"I don't think you can pass my trial, Jessica," Orak rumbled, eyeing Jessica Jones.
The ancestor named War God faced a horde of over three hundred walking corpses in his first battle. Despite Jessica's decent barbarian physique, Orak doubted her victory.
"I can fly. Isn't that enough?" Jessica said smugly. Flight was a coveted human dream.
"Fly?" Orak scoffed. "Try it here."
Jessica paused, catching his meaning. As a private investigator and freelance reporter, she wasn't dim. "So, flight's restricted here?"
"In front of the strong, flight's usually meaningless," Orak said, his aura flaring, pinning Jessica in place.
Many demons could fly, but against barbarians, they fought grounded—not for fairness, but because flight was useless against Nephalem. Even Diablo, who could soar to High Heavens, stood earthbound against Bul-Kathos. Flight didn't win against Nephalem. Simple as that.
Angels and demons' offspring, Nephalem could fly but found it pointless. Over time, none bothered, and the topic faded. Even walking corpses used basic tactics—flight meant nothing.
"I can fly?" Luke Cage, watching nearby, sounded shocked, like Shazam before discovering his own flight. For Nephalem, it wasn't inability—it was irrelevance. High jumps didn't dodge molten fire, poison, or mighty blows. Birds could be petrified, golems stoned. Ground effects hit air targets too.
Bang! Luke felt familiar pain.
"Jerk, you skip my training to watch Orak?" Madoc straightened his iron rod, yelling at Luke, sprawled on the ground.
"Just digging into your story," Luke said, rubbing his head as he stood.
"Why not ask me?" Madoc kicked Luke's rear.
"Would you tell me?"
"No, but you didn't even try!" Madoc grabbed Luke's neck, dragging him to the training ground. "You're no prophet for my moves!"
"I'm a battle prophet! You here to fight? I don't need foresight to know you'd die miserably!" Madoc didn't mention losing his prophet status after death—unnecessary.
"Idiot, get to the secret realm! Let's see your progress!" Madoc dragged Luke, occasionally smacking his head with the rod—not to hurt, as it couldn't, but a heavy hand might burst Luke's skull.
Madoc didn't want his legend burdening his heir yet. Most barbarians, facing Baal as their final foe, could only charge to death. Luke wasn't ready for fearless sacrifice.
Orak and Jessica watched Madoc handle Luke. Once they were gone, their talk resumed.
"Now what?" Jessica asked, eyeing the giant. Orak's brown hair and untrimmed beard hid his face, typical of Bear Tribe barbarians—rude, savage, bear-like.
"Learn weapons first." Orak swept snow aside, grabbed a standard rookie axe, and tossed it to Jessica, taking another for himself.
He swung at the distance, unleashing a shockwave skyward. "Bash, a must for every barbarian. Master it, and any weapon becomes second nature."
Orak dropped the axe, drawing his Blade of War God. His swing summoned a hurricane, then a fiery shockwave soared. Jessica felt not a snowy mountain but a volcano's edge.
"Tch, Orak, that freak," Andariel-Kulgas spat, watching the fiery wave while forging a car with Rasuk.
Bash built barbarian rage, but Orak used it to unleash it, amplifying his power fivefold, making him unstoppable. Releasing rage while building it—like a faucet pouring and sucking water—was Orak's unique skill. Even Bul-Kathos, whose Bash could overpower Orak's, couldn't mimic it.
"Alright, Ancestor Andariel, let's forge faster! Soon we'll have our car!" Rasuk flexed his biceps, shouting.
Andariel-Kulgas indulged Rasuk, despite his clownish antics. No one questioned Rasuk's weapon-forging skill. Had he not died, he might've crafted his own legend.
Writing, writing!
(End of Chapter)
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T/N: Although I'm an inexperienced Editor, I do have a Patreon account! Although it seems like I don't have many supporters right now, my webnovel will be released in full every day, and the advanced chapters will be uploaded to Patreon.
It may not be worth it now, but who knows, it might be different in the future. Who knows!
patreon.com/DaoistRoeoNQ
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