The territory that spread out before Torg was vast. High outer walls encircled the domain, and within them stood a castle of considerable size. The architecture was reminiscent of the medieval era, though with the distinct, unfamiliar flourishes of a fantasy world. What was it like inside? Torg was intensely curious. He continued his unhurried approach. The spear-tips of the guards trembled in their hands. Gritting his teeth, the captain of the guard glared at the approaching figure. The captain had never been forced to look up at someone before. Now, for the very first time, he found himself craning his neck. The man’s head alone was gigantic. He wasn’t just tall; his entire physique was massive. Yet it wasn’t a bulky or oafish size. It was proportioned like a perfect sculpture. And the scar on his chest. A legendary figure flashed through the captain’s mind. “D-Don’t come any closer!” one of the trembling guards shouted. The cry was unintentional, a raw burst of fear. When Torg’s gaze fell upon him, the guard’s face turned white as a sheet. He’s going to kill me! But contrary to the man’s terror, Torg stopped in his tracks. “I am not your enemy.” His voice was a low, calm rumble. “I have no intention of being hostile. There is no need for alarm. Relax.” “Y-You’re civilized?” a guard stammered foolishly. “…Is it common for the Horde of this world to be unable to speak?” “No. Not really, but…” the captain muttered, his own surprise getting the better of him. Barbarians were not unique to the snowy plains. Several tribes existed on the continent. But the ashen Horde were a special case. A flicker of interest crossed Torg’s face. “There are other Horde?” The tips of their spears showed no sign of lowering. Torg spoke again, his tone even. “I am not your enemy.” Most people who met him for the first time were terrified. In fact, more than a few outsiders had panicked and attacked him on sight back on the Baekseol Plains. He was accustomed to it by now; the reaction barely registered. Torg’s calm attempts at conversation began to have an effect. The trembling of the spears gradually subsided. Once things had calmed enough for a discussion, Torg focused on the captain. “You must be their leader.” “Your attire marks you as the one in charge. I will be direct: I mean you no harm.” “…What do you want from us?” “My purpose is simple.” Torg raised a single finger. The guards flinched, but Torg paid them no mind, pointing past them toward the territory. “I wish to visit your town.” Guided to the checkpoint, Torg was offered a seat. The wooden chair creaked and groaned as he settled his weight onto it. “…It’s newly built,” the captain remarked, eyeing the strained chair with an anxious expression. He cleared his throat and got to the point. “You said you wanted to visit the territory. Are you just passing through?” “I would like to stay for a while, if possible. I am not yet sure for how long.” The captain let out a low groan. A barbarian wanted to take up residence in their territory. He was conflicted. Should he refuse or accept? There was no compelling reason to refuse outright. Regulations existed for these situations. But the captain was afraid of the man before him. It was a primal fear, a survival instinct screaming at him. He did not want a creature like this loose in his territory. As the captain wrestled with his thoughts, Torg spoke again. “I am not your enemy.” The quiet, firm words seemed to settle something in the captain’s mind. “I am a visitor to this territory. You are the captain of the guard who manages visitors. That is all this is. You need only do your job.” The captain’s focus sharpened, his professionalism returning. On reflection, he recalled a few other times Horde had been allowed to stay. This was hardly different. Torg showed no particular reaction, long used to such scrutiny. His composure restored, the captain began his duty: to ascertain the outsider’s status and assess the threat he posed. “My name is Torg. Now… I have a question about a certain disturbance.” “As you approached, we detected a commotion—a rhythmic tremor that grew stronger. Do you know anything about it?” “I do not. I simply ran here.” The captain swallowed hard. If the commotion was just from him running, then… He filed the concern away. If it wasn't related to the barbarian, it wasn't his immediate problem. They could send scouts later. And if it was related to him, it was well beyond what he could handle anyway. “Do you have anyone who can vouch for you? Or any form of identification?” “I have nothing of the sort.” Torg paused, then suddenly reached for a necklace as if just remembering it. “Perhaps this will suffice for confirmation?” “It is the emblem of the House Voronov. I received it from one of them.” The captain cautiously took the offered necklace. He remembered a merchant family that had traveled to the Baekseol Plains a few years ago. He’d had a pleasant conversation with the daughter. It was from her that he had received the emblem. “The House Voronov… the merchant house from the Kingdom of Denian?” “You know of them?” “They’ve been gaining prominence recently. Ever since the family head changed a few years ago, their influence has expanded rapidly.” It seemed the bluff had worked. The captain turned the emblem over in his hand. “It does not look fake, but… it’s difficult to confirm its authenticity here.” “Is this not the right kingdom?” “This is the Kingdom of Gahentra.” The captain handed the necklace back. “I cannot confirm it, but… it is still helpful.” This barbarian didn't seem overtly dangerous. Even if the emblem was a well-made forgery, it proved something. At the very least, it meant he possessed the intellect to attempt such a deception. Therefore, he was not an uncontrollable element. What was truly frightening were beasts without intellect. Those with a mind could be bound by