The Inheritance Temple was a very special place.
It would search the surrounding area for a qualified person who could receive the inheritance, and would bestow divine power upon that person in advance.
The divine power that descended might manifest in the qualified person as a special physique.
And in the extreme northern lands, only these barbarians could be recognized by the Inheritance Temple.
Only a qualified person could awaken the temple.
Viktor originally thought he would need to search through several tribes in a row before finding such a qualified person, but his luck wasn't bad.
The only survivor was a barbarian boy who looked to be only in his teens.
The red hair on his body had only grown out slightly, and his limbs, having lived long-term in extreme environments, were especially sturdy. He wore a loose beast-hide coat covered in white spots.
That beast-hide clothing had already been scorched and blackened under the terrifying flames.
But even though he was in the midst of such blazing fire, his body remained undamaged.
This was the manifestation of his divine power, fearless against high temperatures.
Converted into game terms, that would be immunity to fire-element damage.
The barbarian boy looked at the cold Viktor, shouting in gibberish, waving his arms and legs as he shouted, appearing extremely excited.
Seeing that Viktor did not react, the boy directly knelt before him, kowtowed for a long time, then finally lay flat on the ground, motionless.
As if he regarded Viktor as a god embodying flames.
Viktor simply looked at all his movements with cold indifference, "A savage who has never awakened thought, relying on that bit of power he received from the outside world, behaving atrociously on the borders of a vast empire."
He turned his head toward a wooden pole nearby. Hanging there were all kinds of flesh and blood. In the blur of it, Viktor seemed to even see some indescribable pieces of flesh.
On it, there also seemed to be some clothing that had long been frozen stiff.
Seeing this made Viktor feel a disgust so deep it turned into nausea.
He wished he could bring these dead barbarians back to life just to grind their bones to ashes a thousand times over again.
"Did you know, Vega."
"This is why, aside from Gwen, I hate all the knights of the North."
Including Angus.
The man who claimed to be just, yet in his heart only had the inheritance of the Goddess of Justice left.
Until that inheritance finally fell upon Gwen, even the Goddess of Justice felt that Angus's behavior had become so obsessive it had turned into sin.
So Gwen killed him.
Not only because Angus intended to unite the North and rebel against Aurelian's rule.
But because Angus was already deeply sinful.
Even if he had done nothing.
But this is the North, and at its borders exist these barbarians known as 'Beasts'.
His failure to act was already a grave sin.
Viktor didn't bother wondering whether Vega would respond. He simply looked with disgust at the barbarian kneeling at his feet. Then from his back suddenly grew a gigantic hand formed entirely of molten lava.
In an instant, the barbarian boy before him was grabbed and lifted into the air, held tightly in that giant molten hand.
The giant hand constricted fiercely, as if wishing to crush his body into minced meat.
Amid the endless howling wind and snow, even from a hundred meters away outside the tribe, one could hear the intense screams and the crisp crackling of bones being crushed.
Just before the barbarian boy might have been squeezed to death, Viktor stopped the tightening of the giant hand and no longer paid attention to the half-dead worm in his grasp.
As long as he still had one breath left, Viktor wouldn't spare him another glance.
The road to the Inheritance Temple was still long.
He dragged that now mangled barbarian behind him and continued walking in the howling snow, letting the tribe behind him, now reduced to ruins, burn with fierce flames.
———
On a snowy plain, light flakes drifted in the air, like tiny, clear flowers.
A white-haired old man stood among them. His white hair and white eyebrows made him blend in even more with the snow.
He wore a cloak of pure white fur, and as snowflakes fell upon it, he looked even colder.
Around him were dozens of incredibly muscular barbarians.
Each barbarian held a weapon, and the tips of their weapons burned with bright red flames.
They tore their throats screaming, waving their weapons as they charged at the old man.
The old man looked at the few barbarians attacking him, not showing the slightest panic.
Instead, he slowly raised his arm, his fingers moving in the air, drawing white-blue symbols.
A faint layer of frost slowly began to condense on the glove covering his hand.
A long, icy battle-axe suddenly appeared in the old man's right hand. With a speed leaving afterimages, he swung the long axe and killed several charging barbarians in a single blow.
Seeing the barbarian limbs flying with blood spraying everywhere, the old man merely flicked off the blood remaining on his ice axe. Watching the barbarians trembling and stepping back several paces, he burst into loud laughter.
"Continue, come again."
He curled his finger in a taunt toward the remaining barbarians.
The barbarians looked at one another, unable to advance or retreat.
They weren't here to cause trouble for this old man.
On the contrary, they were the ones surrounded by him.
Many barbarians had seen him before, and naturally they knew who he was.
Vladimir Lebedev.
The North's strongest fourth-rank Magus, known as the "Sovereign of Extreme Ice and Delirious Penance."
These barbarians had just come here to scavenge, to see if there was anything worth stealing or any creature that could become their next food source.
Who would have expected to run into this nightmare of the barbarian tribes?
But retreating without fighting was not the barbarians' style. Even though one of their kind had been killed, they still believed they could defeat the demon who had tormented their tribes for so long.
The barbarians let out a sky-shaking roar, as if praying for strength, shouting incomprehensible gibberish.
After completing this "pre-prayer," the barbarians began swinging their flame-burning weapons, circling around Vladimir, drawing closer.
"What the hell are you crowing about? Can't understand a word!"
He laughed loudly, then his expression hardened, and a wave of icy aura spread out.
