Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 15: The Barcan Estate (3)

“Ugh...” The knight lay groaning in pain, his face contorted, revealing the intensity of his pain.

Just then, the door opened, and Lord Barcan entered the room.

“How are you feeling,” Lord Barcan asked him.

“I will recover in a few days, my lord. My apologies,” the knight replied.

“You should apologize to me. My foolish disciple was defeated by an unknown barbarian.” A voice rang out as an old man appeared from the lord.

“Master!” the knight shouted as his face stiffened. He attempted to rise and pay his respects, but the sudden movement only intensified his pain.

Noticing this, the old man, Kain, waved his hand dismissively. “Enough, you won’t be getting up anyway.”

Kain scrutinized the knight, who felt as if every part of his body was being thoroughly examined.

“Your internal organs are damaged, but not severely. You will recover in a few days. Now, take off your shirt,” Kain said.

“Y-yes...” The knight hesitantly removed his shirt, revealing smooth skin without a single scar.

“Not even a scratch,” Kain murmured, intrigued. He had seen the knight’s armor before coming here—it had been utterly wrecked by the barbarian, as if hit by a ballista. The armor’s condition was so dire that it wouldn’t have been surprising if that knight had died. Yet, the knight’s body bore no wounds, and his internal injuries were minor enough to heal within days.

“This isn’t just some brute of a barbarian. He controlled his strength with great precision,” Kain concluded.

“Is that so?” Lord Barcan said.

“And there was consideration behind it.”

“Consideration...?”

“Yes. It was a duel. If he had wanted, he could have left the knight permanently crippled.”

Although the duel was supposed to be without injuries, there was no guarantee the agreement would be honored. Yet, the barbarian had crushed the armor without leaving any physical damage, ensuring the knight’s injuries were superficial.

“A considerate barbarian... That’s hard to believe,” Kain remarked. This also meant the barbarian was far beyond the knight’s level. “He is at least Transcendent.”

Even if his foolish disciple was an Advanced knight, the gap in their abilities shouldn’t have been so wide that he would fall so easily.

Lord Barcan gulped nervously before asking cautiously, “Forgive me, but could he match someone like you, Master Kain?”

“No matter how strong he is... I am still a Swordmaster,” Kain replied. A Swordmaster was someone who had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship, mastering techniques of their own creation. “Even a Transcendent can never defeat me.”

“I see...,” Lord Barcan replied. He exhaled in relief. If Kain could handle this unknown factor, it would seem that he could control the barbarian’s actions.

“Still, to wield such power without Aura... that’s no ordinary feat. Could this be the strength of a barbarian from the White Snowfield?” Kain muttered to himself. He had heard from the lord that Ketal claimed to hail from the White Snowfield. At first, he thought it was a lie, but the evidence now made him reconsider.

“Hm...” Kain rubbed his chin, interest flickering in his eyes. “Maybe he is an Anomaly.”

“I’m sorry?” Lord Barcan asked.

“No, never mind. That’s very unlikely. Anomalies wouldn’t show consideration toward humans. It must be my imagination. But the White Snowfield... why now of all times?” Kain shook his head, as if the very existence of the White Snowfield presented a troublesome issue.

“Is something wrong?” Lord Barcan asked, puzzled.

The White Snowfield was a desolate, forsaken place. Apart from reckless adventurers, no one paid it any mind. While a few had returned alive, they had brought back no useful information.

Even Milayna, who encountered Ketal during her clandestine weapons trade in a war-torn nation, had kept that fact hidden.

In short, the White Snowfield was essentially excluded from human affairs. Yet, Kain spoke of it as if it were a significant problem.

Kain waved his hand dismissively. “Something for later. His Majesty, the emperor, has peculiar interests these days. No need to concern yourself for now.”

“I-I understand.” Lord Barcan gulped nervously. If the emperor was involved, it was far beyond the concerns of a rural lord.

“Is the barbarian still in the estate?” Kain asked.

“He mentioned staying for a while, so I believe so.”

“I will need to confirm that myself,” Kain said, vanishing from the spot.

***

Ketal stepped out of the lord’s castle, having received his reward. It had been an enjoyable time for him. He had met a noble, been served by a maid, and even fought a knight. He had even witnessed an unusual and fascinating swordsmanship.

On top of all that, he received gold coins, leaving him thoroughly satisfied.

“What do you plan to do now?” the guard commander asked.

“Hm...” Ketal stroked his chin at the guard commander’s question. “I don’t have specific plans... but it would be good to establish a recognized identity. I don’t plan to leave the estate immediately, but it might become an issue to enter Dungeons without it whenever I visit a new estate.”