laws and rules. The captain believed this without a doubt. “Alright. You may enter. But there is a condition.” Torg chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. The moment he saw that smile, the captain felt his newfound trust crumble like a line of dominoes. …Can he really be controlled? A beast with intellect… wasn’t that far more dangerous? Torg was only chuckling with delight, but his laughter sent a cascade of suspicions through the captain's mind. “What is the condition?” “…Confirmation is necessary,” Torg murmured after listening to the captain’s explanation. The captain’s words were simple. Besides Torg, three other individuals without clear identification were seeking entry. The condition was for the four of them to clear a nearby dungeon together. “I should warn you, if you don’t accept this condition, you cannot enter. This is the minimum requirement,” the captain said firmly. Most Horde hated and avoided complicated affairs. And they abhorred fighting alongside warriors they did not personally acknowledge. Forcing a barbarian to form a party and conquer a dungeon with strangers… Many would rather charge in alone, consumed by rage. But Torg simply nodded. “It’s the rule, isn’t it? Then I will follow it.” The captain was genuinely taken aback. To follow a troublesome rule he disliked, just because it was a rule… It was the first time in all his encounters with Horde that he had witnessed such a thing. Of course, that wasn’t Torg’s true reason. Though he appeared impassive, Torg was secretly thrilled. This was the stuff of fantasy tales! The chance to experience it for real, not just in a game. He could barely contain his excitement. It already felt as though all the hardships he had endured were being rewarded. As Torg chuckled again, the captain forcibly stilled his trembling hands. “…There is another condition. Afterward, you must report everything that happened during the dungeon clearing. Any incidents or anomalies. If you pass that inspection, you may enter the territory.” Torg nodded his head. “We are to watch one another?” “Indeed. For those whose identities are uncertain, we require confirmation of their character. But it’s not easy to trust the words of a stranger about themselves.” There is nothing so weightless as the testimony of an untrustworthy person. It carries no value whatsoever. “But if it’s the word of someone who cleared a dungeon at your side, that’s a different story.” He didn’t know much about dungeons yet, but he knew they wouldn’t be easy. Everyone would be forced to use their full strength. Moreover, it was a party. They would have to coordinate with strangers they had never met. Those who couldn’t adapt to a group would stand out immediately. The unidentified applicants would be forced to keep an eye on each other. In the process, any troublemakers would be weeded out. It had its limitations and problems, but it served as an adequate sieve. “Not bad. You’ve used your head. Did you come up with this yourself?” The captain was astonished. Unless one was a noble or a monk, there was often no way to verify a commoner’s birth. Individuals with uncertain identities were plentiful, and the number of troublemakers among them was not small. Yet, it wasn’t feasible to reject them all. To solve this problem, the kingdom’s best administrators had struggled for days before devising this verification procedure. Those with little strength were simply let in, but those powerful enough to cause trouble were forced into parties to clear dungeons. At first, the captain had doubted the method’s usefulness, but its implementation had been a brilliant success. Vicious mercenaries and rogues with dark intentions were automatically filtered out when forced to cooperate. Some even died in the dungeons, but that hardly mattered. The deaths of unknown wanderers were common in this world. Only those who could cooperate and consider others were allowed into the territory. Since implementing this procedure, problems caused by outsiders had decreased significantly. So this is what all those expensive taxes paid for! The captain marveled at the system’s ingenuity. It was a method no one would have thought of easily. Indeed, the captain himself hadn’t understood its significance until a few weeks ago. Most of the guards still didn’t. But upon hearing it, Torg understood perfectly. “…Are you really a barbarian?” “I am. Unfortunately.” “You’re the first one I’ve met like you.” “It seems there are other Horde here.” “Indeed,” the captain said, shaking his head. “And they’re a troublesome lot.” He pushed himself up from his seat. “Let’s go, then. With you, we have enough to start right away.” Torg followed him with a smile. “First things first. You will be clearing the dungeon with three others. Be careful—if anyone dies or is seriously injured, it might be difficult for you to stay.” “Who am I going with?” A proper party should have at least one thief. “And someone who claims to be a warrior.” “It’s hard to explain. You’ll understand when you see him.” That was also good. There should be at least one other person to hold the front line. Every party needed at least one healer. It was a perfect combination. Torg smiled, satisfied. But there was one thing he regretted. “Magic-users are a valuable asset. They are all managed by the Magic Tower. Any who aren’t are… dealt with by the Magic Tower.” The thought of it was still tantalizing. But another question occurred to him. “Are you unsure of the priest’s identity?” Usually, the god a priest served was proof enough of their identity. The captain’s expression became vague. “Most priests are, yes, but… her case is a bit different. Well, we’re here. You can see for yourself.” It was time to meet the party members who would conquer the dungeon with him. The captain of the guard opened the door.

Chapter 10: Trembling spear-tips at the gate