Chapter 13: The Barcan Estate (1)

The guard commander carefully knocked on the clean yet elegant door. A voice promptly invited him to enter. The commander stepped inside, bowing respectfully as he greeted, “I am here to see the lord.”

A middle-aged man was seated in the chair behind his desk. Judging by the scattered documents across the tabletop, he appeared to have been busy processing paperwork.

The man, with strands of gray hair starting to show, spoke without looking up. “What is it?”

“Four outsiders have entered the estate,” the commander replied.

“That doesn’t seem like something that requires a report. There must be something unusual about them.”

“Yes, my lord.” The guard commander nodded before continuing, “One of them is a barbarian.”

The lord’s face tightened into a grimace. From what he knew, barbarians were simple-minded, brutish beings who resolved everything through sheer force. The problems they caused were too numerous to count, which was why most estates did not allow them to enter altogether.

“Did you grant them permission?” the lord asked.

“I deemed it unlikely to cause significant trouble.”

“If you, the guard commander, made that judgement, then so be it. In that case, what’s the issue?”

“The barbarian is strong... dangerously so.” The guard commander gulped, then continued speaking, “Strong enough to be a potential problem.”

“How strong are we talking?”

“From what we’ve confirmed so far, he defeated the Skeleton Knight with a single strike.”

The lord’s eyes widened in shock. Skeleton Knights were monsters that even seasoned knights struggled to face. He couldn’t believe that a powerful monster like that had fallen in a single blow.

“Are you saying the barbarian is Advanced?” the lord asked.

“That seems very likely.”

“And the possibility of being beyond that?”

“I can’t rule it out, sir...”

The lord let out a dry chuckle. A barbarian of such caliber—brutish beings who believed strength was synonymous with order—posed an even greater headache.

As the lord rubbed his temples in contemplation, the guard commander spoke up again. “However... he seems to have a sense of decorum.”

“Decorum?”

“Yes, my lord. One might call it etiquette, or perhaps refinement. He exhibited a surprising air of dignity.”

“Dignity? That’s not something you would expect from a barbarian.”

“Indeed, sir. I thought it was worth reporting.” The guard commander watched the lord closely.

The Barcan Estate had once been impoverished. Situated at the Kingdom’s farthest edge and bordered by the White Snowfield, it held little appeal to outsiders. It was this very lord, Luke Barcan, who had built it up to what it was today.

After a moment of thought, Lord Barcan tapped his desk decisively. “Summon him. I will see him myself.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“It’s unsettling to have someone of such strength roaming the estate unchecked. I will feel better assessing him with my own eyes.”

“It would be dangerous, sir.”

“I have my knight to protect me.” Lord Barcan’s tone carried absolute confidence.

Reminded of the lord’s trusted knight—personally trained by the legendary Swordmaster—the guard commander felt a measure of reassurance.

“What do you think?” Lord Barcan asked, directing his question toward the shadowed corner of the room.

The knight, silent until now, rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “He may possess strength, but at the end of the day, he is still a barbarian. They are brainless brutes. He will be defeated by the swordsmanship honed through millennia of history.”

Lord Barcan nodded at his knight’s confident response. “Bring the barbarian. I will speak with him personally.”

***

Ketal bit into a chicken leg. The crunching sound echoed as he gnawed through, leaving nothing behind. The sight of him chewing through the bones made his companions grimace in disgust.

Ketal, however, laughed heartily, clearly pleased. “Delicious. This is a fine establishment. I like how quiet it is.”

Of course, no tavern was ever truly quiet. The oppressive aura radiating from Ketal was what silenced the drunken patrons, compelling them to keep their mouths shut.

“You guys eat too. I’m paying,” Ketal said, grinning.

“Haha... thank you...,” his companions responded with forced laughter, nervously exchanging glances.

Ketal began peppering his party members with questions in high spirits. “You said you were a paladin, right?”

“Y-yes,” Alexandros stammered.

“Then you must have a god you serve?”

“No, I do not believe in any god,” Alexandros replied, shaking his head.

Ketal frowned in confusion. “How does that work? Paladins draw power from faith, don’t they?”

“You’re correct.”

“And yet you don’t believe in a god? How does that make sense?”

Hayes interjected softly. “The concept of holy power varies. People like me rely on faith in a deity to perform miracles or wield divine authority. Paladins, however, derive their power from belief in themselves. Those who serve a god and use their power are called holy knights.”

“Interesting. So that’s the distinction,” Ketal mused, his curiosity piqued. “In that case, Alexandros, what about your holy power? I don’t recall seeing you use it in the Dungeon.”

“Ah, well... I’m still in training. My holy power hasn’t awakened yet,” Alexandros admitted.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Holy power drawn from self-belief...

