King set off alone the next day and stopped in Agoal, a city in the kingdom of Grarília, famous for its cachaça, made with water from the river that supplies the city. This river was known as the purest and most crystalline in the world. Why was this river so clean and crystalline? Nobody knew.
King had already heard of this legendary drink, distilled from a unique variety of sugarcane grown only in the region. The aroma, they said, was intoxicating, a mixture of ripe fruit and earthy notes. The taste, even more so – smooth, fiery, and unlike any other. He found a small still nestled on the riverbank, the air thick with the sweet smell of fermenting sugarcane.
An old man with calloused hands and a knowing smile greeted him. He offered him a shot, a small sip that ignited a warmth that spread throughout his body. He knew he needed to stay and savor that experience, that taste of paradise.
The old man, who introduced himself as Salim, told stories of the region while serving him more cachaça, speaking of the river's legends, the purity of its waters, and how it influenced the drink's flavor. He also explained the distillation process, passed down through generations in the city's bars, a closely guarded secret. With each sip, the conversation flowed more freely, and the barbarian felt increasingly connected to that place, to that culture.
Intrigued by the mystery of that crystalline water, King decided to visit the river's source. Salim, with a hesitant look, had given him instructions, murmuring about ancient legends and forgotten dangers. "The source... is a sacred place. Many have gone, few have returned," he warned, his trembling hands gripping the glass. Ignoring the omen, King climbed along the riverbank, the trail winding through trees twisted like specters. The air, heavy and humid, carried a disturbing, metallic smell.
After hours of walking, the entrance to a cave appeared before him, where water was flowing. There was a small crevice there, large enough for anyone to pass through without difficulty, but King was too big to enter. So, King prepared himself, and with a powerful punch, using his great strength as Goliath, he destroyed the cave entrance, opening an even larger hole, allowing him to enter. Swallowing hard, he entered the darkness, with each step the sunlight faded, until the only light present in the place became the torch that King had just lit. The silence was broken only by the sound of dripping water, each drop like a drumbeat in a macabre ritual.
"Salim mentioned dangers... but what dangers could those be?" King thought aloud, his hoarse, trembling voice echoing in the vastness of the cave.
Suddenly, a light appeared ahead, pulsing like an evil eye. King approached cautiously, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. As he drew closer, the light revealed an entire society of Grimlocks living there. Further ahead, along a secluded path, he saw another entrance, where the river flowed out. The entrance was shrouded in complete darkness, but this did not deter King, who continued walking.
A shadow emerged from the darkness, tall and slender, revealing itself to be a member of the Grimlock race. "You dared to disturb our home," the voice hissed, cold as the wind blowing from the depths of the cave. The Grimlock advanced, his club dripping a viscous, dark liquid. The fight would be bloody, King knew. He quickly entered a state of fury, and the combat began.
The creature charges with an animalistic fury, unleashing several blows with its club. One of the blows strikes King's shoulder, shattering his armor and causing him to stagger backward. Immediately afterward, the Grimlock delivers another blow that hits King's chest, tearing his skin. King lets out a furious cry of pain, causing the Grimlock to hesitate for a moment. Then, seizing the opportunity, King delivers a devastating blow with his hand, piercing and tearing his enemy's chest, exposing his ribs and internal organs.
The creature staggers backward, its eyes wide with terror and disbelief as it stares at its own wound. A hoarse cry escapes its lips as it falls to the ground, convulsing in a pool of its own blood. But, to the Grimlock's horror, King does not fall.
Despite his injuries, he remains standing, his breath ragged and uneven, but his eyes burning with relentless fury as he stares at him. Grilock desperately tries to call for help, but his voice fails him. He tries to stand, fear evident on his face, but his legs give way.
He looks at King with growing terror as the barbarian approaches, his hand dripping blood. "That was a good battle. You were a good opponent," King says, grabbing him by the throat with one hand.
"Even if you kill me, you'll never get past that barrier. The magic contained within it prevents anyone from entering," Grimlock said, using his last strength to speak. "Thanks for warning me," King mocked as he ripped his head off his body.
King's strength was so great that Grimlock's head detached itself along with part of his spine, in a wet and repugnant sound, blood spurting everywhere. He raised the grotesque trophy into the air, his face splattered with blood, a triumphant roar escaping his lips.
The cave fell silent, except for the sound of blood dripping from the severed head and King's panting breath. He threw the head to the ground, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body of his enemy. The fury of battle began to subside, giving way to exhaustion and the throbbing pain of his wounds. He staggered, leaning against the cave wall to stay upright.