The Great Bear Clan was over. It was finished. The last pure-blooded Barbarian of the Great Bear was already dead. Jessica wanted that responsibility?
She would have to learn what combat truly meant first.
Only after she had tasted the foul blood of demons in her mouth; after she had chewed on the stony limbs of a Mauler to stave off hunger; after her skin had been shredded by countless claws and her body was a map of unhealable scars layered upon one another...
Only when she went into every fight prepared to die, knowing with absolute certainty that the moment she fell, she would become demon fodder...
Only when she could face a hopeless defeat and still shove her weapon down a demon's throat with every ounce of her strength... only then would a warrior be born.
Orak was a harsh judge of warriors. Jessica believed she was one, but in Orak's eyes, she was still a child playing at war.
"Let's go. Combat isn't something you run away from," Luke said, tugging on Jessica's arm.
There was no point in waiting. The ancestors were already moving. The old veterans were sharpening their blades, waiting for the signal for the counter-charge.
"Demons are not tireless. Neither are we," Orak murmured as he watched the two young Barbarians head for the front lines.
Time was a heartless thing. it faded everything. Orak had once sworn to never forget the face of a certain child, yet now, he couldn't even recall the boy's features.
"I'm planning to head up there for a proper slaughter, Old Bear. Are you ready to witness the claws of the cub?" Banar asked, his heavy cleaver resting on his shoulder.
"Old Bear" was his personal nickname for Orak. In this moment, it felt like the last time the two ancestors had seen each other while alive. Banar had always stood behind Orak—in stance and in ideology. As a Berserker lost in a state of partial rage, Orak's voice and will were the only anchors Banar had left.
"You aren't a cub anymore, Banar. Do what you must," Orak said softly, still not moving. He feared that if his body shifted even an inch, he would abandon his post and charge into the heart of the demonic tide.
Whether it was watching over two mysterious prisoners or babysitting the youth, neither task suited him. But Orak accepted the work. Warriors didn't stay protected forever. On the battlefield, you trusted no one except the person bleeding beside you. That was the lesson he wanted the recruits to learn.
"For the glory of the Great Bear. In the name of our people," Banar said, extending a fist toward Orak.
Banar was prepared for the worst. He always was. He would fight until his death, until his mind snapped and he could no longer swing his blade. He would fight until his teeth fell out from biting his enemies and his fingernails were ripped away.
"Go, Banar. I hope that after our souls finally fade, there is a place where we can meet again," Orak whispered.
This was a mission of vengeance, but it was also a battle for the future. While Vorusk went to find the one who had stayed hidden for so long, those who refused to swing their blades at angels and demons would prepare to pay the ultimate price.
They would make him pay.
"You think Rathma can truly influence that soul? I still find it hard to believe," Banar grumbled as he walked away.
"That is what Vorusk said. Back when that noble soul was alive, he was even more powerful than Vorusk himself," Orak replied.
He didn't know if Banar heard him, and it didn't matter. He was mostly saying it to himself. The War God would appear on the most grueling battlefield and turn the tide—just as he had done in life.
"A fight to the death, or a fight for survival?"
"Cassius. You should be with Kanai's unit," Orak said to the man who had suddenly appeared beside him.
Cassius was a man who had died in this very war. He shouldn't be here.
"Have you heard the news of Leoric's death? That arrogant Skeleton King is finally gone. If you knew, you wouldn't be saying that," Cassius said, a trace of contemptuous mockery on his face. "To die, and then die again... how pathetic. But at least that wretch can finally rest."
"Sacrifice. I thought you would be used to it by now," Orak said, finally opening his eyes.
The eyes themselves were gone, replaced by two pits of roaring, golden fury. Inside the hollow sockets, twin flames of rage flickered and hissed.
"A Barbarian never lets someone else sacrifice themselves before us, Orak! Before I died, I never let a single youth of my tribe fall while I still breathed!" Cassius said with fierce pride.
He was a leader from a different era of the Great Bear Clan. The Chieftain after Kotul.
The Great Bear Clan was always like this; the Chieftain was always the first to die on the battlefield. It was as if they were all standing in a queue, waiting their turn for death. The strongest of the clan had a roadmap for their lives: become Chieftain, and ensure your name was at the very top of Death's ledger.
"I failed to do that. Are you here to question me?" Orak's body remained still like a statue, but the fire in his eyes broke its tether, flowing down his face like liquid light and igniting the Blade of the War God.
"I'm just telling you: this time is the same as back then. The living youth are the future. The dead are nothing but sorrowful tears!" Cassius pointed a finger at Jessica, who had just climbed the sentry tower.
Orak didn't particularly "like" Jessica; passing his legacy to her had been a choice born of necessity. He treated her with gentleness, but that wasn't the way one treated an heir. Only through severity could a warrior be given the chance to survive.
"She is all that remains of the Great Bear!" Cassius barked.
Natasha had inherited Cassius's fighting style, but Natasha was a "Barbarian," not a "Barbarian of the Great Bear." To them, the tribe was a sacred distinction.
"And? She needs my guidance even to know where to swing her sword. Such a 'warrior' is not worthy of inheriting our glory!" Orak's blade pulsed with light amidst the flames.
"Do you see her as a toy? Or does the War God Orak just need a submissive doll to soothe his guilt over what happened to that child?!" Cassius stepped into Orak's space, screaming into his face.
His fury was a physical thing. Cassius's will to protect his kin had never wavered—not in life, and certainly not in death. He was the man who would hunt a pack of wolves to the ends of the earth because they stole a single lamb from his tribe. Everything within the tribe was under his protection. He used his own strength and the fear he inspired in his enemies as an umbrella for his people. That was the essence of Cassius as Chieftain.
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