschach's matters, the monkey would likely be fully reborn.
Elsewhere, Orak brought the newly awakened Jessica to the training ground. The roasted beef leg had cooled in Harrogath's icy winds.
"You didn't pass the trial, but I made my choice."
Orak sat by the fire, reigniting it to warm the beef leg.
"I don't have answers to your questions yet."
Jessica faced Orak, who was turning the meat, speaking earnestly.
"Why must the kind forgive their tormentors? Why can others forgive for them after they're gone?
Why did Bulkathos pity someone like me, prompting you to give me a chance?
Why do I get opportunities the virtuous never had in death?"
As she spoke, Orak paused briefly.
"I'll keep searching for those answers."
Jessica smiled at Orak.
Not for surviving her ordeal, but because she no longer feared.
"Then prepare to receive my bloodline. I'm your goal, though you may never reach my level."
Orak's body, solidified by the mountain's power, set the meat on the fire and unstrapped War God's Blade.
"Cut your wrist and come to me."
Orak sliced his robust left arm, but no blood flowed.
When barbarians thrived, this method of passing Nephalem blood was rarely used.
Back then, humans didn't need it to gain strength's foundation.
"Alright."
Jessica, smiling, unflinchingly cut her left wrist with her handaxe. Blood dripped to the ground.
As she reached Orak, their wounds aligned. A surge of wild energy erupted from Orak.
Those who passed trials saw barbarian tales and glimpses of Bulkathos's life in the mountain's dream.
Chosen heirs saw their ancestor's past through their blood.
Jessica's wound stopped bleeding. Some of her blood entered Orak's body, cycled through him, and returned to her.
With this, she saw Orak's life.
He stood alone on a migration path, blocking thousands of demons on a narrow pass.
He fought blood-soaked for seven days and nights to seize food from demon-ravaged lands for his tribe.
Until, to spare his people from Hamelin, Orak perished in a swarm of unyielding shadow rats.
He charged the Gluttonous Demon with the rats clinging to him, falling as a skeleton.
The rats turned on the demon, forcing Azmodan to create Ghom.
Every scene was Orak fighting, always against the mightiest foes.
His life was countless contributions to barbarian survival.
"Now, you can call yourself a barbarian of the Big Bear Tribe."
Orak withdrew his arm. He'd seen Jessica's brief life too.
He felt a fleeting pity for her.
But it vanished. She was a warrior now, and warriors didn't need pity.
"This is the barbarians' power?"
Jessica watched her wrist heal, eyeing Orak.
"Go eat, child. This beef leg is free of walker pus."
Orak handed her the slightly charred meat.
Jessica wasn't just an heir—she carried the Big Bear Tribe's bloodline.
To Orak, she was closer than most.
Closer than Rumlow to Talic or Luke to Maddock. Jessica was of the Big Bear Tribe; they were just barbarians.
"What should I call you? War God or Chieftain?"
Jessica's eyes crinkled as she took the beef leg, biting into it hungrily. She felt Orak's care, like for a younger kin.
"Just Orak. The chieftain's someone else since I died."
Orak dug up a clay jug—one of his few treasures.
In his harsh era, barbarians had little, so his liquor stash was meager, stored in crude clay.
Choosing an heir warranted cracking open his reserve.
Perfect timing, with his body solid.
"Congrats, Orak."
Banar approached with another clay jug, placing it at Orak's feet.
Their eras were similar; Banar's stash wasn't much better.
"Thanks, Banar."
Orak handed Banar's jug to Jessica.
"Looks like you're getting along."
Bulkathos, passing by with Rorschach, pulled a crystal bottle of liquor from his pack.
"You gave me a fine heir, Bulkathos."
Orak held his jug like a mortal might a small bowl.
He was too massive.
"Good."
Bulkathos tossed the liquor to Orak and led Rorschach to the Elders' Temple.
Though Tyrael's power held no direct message, Kanai's Cube could tweak Rorschach's physique.
At 1.67 meters, he was too short for a barbarian—shorter than the Hammer of Judgment.
Unlike Gil, a growing child who could gain height through food, Rorschach needed Kanai's Cube.
Might as well check on Constantine, who might still be asleep.
Auriel's chosen wasn't suited to be a barbarian. Let him seek his own hope.
"Thank you for the chance."
Jessica shouted at Bulkathos, earning a wave.
It wasn't worth dwelling on—Orak's satisfaction with his heir was enough.
Orak took Bulkathos's gift, burying the crystal bottle.
He'd save it for when Jessica could stand on her own.
Elsewhere, Matthew stumbled out of Reko's realm.
The war's chaos—endless shouts, war cries, and screams—overwhelmed him. For someone fighting by sound, it was a brutal test.
"Matthew, know why the ancestors don't favor you?"
Reko sat on a nearby rock, her voice raspy.
"I can't sort clear information in war. For a warrior, that's fatal."
Matthew forced a smile, collapsing to the ground.
"You're better suited as a mage. They observe the world differently."
Reko held her helmet, speaking softly.
"But I'm a barbarian. I'll become a great warrior."
Matthew turned toward Reko.
"If you face a demon like Reziar, whose thunder deafens you, would you still not give up?"
Reko studied Matthew, seeking a read on his expression.
"Then I'll grow strong enough to shred anything near me."
Matthew spoke fearlessly.
"I look forward to that day. I hope you achieve it."
(Chapter End)
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