The Veiled Man
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The Barbarian Awakening - Chapter 26
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 16:00:24 +0000 UTCChapter 26: Beyond the Veil of Power I stood frozen, bone weapons still extended from my knuckles, feeling like a child holding twigs before
Chapter 26: Beyond the Veil of Power
I stood frozen, bone weapons still extended from my knuckles, feeling like a child holding twigs before a forest fire. Osmotic Evolution granted me this ability from the Skeleton Soldiers, but I doubt they’d be very helpful against this particular opponent.
The sensation of power emanating from this robed figure made the air itself feel heavy. Reality strained under his presence. My throat constricted, making breathing laborious work.
[??? Ascension]
The stranger’s Ascension was so high that my [Dragon’s Eye] couldn’t see through. The only others I’d experienced the same situation with were the Matriarch, the Shaman, and some of the other tribe elders. This man was not a weakling. I’d leveled up in the fight earlier, but it was a mere single level. I was now Level 36.
He held the necromancer's limp body with one hand, as casually as I might hold a rag doll. His crimson eyes glowed beneath his hood, scanning us with idle curiosity. It was the same way a man might observe insects before deciding whether to crush them.
Behind me, I felt Isolde's rapid breathing, heard Borric's strangled gasp. Ragna was still recovering, struggling to stand. They were my responsibility. Whatever this... being was, I couldn't let him near them.
"Back away from them," I growled, forcing steel into my voice despite the fear churning in my gut. "Who are you and what do you want?"
A chuckle escaped him, a sound like rumbling clouds that seemed to reverberate inside my skull rather than through the air.
"Bravery or foolishness?" he mused, tilting his head. "Hard to tell with you barbarians. You really stand before me with those... toys…?" His gaze flicked to my bone blades, "As if they could scratch me."
I forced a grin, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Well, they worked fine on your friend here. Maybe you'd like a demonstration?"
Humor as armor. It was a reflex from my old life, using levity to mask terror. It had gotten me through basic training, through missions I wasn't supposed to survive.
One moment he stood fifteen paces away. The next – nothing but a blur of motion too fast for even my enhanced vision to track – and he was before me, close enough that I could see the fine embroidery on his robes. A symbol I didn't recognize. A single lone star wrapped in crimson flames.
Oh.
Oh shit. He’s fast.
"Interesting," he said.
His fist drove into my stomach with casual precision. The impact wasn't just physical – it carried a force that seemed to ripple through my very existence. My bone weapons retracted involuntarily as I dropped to my knees, vision swimming, bile rising in my throat. The crystallized handle of my broken axe clattered to the ground beside me.
This wasn't just power – this was a different category of existence entirely. I'd felt this sensation once before, when that obsidian axe first pulled me into this world. The unmistakable feeling of standing before something that transcended normal limitations.
"You have potential," he observed dispassionately, as if noting the quality of a horse at market. "But potential is merely unrealized possibility. Currently, you are nothing."
Through watering eyes, I watched as Ragna struggled to her feet, her gaze fixed not on me but on the emblem adorning the stranger's robes. Her eyes widened with recognition, and something else – ancient memory, perhaps, passed down through tribal stories.
"I… The Divine Cult is immortal," she recited, her voice carrying an unfamiliar cadence, like words memorized from childhood. "The Lone Star eternal. Darkness shall not prevail while the Heavenly Demon watches."
The robed figure went utterly still, his casual demeanor vanishing in an instant. The pressure of his presence intensified, making the air crackle with energy that raised the hair on my arms.
"The Valtherians remember their old vows," he said quietly. "No wonder the Liege talked so highly of you people."
I looked between them, confusion cutting through my pain. This was tribal history I didn't know. Yet another chapter missing from my "So You've Been Reincarnated as a Barbarian" orientation manual. I felt cheated.
"Old vows?" I managed, forcing myself to stand despite the protest of my battered body. "The Divine Cult and the Valtherians were connected somehow?"
"Not just connected," the figure corrected. "Allies, once. Before your ancestors chose isolation rather than choosing the floating city of Nevaramis." He turned his attention back to Ragna. "The Valterian tribe served as the Heavenly Demon's front-line warriors during the War of the Shattered Sky. Their reward was the unification of many different Volcanic Islands, turning them into a single archipelago. A sanctuary for the barbarians since the mainland became... complicated."
Ragna's eyes widened further. "My grandmother's stories... they were true?"
