Bul-Kathos yearned for it. To be omnipotent—what a moment that would be.
"Bul-Kathos, what do you think 'strength' is?" Johanna asked, watching his closed eyes.
She didn't wait for his answer before continuing, "Endurance is strength. Persistence is also strength."
"You are wrong, Johanna!"
Bul-Kathos rudely interrupted her consolation.
"If strength must be measured by a minimum standard, then strength is the ability to ensure that no one can stop you from carrying out your will!"
Bul-Kathos's voice rumbled like thunder in Johanna's mind.
Among the Nephalem, the Crusaders sought faith. The Monks sought oneness with the world. Demon Hunters sought the power and methods to slay their foes. Wizards sought knowledge and truth. Necromancers sought balance. Witch Doctors sought wisdom and the freedom of the soul.
Only the Barbarians sought strength itself.
"But you cannot say that endurance is not a manifestation of strength!" Johanna's voice wavered. The clash of ideologies left her flustered, even if the man before her was the Bul-Kathos she deeply respected.
"The strong do not need to endure!"
Bul-Kathos turned his gaze toward Kanai's location. His muscles rippled beneath his skin.
He was not yet strong enough. He couldn't yet put an end to these "noble sacrifices." No matter how noble, a sacrifice was still death. It was still an end. There was nothing to brag about in that.
Johanna was speechless. Facing Bul-Kathos now, she had no words to prove anything.
The strong held the floor. Might was right. Even the Truth required strength to defend it; otherwise, the one who spoke it would simply be branded a heretic, bound with stones, and drowned in the deep sea.
"Is strength the only truth?" Johanna's holy power flickered. She wanted the answer from him.
"Strength is not the truth. Strength does not need truth. But the Truth... needs strength!"
With that, Bul-Kathos moved.
Even if he couldn't stop the sacrifice, he would at least ensure the sacrificial hero received the glory that—while meager compared to life—was their due.
Bul-Kathos marched toward the gates of the Sacred Mountain.
Wherever he passed, the ancestral spirits preparing for battle froze. They watched his form in silence. That was the body that symbolized power. That was the unstoppable will.
The path wasn't short, but he reached the gates quickly. Before the demon onslaught, the gates of the Sacred Mountain stood firm, though scarred by countless attacks.
"Barbarians never hide from those wretches. We never keep our doors closed!"
Bul-Kathos spoke as if it were the most natural law in the universe. He didn't slow down.
The gates of the Sacred Mountain swung open, though no hand touched them. Outside, the three Ancients—Madawc, Talic, and Korlic—stopped their slaughter and turned to look at Bul-Kathos.
For a moment, they didn't need to kill. All the demons ahead seemed to recoil instinctively, parting like a tide to create a path wide enough for him to walk.
This was the instinct of life. Even demons could not override this biological realization. Though their wills were filled with bloodlust, every fiber of their meat and bone trembled. They fled from his path.
An indisputable warrior. An unquestionable powerhouse.
The awakened Siegebreaker Beast ahead was struggling to move its massive bulk out of the way. But it was too slow. Despite its best efforts, it still obstructed Bul-Kathos's path.
Bul-Kathos didn't stop. He didn't draw his weapon. He didn't even shout.
His scarred body slammed directly into the Siegebreaker's hardened carapace. He literally squeezed a path through the monster's colossal frame.
In the agony of being pierced through, the Siegebreaker didn't even manage a whimper. The moment Bul-Kathos passed through it, the beast slowly collapsed. Against Bul-Kathos, such a creature wasn't even worth being a stepping stone.
Strength needs no proof. It certainly doesn't need to gloat over the corpses of enemies. It doesn't even need adjectives to dress it up.
Bul-Kathos had no title. He was strength. His name required no prefix.
"Madawc, do you remember the last time Bul-Kathos acted like this? What was it for?" Talic leaned against his Proof of Shame, resting his weight on the blade.
"I don't remember clearly. I think I was already dead? Only Korlic kept getting stronger by following Bul-Kathos's footsteps. That's why he didn't even have a title when he died," Madawc said with a smirk, though his eyes were deadly serious.
Madawc the Prophet. Bul-Kathos had always mocked that title. Not out of malice, but because he wanted to remind Madawc to abandon a combat style that relied on knowing the outcome. That only took a warrior further from true strength.
"Madawc, how can you think following Bul-Kathos's path is a mistake? He showed us everything; it's just that none of us could ever be as strong as him."
Talic's weapon flashed with light, enveloping his body. As the owner of the legendary Proof of Shame, Talic was the first to be redeemed. It wasn't the weapon that saved him—it was Bul-Kathos.
"Dead men shouldn't gossip about strength. We are all failures," Korlic growled, slamming his Bastion's Might into the ground with a heavy thud.
His eyes were bloodshot and raw. He was still unwilling to accept it. He couldn't stand just watching that powerful back fade into the distance. In this battle from the past, his frustration turned into a deep, hollow helplessness.
How could a dead man seek strength? They could only watch Bul-Kathos walk further and further away, becoming more and more solitary.
The last of the light was fading. Once Bul-Kathos fulfilled the wishes of the Barbarians, of Leoric, of Leah, Cain, Mordane, and all those who suffered... what would be left for him?
A lonely strength. A darkness devoid of light.
"Korlic, you failed to save Bul-Kathos from his loneliness in the end," Talic said sorrowfully.
"Can Sonya do it?" Madawc asked, watching the demons who were too terrified to even move their eyeballs.
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