[A Massive 10,000-Word Special Chapter]
Vorusk walked in silence.
He remained at the absolute forefront of the battlefield, yet not a single demon lunged at him. It was as if Vorusk himself did not exist in that physical space, a ghost drifting through a sea of filth.
"What is that?"
Tyrael watched Vorusk's footsteps with a growing sense of unease. Though he expected no honesty from the Lord of Destruction, the Archangel still found himself yearning for an answer.
Was the hidden legacy of the Barbarians—stored away for countless eons—finally about to reveal itself?
As the group among the Nephalem burdened with the heaviest responsibilities, the depths of the Barbarian heritage far exceeded the understanding of any other class.
"How surprising, Tyrael. You are going to lose this round."
Baal followed the direction of Vorusk's march. He understood now.
He knew of the Barbarian who was born before Vorusk. The Barbarian whose name had been intentionally or unintentionally obscured by the fog of history. The one who had forced even Rathma to back down at the final moment.
The High Elder. Kanai.
"Kanai!"
The name escaped the phantom of Mephisto, whose will had long since begun to fray. The power of Hatred seethed and surged in response to the name.
"I see... so this is why the Barbarians harbored such resentment for what I did?"
Tyrael's hood trembled slightly. He couldn't have imagined what would happen if this path continued. The consequences of his destruction of the Worldstone might have been far more cruel than the "noble sacrifice" he once believed it to be.
Kanai's Cube was born from Kanai's hands. The Archangels had once assumed his soul had simply transformed into that relic to aid the Nephalem.
But now, the truth was surfacing.
Kanai's soul still resided upon the Sacred Mountain of Harrogath. And this "Rift" was perhaps far more complex than the Heavenly Host had ever dared to imagine.
"A wager? Tyrael, you're about to lose. It truly is a sight to behold."
Baal looked toward the path ahead of Vorusk, a smirk playing on his lips. To witness the true foundation of the Barbarian race was a thrill, even for a Prime Evil.
"A sight to behold? Do the Great Evils truly possess such sentiments?"
Tyrael shifted his gaze to Baal, his eyes momentarily unfocused. Fortunately, his face was shrouded in eternal darkness, preventing anyone from reading his expression.
"It doesn't matter. There is no need to overthink it anymore! Just wait. Wait until you surrender your everything to Bul-Kathos. Wait for the moment he is truly ready!"
Baal spoke, his power fluctuating. His decision was not an easy one—to hand over his status and power, to exile himself from the peak of strength into the depths of the abyss. No one would do such a thing willingly.
But he had no choice.
Vorusk reached his destination: a simple burial mound covered in snow. There were no grand markings, no monuments. It just sat there, quiet and still.
Vorusk's eyes softened with nostalgia, though flashes of agony occasionally flickered through his gaze. This time, there was no Rathma. This time, no damn Necromancer would wake these bones from their slumber.
"Kanai..."
Vorusk whispered the name again, his expression shifting into something unreadable. This cramped, box-like grave was where the High Elder was buried. Unlike other legends, there was no earth-shattering tomb or sprawling labyrinthine catacomb. There was only this low, undisturbed little nest.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Kanai," Vorusk murmured as if talking to himself.
"I became the Immortal King. The most arrogant, most unyielding of them all. Neither now nor in the future will there be another like me. The First Ancestor wasn't as flamboyant as I was, and the current Bul-Kathos isn't as reckless. But... only I know how cowardly an Immortal King I truly am."
Vorusk's voice was faint, so quiet that even the soft rustle of falling snow nearly drowned it out.
"Because of that cowardice, I felt rage toward everything that caused me fear. Because of my weakness, I felt awe for anything stronger than me. I hated these uncontrollable emotions. Fortunately, before I died, there was nothing left to remind me of them. But... was your corpse truly left untouched by Rathma?"
Vorusk drew the stone-crushing hammer from his waist and held it before him.
From the beginning, he had never shown his full strength. As the creator of the Immortal King's set, Vorusk was at his most terrifying when fighting alongside his ancestors, cloaked in the Wrath of the Berserker. Yet, he had never displayed that version of himself on the Sacred Mountain.
Which ancestor could Vorusk possibly summon to fight for him?
Gatekeepers like Madawc? They weren't qualified.
Raekor? She was powerful enough, but she rose to prominence long after Vorusk's death.
When Vorusk lived as the world's strongest warrior, there was only one ancestor he ever summoned.
Kanai. The High Elder.
"Hah!"
Vorusk let out a low warcry, igniting his dormant fury.
The spirit of Kanai, which had not appeared for countless years, slowly coalesced atop the grave. A Barbarian with a kind, gentle face and a lithe, powerful frame sat upon his own burial mound, his eyes calmly fixed on Vorusk.
"It has been a long time."
Kanai's voice was like afternoon sunlight, capable of soothing the most jagged anxieties. For a fleeting second, Vorusk looked as if he might choke back a sob.
Kanai casually turned his head, surveying his surroundings with a hint of surprise.
"I came because I need to confirm something with you, Kanai!"
Vorusk's tone was strange, surging with a forced intensity as if trying to mask his inner turmoil.
"You summoned me even at the cost of consuming my soul—and at my very resting place, no less. So, what is it you wish to know?" Kanai asked with a touch of helpless indulgence.
Back then, on Mount Arreat, it was Vorusk who had stopped Rathma. Facing the first Necromancer, Vorusk wasn't entirely defenseless, but once Rathma had reanimated Kanai's remains, Vorusk could do nothing but desperately hold his ground until the Worldstone exploded.
"Is your corpse... still inside?"
Vorusk dodged the real question. He gestured with his hammer toward the mound beneath Kanai. It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but when two old friends meet, they need a starting point.
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