The figure shrugged, his interest already waning. "Perhaps. Tribal memory tends to preserve truth wrapped in metaphor." His gaze shifted to Isolde. "But ancient history is not why I'm here."
Isolde stepped forward, standing beside me despite the fear I could feel radiating from her. Her posture remained regal, chin raised, eyes clear.
"Unlike what this fool here said, this [Mage] is not my friend. He’s an enemy, as is his entire cult. What festers in Thalassaria is merely a symptom," the figure continued. "The cult you faced serves something ancient yet new, something that should remain buried. I suggest you stay away from this situation."
"This is my kingdom," Isolde replied, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. "I am its rightful queen. I cannot abandon it."
The figure studied her with renewed interest. "A Thalasson with actual spine. Rare these days." A smile curved his lips beneath the shadow of his hood. "You might be worth the investment."
"What do you mean, a symptom?" I asked, trying to refocus the conversation. My tactical mind was already working, assessing possibilities, mapping escape routes if necessary. "Who does this mage serve?"
"Your brother isn't the architect of this chaos," he told Isolde, ignoring my question. "He's another pawn, like this necromancer." He shook the limp body in his grip as if to emphasize his point. "The cult's leader isn't here; my hunt continues elsewhere."
"If your hunt continues elsewhere, why intervene here?" Isolde challenged.
"Curiosity, mostly." He glanced around the ritual site with clinical detachment. "This particular ritual was attempting something... unwise. Had it succeeded, it would have drawn attention I'm not ready to face yet."
The casual way he said this – as if preventing a catastrophe was merely tidying up – sent a chill down my spine.
"You will not survive what's coming with your current strength," he continued, his tone suddenly shifting to something almost resembling concern. "Find allies. Your current group…” he looked at me. “It's not half bad. But they’re still children. Don’t let their sizes fool you, both these Barbarians are 18 years old at most.”
“W-what?!” Isolde looked shocked, turning to me. “You’re 18, Thorvyn?!”
“Uh, yes? What did you think?” I asked, confused.
She didn’t reply. The man spoke over us. “You need someone stronger, someone who can face this properly. Someone with an army. The uncle in Veridian might be worth visiting. Try to increase this group’s strength too, it has potential at least. Try touching 4th Ascension at the very least."
"Uncle Marius?" Isolde's composure cracked slightly. "How do you know about him?"
The figure seemed to smile under his mask, though it was hard to tell. "I know many things, Princess Isolde. Including the fact that your uncle has been gathering forces these past months. He anticipated your brother's betrayal, if not the... additional complications."
"And how exactly are we supposed to fight something that even you are hunting?" I asked, frustration edging into my voice.
He laughed – a sound both beautiful and terrible, like crystal breaking. "Who said you’ll be fighting the same thing I’m hunting? I only track the big fish."
He turned as if to leave, the necromancer's body still dangling from his grip. "Run or find help. Otherwise, I'll be stepping over your corpses the next time our paths cross."
"Wait," I called. "You haven't told us who you are."
He paused, looking over his shoulder with those burning red eyes. "Names have power, barbarian. Mine especially." After a moment's consideration, he added, "But the humans of this era call me Executor Thragg. It serves well enough."
With those words, he made a gesture with his free hand. The air before him seemed to tear open, revealing a darkness that wasn't merely absence of light but something much more profound. He stepped through, and the tear sealed behind him, leaving no trace of his presence save for the lingering scent of power and something metallic.
The moment his presence vanished, I collapsed fully, my legs giving way beneath me. The overwhelming pressure that had kept me conscious through sheer determination evaporated, and my body remembered all at once how badly it had been damaged. Especially that punch at the end.
Ragna caught me before I hit the ground, her strong arms supporting my weight. Her expression was grim, eyes distant with shock.
"That was a Divine Cultist," she whispered, awe and fear mingling in her voice. "My grandmother told stories... but I always thought they were myths."
"I can’t believe this…" Isolde asked, kneeling beside us, her royal composure abandoned in favor of urgent concern. "I thought the Divine Cult ceased to exist?"
"Later," I managed, each word an effort. "We need to move. Now."
"You can barely stand," Borric objected, joining our huddle with the three rescued children trailing behind him, wide-eyed and silent.
"Doesn't matter," I insisted. "Whatever that was – whoever he was – he just confirmed there's something worse coming." I met Isolde's eyes. "Something that has your brother tangled in its web, whether he knows it or not."
