Vorusk's face was grim. He wasn't carrying the Sledgefist Bul-Kathos had forged, but wearing the Immortal King's Tribal Binding, he remained the strongest spirit on the mountain.
"And so? When I'm ready, I'll learn it naturally. For now, I have a guest to meet. As a host, I can't let them wait in the cold for too long." Bul-Kathos walked away. Even if Vorusk didn't stop him, Bul-Kathos needed his own time. He was close to becoming the Immortal King; soon, all secrets would be laid bare to him.
As Bul-Kathos's figure receded, Raekor turned back to Vorusk. "Are you satisfied now?" she asked mockingly.
"Fine," Vorusk squeezed the word out.
"A warrior who was once so kind he was almost cowardly, turned into a haughty, arrogant figure just to carry a responsibility. A man who uses brutality to show strength just so his people will trust him. Vorusk... when your fist hits an enemy's face, does your heart tremble?" Raekor smiled brilliantly. She wasn't mocking him; she respected his choice. An Immortal King couldn't change a Barbarian's will, but every Immortal King was a being recognized by all Barbarians.
"No. Because I must be cruel."
"Cruel. What a gentle word for it." Raekor turned away, her body trembling slightly—whether with suppressed laughter or silent grief, it was hard to tell.
"Which Nephalem lineage doesn't carry a crushing burden? It's a pity the Druids had to hide away to protect their secrets. Otherwise, Orrak's era wouldn't have lacked for food," Vorusk grumbled about the past. Nephalem were divided by profession, each guarding their own secrets, each carrying their own weight.
"Bul-Kathos has been ready for a long time. But Rorschach... how do you plan to wake him up? Are you just going to watch him sink into depression after a few words from Imperius?" Raekor's voice was as raspy as ever.
"The Ancestors have discussed it. We're going to open a Rift qualified to let the recruits experience a taste of it. A festival activity. I'll have Bul-Kathos open the 'Defense of Arreat' Rift. Let the recruits feel the brutality of that day. Of course, the Ancestors will be there to pull them out before they actually die." Vorusk gnawed on his gauntlet, hesitating.
Harrogath and the Holy Mountain were different. This mountain was born after the explosion of Mount Arreat, but Harrogath was originally the city atop Arreat. In the beginning, Barbarians didn't live in the bitter north; they were driven there by the magics of Kehjistan, eventually taking root in the Arreat Highlands.
Back in the original Harrogath, the most precious thing wasn't food or medicine—those were vital, but not "precious." It wasn't weapons or supplies—those were tools, but not "precious." It wasn't even life. Only the cowardly flee death at any cost; life only has value when it has meaning.
The brave people of Harrogath craved one thing above all else: Hope. Hope was the most precious thing in that fortress-city. That stronghold was the hope of the entire world. The Barbarians were the final line of defense against the demonic hordes, the guardians of the Worldstone!
Until the Archangel of Justice chose to destroy it. The Barbarians still had strength then; they could have defeated Baal and Mephisto! But the Archangel didn't give them that chance.
The current Holy Mountain had ruins of the Sescheron fortress scattered across it. Bul-Kathos had been there, the sole survivor of the catastrophe. By the time he reached Mount Arreat, the battle was ending. He could only roar as he slaughtered every demon in the crater, but it was too late. The capital of the Barbarians was gone.
Vorusk wanted the recruits to truly understand what the Barbarians needed during that Siege of Harrogath. Perhaps it would help Rorschach realize that justice only has meaning when it is carried out. Justice that only exists as words is the cruelest form of mockery.
"A massive teaching lesson? I think they'll 'love' it," Raekor said as she vanished from sight.
"I think they might fall into self-doubt," Vorusk muttered to himself. "But so what? Does doubt stop the fight? No. You have to fight. Even Veda the 'Merchant' would choose to fight."
Bul-Kathos appeared beside the Ancient One. Her robes fluttered in the cold wind, but she looked much more at ease.
"You look lighter," Bul-Kathos said warmly. The heavy conversation with Vorusk and Raekor didn't seem to affect him. Or rather, he was used to it. You don't stop sleeping just because you're afraid of nightmares. Worrying about tomorrow only ruins today.
"I am. I feel the freedom of my soul," she said with a calm smile. "By the way, whose was that holy chanting from earlier? I would very much like to meet them."
She walked toward him, the mana in her body finally hers. Mana should be born of the soul and flow through the body. For a Mage, mana is the link between soul and flesh; it was never meant to have a negative impact on the body.
"Now you actually look like a Mage. It's a pity you won't accept the Nephalem blood. As for the chanting, that was Johanna. She should be here soon."
Bul-Kathos looked at her with a hint of regret. Her knowledge could support far greater power, but her soul and body could no longer carry it. Compared to Nephalem, the humans of this world had an undeniable gap in potential.
As he finished speaking, Johanna arrived on her Steed Charge. The horse stopped inches from the Ancient One's face before dissipating.
"Hello, Mage. I am Johanna, a Crusader." Johanna looked at her with curiosity. She had followed Bul-Kathos's aura, which he had released as a guide.
"Hello. I am the Ancient One." She bowed slightly. Her peaceful demeanor reminded Johanna of Kharazim.
"Honestly, you're different from any Mage I've met. Perhaps that's why Bul-Kathos can have a Mage as a friend?" Johanna placed a hand on the Ancient One's shoulder and immediately felt her physical frailty. "Even your body... the Mages I know are much sturdier than this."
She remembered Li-Ming once trying to learn melee combat from Kharazim. Li-Ming picked a miserable Fallen to practice on, trying to use the Monk's Way of the Hundred Fists. She spun her staff around like a daibo, but eventually got bored and just smashed the Fallen's head in with one hit. It proved that some skills aren't easily learned; without inner strength, it's just a hollow show.
"The power of the Laws of Hope... it's been a long time. It makes me miss Kharazim's Mantras," Bul-Kathos said as he headed toward the plaza. He didn't want to miss the fun; this was a rare moment of joy on the mountain. If he missed it, he'd have to wait until next year. He didn't plan to let the festival last three days—one day was plenty.
"If I could survive Malthael's attack, then Kharazim should have no problem," Johanna said. If she survived through raw defense, Kharazim—with his invulnerability skills like Seven-Sided Strike or Serenity—would have had an even easier time. But she had no idea where he was.
"I'm not worried about Kharazim. I'm worried about Li-Ming and Valla," Bul-Kathos said, shaking his head. Li-Ming's personality might lead her to face Malthael head-on. Could a Mage's fragile body hold up against Death? And Valla... a Demon Hunter never lets an enemy go. Wherever she goes, demons turn into pincushions. Even if she wasn't seriously hurt, she would seek a chance to deal Malthael a killing blow. She had three Primal sets—Shadow's Mantle, Gears of Dreadlands, and Unhallowed Essence—making her a master of AOE, mobility, and assassination.
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