Chapter 13
A huge barbarian warrior was surrounded by a hundred enemies.
He was alone, and he didn't even have a proper weapon in hand.
Yet there was not the slightest hint of fear or hesitation in his stride. As the man strode forward, the enemies actually hesitated and backed away.
One relatively brave warrior sprang forward and swung his sword.
The man caught the sword barehanded without difficulty, then struck the warrior's head with his other hand. Astonishingly, the head went flying through the air. Blood gushed from the severed neck.
Drenched in blood from head to toe, the man let out a thunderous roar and plunged into the midst of the enemy.
The warriors panicked and swung their weapons wildly. They didn't care in the slightest even if they struck their own allies.
Sharp blades hacked and tore at the man's body, but failed to take his life. Instead, the more wounds he suffered, the more strength he seemed to gain as he rampaged like a madman.
The man didn't even spare a glance for the weapons left behind by the corpses, relentlessly crushing his enemies with his bare fists.
At last, standing tall in the center atop all the corpses, he looked almost divine.
“Hngh.”
The man let out a soft laugh, then suddenly turned around.
Ivan knew who he was.
A walking legion, a legend of the North, and the god of the battlefield who had finally transcended the limits of humanity and ascended.
The young Valdor stared straight through Ivan's soul.
“Spying on me from the shadows, are you? You've seen everything, so get lost.”
Before Ivan could say anything, Valdor waved his hand carelessly, and that was the end of it.
Even that heroic strength was of little use in the mysterious world of spirits.
Ivan's consciousness returned to where it belonged.
“···Ah.”
That wretched human, seriously. Ivan cursed inwardly.
Havel asked from beside him.
“You've been muttering in your sleep for a while. Did you have some interesting dream?”
“No. It was a terrible nightmare.”
“···They say the worse the dream, the better the omen. Still, it's a shame. I wish I could participate too.”
Ivan looked at Havel incredulously.
“Would that even be possible? You nearly died from excessive blood loss just a few days ago.”
“Ha ha, is that so? Either way, good luck. Knock them all down and come back, Ivan.”
“Don't worry. I'll fill the infirmary with a few friends for you.”
Thinking about what meaning the dream he'd just had might hold, Ivan walked forward.
When he opened the door and stepped outside, the warriors gathered there filled his field of vision.
Thud, thud. Their orderly footsteps shook the earth.
The priest standing before them desperately avoided Ivan's gaze and shouted,
“Great Valdor, watch over your servant!!”
As soon as he finished speaking, the warriors surrounded Ivan and formed a huge circle around him.
Curiosity, hostility, competitive spirit, anticipation. Every kind of emotion was focused on a single person.
Ivan neither shrank back nor felt burdened. Instead, he held his head high and grinned fiercely for all to see.
The coming-of-age ceremony began.
***
A man confidently walked out from among the crowd surrounding Ivan.
He was a giant, not much smaller than Ivan's nearly two-meter-tall frame.
“Bjorda, son of Blotan.”
“Ivan.”
Ivan casually looked the man over.
Judging by his bearing, he seemed accustomed to carrying himself with no small amount of swagger.
Bjorda also looked Ivan over before speaking.
“Did you know? The coming-of-age ceremony is far from fair. If anything, it relies more on luck.”
“Why? Isn't skill all that matters?”
Bjorda shook his head.
“Of course your own skill matters, but even more important is the caliber of the opponent you're matched against. In that sense, you're rather unlucky.”
“Because you're my first opponent?”
“That's right. You catch on quickly. I won ten bouts at the last coming-of-age ceremony. You have no chance of winning.”
An entertaining fellow had shown up right from the start.
Ivan stifled the laugh that had begun to escape him with superhuman self-control.
Bjorda mistook this desperate effort for fear.
“Are you trembling? Don't worry too much. There is no shame in losing to a stronger opponent. I'll give you the first move, so attack me to your heart's content.”
“···Really?”
“It's customary to give a weaker opponent one move. I won't say it twice.”
“Well, if you insist···.”
Ivan slowly extended his fist, carefully controlling his strength.
Bjorda inwardly sneered as he watched the fist coming toward him.
‘Even after being given a chance, he can't seize it. What a coward. With an attack that slow, I···'
Tap—the moment the fist touched his chin, Bjorda fell straight into a deep sleep.
Ivan said in a flat tone, as if he had merely done what was expected.
“Next.”
“······?”
The surroundings instantly fell silent.
It was probably the most anticlimactic match in the North's entire long history.