As a Magus, Vladimir preferred to use magic to assist his physical combat.
One barbarian charged with a flaming spear, thrusting fiercely at the back of Vladimir's head.
Vladimir stepped back, and the gauntlet of ice covering his palm grabbed the spear tightly.
Frost slowly crept from the spear tip along the burning shaft of the weapon.
The barbarian yanked back hard, but the spear felt stuck, unable to move. It decided to abandon the spear entirely and used its enormous body to rush at Vladimir.
In an instant, the old man hurled the frozen spear backward. The high-speed icy spear pierced through the skull of a barbarian holding twin blades not far away.
He turned his head, and the charging barbarian was already less than ten meters away.
His right leg snapped upward in a kick, his frozen boot shattered the barbarian's skull into pieces.
The blue glove on Vladimir's right hand glowed faintly. A dagger of ice appeared in his palm. He stabbed it into the headless barbarian's body, then flung the corpse toward a red-haired barbarian holding a battle-axe.
The corpse collided with the red-haired barbarian, and the huge impact tore a deep ravine across the snowfield.
The barbarian fell along with the body into the valley.
Touching his glove, Vladimir slowly held a cigar between his lips.
A Magus's magical attribute was usually singular.
But for a Magus with overwhelming physical strength, a single element of magic was an extremely powerful support.
Holding an unlit cigar, he casually walked toward the barbarian behind him who was stumbling back.
Perhaps frightened by his aura, the barbarian even forgot it was still holding a flail, staring blankly.
Vladimir stomped the ground and instantly appeared before the barbarian.
His strength was precise, strong enough only to shake the barbarian's internal organs violently. The barbarian staggered backward several steps and fell off the cliff.
At the final moment, the barbarian used its huge hand to clamp onto the edge of the snowfield, trying to climb up again.
Vladimir leisurely walked to the cliffside. Looking at the cold ocean surging below, he chuckled.
"Mmh!"
He crouched down, placed his gloved hand on the barbarian's arm, and released an icy surge of magic, freezing the barbarian in place.
After finishing all this, he ignored the barbarian's screams and reached into his pocket.
Then he revealed a surprised expression.
"tsk, damn it, forgot to bring flint."
As an ice-element Magus, he naturally wouldn't use the fire-element magic those bird-brained men used.
As if thinking of something, Vladimir lowered his head and raised an eyebrow at the barbarian.
The poor barbarian still didn't understand what Vladimir meant, until it saw the old man start loosening his belt. Its expression changed instantly.
It hurriedly reached out its still-unfrozen hand and waved frantically, shouting gibberish in panic.
Vladimir couldn't understand the barbarian language, but he knew for sure,
The barbarian was definitely cursing him right now.
A blast of fire suddenly shot from the barbarian's hand. The old man burst into laughter and stepped back two paces.
The towering flame ignited the cigar perfectly, releasing a thick tobacco smell.
He inhaled deeply and blew out two rings of smoke.
"Hiss~ hoo, hahaha!"
"I just love fighting you people from the Flame Sword clan. Your fire is perfect for lighting up!"
"Strong!"
He burst into bold laughter, crouched down again, and gathered an icy axe on his glove.
With one chop, he cut the barbarian's hand clean off and watched as the barbarian fell helplessly into the cold sea below.
The ocean rose in a wave several meters high, and beneath the ice, a black shadow slowly appeared, swallowing the body.
A faint trace of blood spread.
Vladimir stood up with the cigar still in his mouth, leaving patches of red behind him.
He exhaled another smoke ring and shouted toward the sky, "You're scared like that? Come on out."
A very young-looking man ran out from behind a frozen tree, face full of misery.
He came to Vladimir's side. Seeing the horrific corpses everywhere, he couldn't help feeling sick.
"G–General…"
Vladimir turned around as he walked and asked, "Tell me, what new nonsense have those damn knights stirred up now?"
The adjutant hurriedly took out a wanted notice and handed it to Vladimir.
He took it, cigar in his mouth, and glanced over it casually.
It even had the man's portrait.
"Yesterday, they issued a wanted order. By now, it's probably spread across the entire North."
"Those knights want our 'Pale Magus Order' to help capture this person."
Vladimir sucked sharply on his cigar and puffed out smoke.
"Hss, this kid looks a bit familiar… what's his name, Viktor?"
"His name is known everywhere in the capital now. His reputation has even reached the North, but…"
The old man spent every day smoking cigars, dancing, fighting, and killing barbarians.
How could he pay attention to such matters?
But one thing, Delk understood very clearly. The old man would absolutely never help those knights, because…
"Oh? He's a Magus?"
"Tell those knights this, any Magus, in my territory, gets free passage."
He burst into loud laughter three times, then seemed to think of something, turning his head to look at Delk.
"What did this guy do to deserve a full-territory manhunt?"
"Uh…"
Delk sweat a little, but still answered, "Viktor… he beat Angus and his son into paralysis."
"So they insist on finding Viktor to demand an explanation…"
Vladimir was silent for a moment, then instructed, "Tell the boys below to look for this person. Try your best to find him."
"And then…"
"I must sit down and drink a cup with this guy! Hahahahaha!"
He slapped Delk on the shoulder hard enough to make him cough endlessly.
"General, general… please stop slapping, cough, there's one more thing."
"Oh?"
Vladimir snapped back to attention, somewhat curious.
"The daughter of that duke friend of yours in the capital… she has arrived."