Ketal thought. He wondered if he could achieve it too. The thought amused him, and he entertained the idea briefly before turning to Hayes again.

“Your god’s name is Kalosia, isn’t it? Is there a shrine or temple to Kalosia around here? I would like to offer a prayer,” Ketal said.

“Um... I doubt there is one in this region,” Hayes answered hesitantly. “Kalosia isn’t a particularly... popular deity.”

The God of Lies and Deception, Kalosia, was largely shunned and ostracized by the masses.

“Perhaps there’s a temple dedicated to another god?” Hayes added.

“Oh, really? What kind of god?” Ketal asked.

“Well...,” Hayes stammered. For a follower of a god to name another deity was considered disrespectful. Hayes avoided answering, her discomfort palpable.

Sensing her unease, Ketal raised a hand apologetically. “Ah, forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s fine...”

The awkward atmosphere lingered as the party continued drinking. None of them wanted to stay sober in such a stifling environment, and the alcohol eventually began to take effect.

Emboldened by the liquor, Cassan dared to speak up. “Uh... Ketal?”

“Hm? What is it?” Ketal asked, setting down his drink.

“How strong are you, exactly?”

The other members of the party, who had been lulled into a daze, suddenly snapped to attention. Ketal’s strength was undeniably extraordinary, far beyond their comprehension. They couldn’t help but be curious.

Ketal, however, shook his head. “That’s a question I should be asking you. I don’t know how this world measures strength.”

“Oh...,” Cassan muttered, realizing his mistake. Ketal was, after all, a barbarian—a foreigner unfamiliar with the norms of their society. His flawless use of the common tongue had made them forget.

“Are there established categories for strength?” Ketal asked him.

“Yes, rightly,” Cassan replied, gulping before explaining. “There are five tiers: Novice, Intermediate, Advanced, Transcendent, and Hero.”

“And where do you all stand?” Ketal asked, genuinely curious.

“We don’t even qualify as Novice,” Cassan admitted, his voice tinged with shame. “Even Novice warriors are considered strong. Achieving that rank isn’t easy.”

The categorization of strength, it seemed, was a mark of rarity and achievement. Even Novice warriors were regarded as formidable in smaller estates.

Ketal stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What about the Skeleton Knight?”

“You’d need to be at least Intermediate to face one. Someone who is Advanced, like you, could take it down with ease.”

“Advanced, huh,” Ketal murmured. The label didn’t mean much to him. “What about those called Transcendent and Hero? How powerful are they?”

“They are extraordinary,” Cassan answered immediately. “I’ve never seen one myself, but even if only a fraction of the rumors are true, their power is beyond imagination.”

Legends spoke of individuals who could cleave the sky, split the earth, part the seas, and shatter mountains. Transcendents and Heroes were mythical figures, revered and feared.

“The Champion and the Swordmaster are said to dwell in that realm,” Cassan added.

“The Champion and the Swordmaster...” Ketal repeated, a grin spreading across his face. The thought clearly entertained him.

To Cassan, however, that grin seemed ominous. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that Ketal intended to challenge such beings someday.

Is he smiling because he wants to fight them?

Cassan thought, a chill running down his spine.

As the night wore on, Ketal continued to question them, and they answered reluctantly, each drink loosening their tongues a little more. By the time the tavern began to close, a trembling waiter approached to inform them.

Ketal sighed, rising from his seat with regret. “So, I guess it ends here. Do any of you have plans for tomorrow?”

“Yes! We’re very busy!” the party members hastily replied in unison.

“What a shame. I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

Ketal strode away as he waved goodbye. “Farewell, my companions. Until we meet again!”

The party forced smiles and waved back, but their thoughts were unanimous.

Let’s never meet him again!

***

“Phew, this is nice,” Ketal said, reclining onto the bed. He had entered a nearby inn without much forethought. Though the innkeeper had trembled visibly, Ketal managed to secure a room without incident.

The bed was stuffed haphazardly with straw. Compared to the plush, cotton-filled mattresses of the modern world, it was closer to sleeping in a stable.

Yet, for Ketal, this was more than sufficient.

Barbarians of the White Snowfield had no permanent shelters. They wandered the icy expanse, digging shallow holes in the snow to sleep. By comparison, this felt like paradise.

“Truly wonderful,” he muttered. He was, after all, in civilization now. He wondered what to do next.

The possibilities were endless. There were too many, in fact, to easily narrow down. There were countless things he wanted to experience, learn, and enjoy.

During his survival in the White Snowfield, Ketal had come to understand one crucial truth: always set a clear objective. A defined goal brought purpose to every action, no matter how small.

After some deliberation, he made his decision. “I want to go on an adventure.”