“···You damn idiot. We'll settle this when you wake up.”
A man who appeared to be his father dragged the limp Bjorda away across the ground, and the next opponent soon stepped forward.
“Ketil, son of Skagi. ···I won't be as easy to beat as that idiot.”
“Really? You don't look any different.”
“How dare you···!!”
Perhaps he considered it an insult too grievous to endure. Ketil's face reddened as he suddenly swung his fist.
Ivan twisted his head aside and dodged the attack without even looking at it.
“See? What's so different?”
Ivan put a little force into a kick to the stomach, and Ketil's body went flying with a boom.
“······!!”
Ketil crashed to the ground and groaned in agony while clutching his stomach.
“Next.”
Both fights had ended with a single blow. Astonishment flickered through the eyes of the gathered people.
The first might have been a coincidence, but from the second onward, it was inevitable.
The first two men had not been weak by any means. Ivan was simply so strong that he had created that impression.
As the restless atmosphere refused to settle, Ivan added his own taunt.
“Why isn't anyone coming out? Did everyone who gathered today turn out to be cowards instead of warriors?”
The provocation worked, and the next challenger appeared immediately.
A man with a long scar around his eye answered in a blunt voice.
“Bendil, son of Brunda. Let's have a bout.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Bendil lowered his stance, charged in, and attempted a tackle.
Going head-on against that monstrous strength would be suicide. But with a tackle like this, I might have a chance···.
He tried to seize Ivan's legs and topple him, but Ivan did not budge an inch.
“What is this···.”
Bendil felt as though he had run into an impenetrable wall. It would have been far easier to knock down a tree.
“But you're pretty good, old man.”
Ivan hoisted the dumbfounded Bendil into the air and slammed him straight into the ground.
When the thick cloud of dust cleared, Bendil was revealed lying unconscious where he'd been driven into the ground.
“Next.”
Though no one said it aloud, everyone became certain of one thing at that moment.
The third warrior in the North's long history to complete the coming-of-age ceremony was about to be born.
***
By now, no one thought they could defeat Ivan even through sheer luck.
Instead, warriors who saw it as an opportunity rather than something to fear began challenging him one after another.
They were all renowned warriors of the tribe, but the results hardly changed.
They used techniques they had painstakingly honed, had them countered, and fell.
When he had finally knocked down ninety-nine men, Ivan thought, sweating.
‘Controlling my strength is harder than I expected.’
If he accidentally killed someone, wouldn't that sour the mood? He might even earn their resentment.
Still, thanks to them, he'd gotten the hang of it. It was a satisfying haul.
The sun hadn't even begun to set, and the heat of its rays was intense.
‘Hurry up and come out.’
Ivan stared pointedly at the great chieftain. He'd like to fight him at least once, if possible···.
The great chieftain did not respond. Apparently, he couldn't afford to with his prestige at stake.
Instead, the man standing beside him accepted the provocation.
He was a middle-aged man whose shiny scalp gleamed brightly in the sunlight.
“Vald, son of Sorir. I have a proposal. Will you hear me out?”
“Well, let's hear it.”
Vald cleared his throat, then spoke.
“I know you're strong. I doubt anyone here would dare question it. However, there is bound to be some doubt about your ability to take a beating. ···If you don't mind, would you let me test it?”
“So···you're saying you want to hit me once right now?”
“That's right. If you're uncomfortable with it, you don't have to accept.”
Even as he said this, Vald was certain that Ivan would not refuse his proposal.
'You're looking to snag a free win here?'
No wonder you're bald. Ivan stared at the gleaming scalp, but the glare hurt his eyes, so he looked away.
This might be cleaner than giving people something to gossip about afterward.
“Not a bad idea. Go ahead and hit me.”
“Then, excuse me.”
The bald man smiled slyly.
No matter how strong someone was, there were parts of the human body that could not be trained.
The bald man drew his fist far back, then slammed it into Ivan's chin with all his strength.
“······!!”
The bald man frowned. He had struck so hard that it felt as if his fist had cracked.
But there was no way Ivan could be fine after taking that···was there?
“Are you done?”
Ivan smiled with easy confidence. Compared to the damn old man's fist, it had been pitifully light.
Still, it had annoyed him. Ivan put a little extra force into his blow and struck the gleaming bald head.
Daaang—. A clear ringing sound echoed through the air. The bald man rolled his eyes back and fainted.
Ivan watched a bulging lump rise from his head and thought,
‘He looks like a snowman.’
That was the moment the coming-of-age ceremony ended.