Each banner has four masters in the guards against the Abyssal land, and not all of them are of the same race. Some are made of entirely different races, but the leaders are representatives of the banner race.
Take the Winged people for example, there are three Winged people masters and one barbarian.
The same thing goes for the Xyrrh.
"Didn’t I tell you not to show yourself here again?"
Karathra looked at the barbarian and said with a cold voice, "You’ve taken your dog role in the Winged people banner very seriously, Asclaw."
Asclaw was just as massive as the other barbarians but with a very flat nose. He snorted. "Dog? At least I’m not serving some useless pup!"
Then Asclaw’s eyes turned towards Galthor. The source of thɪs content is 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝓷𝓮𝓽
Galthor had kept silent all this time, studying the other guards, but most importantly, he kept his fascination at seeing other races behind an impassive face. It is not every day that someone from Earth gets to see fantasy races.
Xyrrh are humanoid insects, lean, with up to fifteen eyes on their heads. Their bodies are made up of hard shells of shades between black and brown.
Kobolds are creatures with heads that resemble vicious dogs. What set them apart from beast peoples is that the rest of their bodies are not furred. Instead, they were almost like the human body.
Galthor watched the barbarian, Asclaw, with an impassive face, and then, without hesitation, he turned to Karathra and said calmly, "Proceed."
The reason why Galthor gave the order was because he was sure that the news that a Stronghide had come must have reached them, and they must have received orders on what to do.
Now, what would happen next would depend on them.
Karathra shrugged and began to move forward, Galthor behind her and Brakthar closing in at the very back.
The group parted, and Karathra passed without any issues.
But just when Galthor was about to pass, Asclaw finally made his move. His hand snapped forward, a blur so fast it generated a small shockwave of rippling winds of its own.
And yet, Galthor saw it clearly, and his body reacted faster. He caught the punch that was meant for his face before it even got close. "What do you think you are doing?"
Asclaw’s eyes widened with pure shock. He had expected to punch Galthor’s head clear off at the very least. But how? How could Galthor catch his hand like that?
Galthor? The same bastard? What in the actual abyssal is happening!
Galthor frowned slightly and increased the strength in his fist, adding so much force that Asclaw gritted his teeth from crying out as he felt his bones cracking. "Karathra, should I kill this one to set an example to the others?"
All the other masters were watching with sharpened gazes, their bloodlust aura pressure directed at Galthor, but it affected him not one bit.
Karathra sighed and shook her head, her hand on her axe tighter than normal even as her face remained composed. "As much as I want to twist his neck, he’s still a Stronghide. Killing him now will be a big loss to us."
Galthor shoved Asclaw back, and his eyes settled on the others, ignoring their bloodline aura as if it would not bring lesser barbarians to their knees.
"You’ve played enough with the other banners. Your chief is back. It will be wise to return before I come looking for you myself."
With that, he turned and gestured for Karathra to continue leading the way.
And that was how the new Chief of the Stronghide tribe, Galthor Stronghide, entered the Abyssal land, leaving behind twelve masters that stared at him with stunned expressions.
Twelve masters. Enough power to crush a country.
The Abyssal land was truly strange. The ground was stone, and yet trees and plants grew easily. Monsters walked everywhere around, their malicious gazes following the three masters.
But since they were masters, not just any ordinary monster would dare take them on.
"Chief Galthor, we’ve passed a lot of monsters, and yet you’ve not tried to kill any of them?" Karathra asked, turning around to look at him. "I thought we were here to hunt for food."
Galthor looked back just as calm. "Isn’t that what you want, Karathra? I know you must have talked with Brakthar and know what I claim to be. Yes, I am the messenger of the barbarian god, and you want to test me."
She grinned, but there was no mirth in her face. "You bring a dangerous thing, Galthor. You bring hope. Isn’t it better that you die beneath the maw of a monster than to give our people hope?"
"Hope is only dangerous if it is not real. What I bring is real. I alone am proof."
Karathra snorted. "Oh, I see you’ve grown powerful. But this is not the first time races without gods have been fooled. A powerful relic can make you stronger than normal. I want to see with my own eyes, Galthor. I want to see."
Although she hid it well, Galthor heard it in her voice. How could he not? He was her god after all. The yearning that was carefully hidden underneath, the hope that she wanted.
Galthor turned to Brakthar. The same yearning was shining in his eyes.
So he nodded. "I will make you see."
There was no need to say any more. She turned around and continued to lead the way. Galthor followed. They went deeper into the Wilderness, and the deeper they went, the more tense the environment became.
The air felt as if it was alive, and it was oppressive, like blades against open wounds.
Galthor and Brakthar became more vigilant, their weapons held at the ready and their eyes scanning with rapt attention.
Another wave of memories rose in his head, and he recalled the ranks of monsters.
Vermin are the lowest, followed by Feral, and then Menace. Savage is the same rank as monsters, and the next one, Dire, is the rank above Savage.
Even stronger masters are wary of facing Dire rank.
Suddenly, Karathra stopped and pointed. "There."
Where she was pointing was a small mountain with a cave at the front.
When Brakthar saw it, his face widened, and he trembled. "Karathra, are you insane?"
Please read the Author’s note below.