He wanted to travel, to experience and feel everything this world had to offer. He wanted to visit the Mage Tower and the elves’ sacred land. He wanted to explore the royal capital and journey to uncharted territories no one had dared to enter. He wanted to meet the Swordsmaster and the Champion.

Ketal yearned to fully immerse himself in this fantastical world.

“For now, let’s take it slow. I’ll savor each moment.”

Time was abundant. It would be a shame to rush through this world and miss out on the joys it offers. There was no need to hurry—he could take his time.

With that thought, he drifted off into a restful sleep.

***

The next morning, Ketal woke up, gazing at the ceiling above him. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he realized he had slept in a proper room. His first morning in civilization was a delight.

Stretching languidly, he prepared to step outside when a knock interrupted him.

Ketal rose slowly and opened the door, finding the guard commander standing there.

“You’re awake,” the commander said.

“What brings you here, commander? Is there a problem?” Ketal asked him.

“There is no issue.” The commander assured him, pausing to catch his breath before continuing. “The lord wishes to meet with you.”

“The lord?” Ketal repeated.

The guard commander was talking about the lord of the estate—the ruler of this land.

After a brief moment of thought, Ketal nodded and said, “Understood.”

In this world, there existed a significant disparity in status. A lord, a solitary ruler of vast lands, was a figure of immense authority. Meeting such a person intrigued Ketal.

𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

The guard commander was momentarily taken aback by Ketal’s swift agreement but soon composed himself and gestured. “Then follow me.”

“Is it alright to go like this? Shouldn’t I wear something more appropriate to meet a lord?” Ketal asked, glancing at his simple leather vest. Meeting a noble dressed like this struck him as exceedingly rude.

“There’s no need for that. Lord has granted permission, so you may come as you are,” the guard commander replied, flustered.

Of course, Ketal’s observation was correct. Approaching a noble while dressed so plainly could have been seen as an offense worthy of execution. Yet no one had anticipated a barbarian to care about such decorum, so neither the guard commander nor the lord made an issue of it.

“Good, that’s a relief—it’s not easy finding clothes that fit me,” Ketal said, chuckling. He gestured for the commander to lead the way. “Shall we?”

“Yes, this way,” the commander replied, guiding Ketal toward the lord’s castle.

As they walked, Ketal leisurely surveyed his surroundings. Though he had seen the territory briefly upon his nighttime arrival, exploring it properly now was unexpectedly enjoyable.

The place is cleaner than I thought.

Ketal thought. His perception of medieval settlements had been that they were filthy.

There were tales that umbrellas and heeled shoes had been invented to avoid stepping in waste or being soiled on the streets. Given the lack of advanced sanitation concepts, it was understandable. However, this place was different. The streets were spotless, and not a single piece of trash littered the ground.

Perhaps the presence of magic and gods made the difference?

Ketal observed the area with great interest, his behavior striking the commander as unusual.

At first, the guard commander assumed Ketal was merely impressed by the city. But upon closer inspection, it seemed more like he was studying it—like a scholar analyzing his surroundings with keen interest.

After some hesitation, the commander shook the thought from his mind. Whatever Ketal’s intentions, it would ultimately be the lord’s decision to handle him.

Before long, they arrived at the castle.

“The lord has summoned him. Step aside,” the guard commander commanded.

“Yes, sir!” The castle guards, initially startled by Ketal’s imposing presence, fumbled nervously but quickly straightened upon recognizing the guard commander.

Ketal entered the castle, his gaze roaming with fascination. Maids and servants screamed and scurried away at the sight of him, but he paid them no mind, too engrossed in admiring the castle’s interior.

When they finally reached the reception room, the guard commander stopped and knocked on the door. He then turned to Ketal. “Apologies, but you cannot bring weapons before the lord.”

“Understood,” Ketal handed over his axe without hesitation. Despite its aged appearance, the weapon retained its deadly sharpness.

The guard commander’s expression wavered as he accepted it.

A barbarian willingly handing over his weapon? That’s a first.

“I’ve brought him, my lord,” the commander announced.

“Let him in,” came the response.

The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his hair.

This was the lord of the estate. Ketal couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe.

In the past, there had been a saying that nobles had blue blood. This came from the notion that their unblemished skin, untouched by labor, made their veins more visible. It also symbolized the perceived divide between nobles and commoners as if they were a different species altogether.

And now, Ketal was standing before a true noble.

The lord approached him, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, barbarian. I am Luke Barcan, the lord of this territory.”

In that moment, a fragment of Ketal’s past knowledge surfaced. Having studied mythology, history, and fantasy, he recalled the proper etiquette for meeting a noble in medieval times.

Grasping the lord’s hand, Ketal returned the greeting with a polite bow. “I am Ketal, a barbarian. It is an honor to meet you, Lord Luke Barcan, rightful ruler of the Barcan Estate.”