The air around us still smelled of magic and charred flesh. The abandoned ritual site pulsed with residual energy that made my skin crawl. We'd won nothing here – merely postponed a disaster we didn't yet understand.
"How is that punch even possible?" I wondered aloud, pressing a hand to my abdomen where lingering pain radiated outward. "It felt like being hit by a truck, but also... more. Like he struck my soul directly."
Ragna shook her head. "What’s a truck? Anyways, I don't know Thorvyn, but that's not what matters. We gotta move.”
"Veridian," Isolde said suddenly, determination hardening her features. "I can’t believe we have to change our course when we are so close to the capital, but that's where we need to go."
"Your uncle?" I asked.
She nodded. "Uncle Marius was always the diplomat of the family. He served as ambassador to three kingdoms before retiring to his estate in Veridian. If he's gathering forces as this... Executor claims, he must know more about what's happening."
"It's a detour from Solstara," Borric pointed out.
"Maybe," Isolde conceded, "but a necessary one. We can't just charge into the capital unprepared, not with these new complications."
That delays my plans to find Mother once more. But that search can wait. I don’t want to roam the world when I know children are dying here. I forced myself to stand, ignoring the protest of my muscles. "I agree. We need allies and information." I looked around at our ragtag group – a princess, a merchant, a barbarian warrior, and me. "Whatever's coming, we can't face it alone."
From the quarry entrance, shouts of celebration began to reach us. The villagers, realizing their children were safe, had begun to gather. Their joy felt distant, almost surreal after what we'd just witnessed.
"Come on," I said, collecting my broken axe handle. "We have a false victory to celebrate and horses to secure."
Ragna gave me a questioning look, but helped me toward the celebrating villagers. "False victory?"
I met her eyes, keeping my voice low. "We didn't save them, Ragna. We just postponed whatever's coming."
She nodded grimly. "Then we better make damn sure we're ready when it arrives."
Borric wiped a layer of grime from his brow, looking between Ragna and me with a disbelieving shake of his head. "Is it always like this with you barbarians?"
"Pretty much," I confirmed, my voice hoarse.
Ragna, who was now conscious and leaning heavily on her club, managed a weak grin. "Sometimes worse!"
Borric turned to Isolde, who was straightening her torn robes with as much dignity as she could muster. "Your Highness, I believe I'm owed hazard pay."
Isolde's lips quirked upward, her royal composure cracking for a moment. "Add it to my tab, Borric. Right beneath 'saved royal life' and 'prevented the kingdom's collapse.' Ah, only if we survive, though."
"Those are some premium services," he countered, a hint of his old merchant self returning. "The interest alone..."
A round of tired, slightly hysterical laughter passed between us, a small victory in itself.
As we joined the celebrating villagers, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd just glimpsed the edge of something vast and ancient – a conflict far beyond thrones and kingdoms. The world had suddenly grown much larger and much more dangerous.
And somewhere in that world, a man with red eyes hunted something that even he approached with caution.
What chance did we have against whatever that might be?
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, I felt a strange, familiar clarity settle over me. The focus that comes only when facing impossible odds. I'd been drawn to this world for a reason. Perhaps this was it.
Because if there's one thing my two lives have taught me, it's that the difference between impossible and merely improbable is often just a matter of perspective.
Comments
The Hand Behind the Veil
Hahahahaha you're loving the story! It hypes me up. And it's not that I'm avoiding comedy, the vibe is quite light as you can see so I'm not going for a gritty or dark type story, BUT I... can't write comedy 😂 I consider myself humorous, but I just don't have the skill to write comedy for some reason. I envy authors who can write comedy. Maybe I just need to read more comedic novels?
Ron1990
I like this classical rpg feeling. two warriors, a mage and a merchant, who will get a class in the near future. Ok, classic approach, you need a sneaky one in your party. Common rogue or assassin doesn't fit with his persona. Perhaps a 'Tomb Raider' or 'Agent of the Crown'? Can throw a punch, finds traps, capable in using social skills? And imho you need a comical sidekick. Your action scenes are wonderful to read, character building is ok, romatic affairs is ok, but you are avoiding humor in your stories? Perhaps it needs something like Ratatosk, squirrellike messenger of the World Tree, but seventh or eighth ascension. Smol but fierce, fluffy but a seasoned warrior and shaman of nature (Because your party lacks a healer). And then let the interaction start 😄. Nice, you get my imagination flowing, so, story well done so far 🥰! Oh, I forget.. they found the Monster Manual, but where is the Dungeon Master's Guide 🤣?