Ketal lacked a confirmed identity. Naturally, there were ways to establish one.

The guard commander replied, “There are several methods for you to confirm your identity, but the simplest is to find a sponsor. If someone of high status acknowledges you, that would serve as proof of your identity.”

“And?”

“Alternatively, you could pay a significant sum of money. But the most common route is to become a mercenary. By building a record of accomplishments and gaining recognition from the guild, you can achieve it.”

However, being a mercenary was typically the last resort for those without backing. Being a mercenary was a troublesome, often thankless job. Unless one reached a certain level, mercenaries were little more than errand-runners.

Given Ketal’s strength, finding a sponsor would have been the most straightforward method. The guard commander was about to suggest asking the lord to act as his sponsor when Ketal’s eyes lit up.

“A mercenary!” Ketal shouted. His excitement was palpable. “That’s an option too?”

Taking on quests and slaying monsters as a mercenary was one of the things Ketal wanted to do in this fantasy world. It was the epitome of the fantasy world.

“Can I register as a mercenary here as well?” Ketal asked.

“Well, there is a guildhall...”

“Then please guide me!” Ketal beamed with excitement, leaving the guard commander nodding in a daze.

***

Mercenaries roamed the world, taking on various commissions. For some, they were the stuff of dreams—wandering across the world, uncovering its secrets. Tales of young nobles running away from home out of admiration for mercenaries were not uncommon.

However, the reality of mercenaries was far from glamorous. They were society’s underbelly, no different from the lowest class. Lacking stable jobs or recognition, mercenaries were at the very bottom of the social hierarchy.

They were errand-runners for all kinds of menial tasks. Even mercenaries with adequate strength often met their end by challenging unknown Dungeons. It was expected; no one would risk a guard with a confirmed identity in such dangerous work. Mercenaries served as sacrificial pawns.

A select few reached the pinnacle of their craft and gained proper recognition, receiving the treatment they deserved. But they were the exception, not the rule.

Thus, mercenaries were considered the dregs of society—coarse, unruly, and noisy.

The guildhall where mercenaries gathered was no exception.

It was a chaotic place, filled with shouting and laughter. In the middle of the day, people were already guzzling alcohol, staggering about in drunken stupors. Broken tables and chairs littered the space.

One drunk stumbled into another, who stood with a scowl and delivered a punch to his face.

“You bastard! How dare you bump into me?!”

“Do you wanna go?”

The man who had been struck rose, unwilling to back down. Others joined in, either taking sides or watching the brawl for entertainment. A full-blown fight erupted in no time.

Meanwhile, the receptionists calmly sorted through documents, unfazed by the commotion.

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“Rosa, how are the new recruits?”

“They are hopeless.” The receptionist named Rosa shook her head, her blonde hair swaying. “Even if they’re strong, they’re all weirdos. One claims to be a paladin but he’s clearly delusional. And there’s that thief. The priestess seems decent, but because of her affiliations, no one is going to trust her.”

“Is that so? What a shame.” The other receptionist didn’t seem too disappointed, as good mercenaries were as rare as benevolent demons.

At that moment, a mercenary approached Rosa hesitantly. After some deliberation, he took a deep breath and walked up to her, flashing a toothy grin.

It was meant to be charming, but it came across as excessively cringe.

“Rosa, if you’re free tonight, how about—” the mercenary said.

“No, thank you.” Rosa smiled politely as she declined, her expression icy.

The mercenary slumped away, shoulders drooping.

The other receptionist burst out laughing. “That’s the fifth one, Rosa. Maybe you should at least have dinner with one of them. It’s pitiful.”

“No way. Mercenaries are all idiots,” Rosa replied, shaking her head in exasperation.

She despised mercenaries. They were rude, ignorant, and uneducated. They fought constantly and lacked any foresight for the future. She had even been endangered several times when caught up in their fights.

Ah, if only Prince Charming would come and rescue me, Rosa thought. Twisting a strand of her hair, Rosa sighed. She dreamed of a dashing, handsome prince who would take her away from this desk job, fully aware of how unrealistic her fantasies were. But dreaming was the only way she could endure her current reality.

The brawl in the guildhall grew fiercer, and the receptionists began to look concerned.

“It’s about time we stopped this. Should we call the guards?” the receptionist asked.

“Maybe we should,” Rosa replied. As she got up to summon the guards, something happened.

The door opened with a small sound.

And there stood a massive barbarian.