The Barbarian Ascension - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Barbarians of the Volcanic Islands?!

The gangplank groaned beneath my boots as I stepped off the ship, Ragnar moving at my side. Her eyes were bulging out as she took in the scene ahead. I couldn’t blame her. The salty air clawed at our skin, mingling with the thick stench of fish and sweat from dockworkers straining under their loads. 

Seagard wasn’t just a patchwork of stone and mortar; it was a living, breathing chaos of towering spires, narrow alleys, and peeling facades in shades of white and blue that had long surrendered to the salt and wind.

It was mesmerizing in its unruly glory. The entire port thrummed with life—dockhands creaking as they heaved crates, merchants shouting their prices over the noise, seagulls shrieking as if they commanded the world. The buildings stretched up into the sky, carved from weathered stone with sharp angles and defiant arches that looked straight out of an old, stubborn era. 

Late Medieval, if I had to guess. 

And here I feared that there was no world outside that barbarian island. I had somewhat come to like it in the month I spent, but there was nothing like the smell of civilization. I breathed in heavily, held it for a moment, and let it out. “Hah…”

This sight here was proof that human civilization wasn’t just surviving in this foreign world, it was thriving.

Civilization. Real, sprawling human life. Oh, how I’d missed it. I let out a low whistle, the sound lost in the noise around me. I had lived up to my goal. I had left the damned island behind, and now, for the first time in what felt like ages, I saw actual, civilized humans around me. I laughed.

“What a place, Throvyn,” Ragnar said from beside me, pointing at the large castle perched atop a hill. “How did they build something like that?! Human magic is real!”

My laughter grew louder. She was so dumb that it was cute. Eyes followed us as we now stood on solid ground. A mix of awe and unease lingered on those gazes that didn’t bother to hide themselves. Eyes scanning for threats, for anything that might justify the shift in the air. I had expected that much. As happy as I was to see civilization, I hadn’t forgotten how I looked now. I was a barbarian. 

Civilians in threadbare tunics and scarves backed away, eyes darting nervously between our weapons and our faces. The sudden hush that fell over the dock wasn’t odd. They were smart to be alerted by a group of barbaric warriors carrying heavy weapons.

“Thorvyn, they’re staring,” Ragnar muttered beside me, a grin playing on her lips. I couldn’t tell if she was happy seeing people look at her or if she saw the worry in their gazes and took that as a triumph. She was weird in the way that both of them could be true.

“Let them,” I said. The barbarians behind us disembarked with wide, toothy grins, necks craned to take in the new sights. One would think they’d never seen civilization before. And one would be correct to think that.

“Captain Thorvyn!”

I turned at the familiar voice, finding Borric waddling toward me, having gotten off from his own ship that was docked right beside ours. Sweat trickled down his ruddy face. He stopped a foot short, breathless, clutching at the hem of his tunic. His eyes were still grateful, almost reverent. 

“Mister Borric,” I greeted him. “I’m not a captain anymore, just Thorvyn will do.” 

“I can’t thank you enough, my friend,” he said, voice thick with relief. “If it weren’t for you, the Azure Armada would be nothing but bones on the seafloor. Please find me in our office in the western part of the city, in case you need anything during your stay here. I’ll be glad to help!”

“Thank you,” I nodded, accepting the praise without any more words. He was a good man, but I’d heard enough gratitude from him, and it had grown boring.

When I didn’t say anything else, Borric hesitated. His eyes darted around as if checking for eavesdroppers before he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The cargo we carried is worth more than gold, my friend. Had the pirates taken it, Thalassaria itself might have fallen.”

I raised an eyebrow. Just what was he carrying that an entire nation might fall if it got stolen? Unwise to tell that to a barbarian, even if I’d maintained a very respectable impression with him in the week we traveled together. Then again, maybe precisely because I’m a barbarian did he find the courage to say it?  

Regardless, he realized his blunder immediately as he straightened up, eyes flickering with a sudden, nervous awareness. “Forgive me. I’ve said too much.” He fumbled with his tunic, gave me a stiff nod, and hurried off into the crowd.

Interesting.

It seemed this country was going through something intense. I have to look into it. Does this place have something like an Information Guild?

I shook it off. That was a riddle for another day. For now, I had bigger fish to fry. All the barbarians were chatting, pointing at things, and asking each other questions. I couldn’t endure babysitting them any longer.

“Guy guys,” I clapped my hands together, the sharp sound slicing through the dock noise and grabbing my crew’s attention. The barbarians, who’d started to wander off, froze, heads snapping back to me. “Listen up!” I barked. Silence fell, save for the creak of the ships and the calls of dockworkers too busy to care. “This is where we separate.”

Murmurs broke out immediately. Haldrek, always the loudest when he shouldn’t be, pushed to the front, eyes narrowed. “Separate? We just land here, Thorvyn! What the rush?”

“Rush is the name of the game, Haldrek,” I said, my tone unyielding. “We didn’t sail across half the sea to play tourists. We’re here for the pilgrimage. That starts now. The Chieftain will be ashamed to see us stick to a large group!”

The murmurs didn’t stop, but they grew softer, more thoughtful. Ketta stepped forward, small but fierce, arms crossed tight over her chest. “And how we survive? Food, shelter? From what that fat merchant Borric said, everything is so complicated here! This not home.”

“No, it ain’t,” I agreed. “Which is why you’ll find work, trade, do what you have to. But don’t cause trouble unless you want the city guard on your necks. We fight when we need to, not for fun.”

A rough chuckle rippled through the group. Ragnar rolled her eyes, but I caught the glint of approval there. “Even barbarians can play it smart,” she muttered, low enough that only I could hear. Hearing her voice and pronunciation against the other barbarians, I realized how much her speech had improved. All thanks to me, of course. 

“Small groups,” I continued, making sure to catch Jarl’s eye when he looked like he’d question it. “Three, four at most. I’ll just be taking one with me, though. Any bigger and you’ll stand out. But don’t go alone. We’re strong, but don’t be stupid.”

Ragnar froze beside me when I said I’d only be taking one. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Beric thumped the hilt of his warhammer on the ground, a grin splitting his face. “For the pilgrimage!” he shouted, voice booming.

“For the pilgrimage!” The others echoed, the call carrying down the dock, turning heads.

I clapped my hands again, sending them off with a sharp nod. “Go. Split up, blend in, and don’t cause trouble.”

They moved, splitting off into groups, excitement sparking in their eyes. I grinned wide. Ah, how peaceful it felt having them get off my shoulders… I was not responsible for these stupid punks anymore. Ragnar lingered at my side, watching them scatter like wolves released into new hunting grounds. I felt her eyes shift to me, her gaze hiding something. I raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything.

“Let’s grab some food,” I said, breaking the silence.

Her smile was small, almost forced. “Lead the way, Thorvyn.”

There was something behind her eyes, something that she didn’t want to share yet. I decided to give her time and filed it away for later. The city was ours to explore, and whatever storm Ragnar was brewing would hopefully be finished by the time this day ended.

****

The cobblestone streets of Seagard Port stretched out before us, winding through clusters of market stalls, shops, and the occasional shaded alleyway. The city was alive, bursting with the sounds of haggling merchants, squeaking carts, and the chatter of townsfolk going about their day. 

Ragnar walked beside me, her eyes darting from one curious sight to the next, a mix of wonder and confusion on her face. “What’s that smell?” she asked, pointing to a stall where a plump man in a stained apron was turning skewers of spiced meat over an open flame.

“Probably some kind of food,” I said.

“You don’t say,” she shot me a look, and I laughed.

“I think it’s called kebab?” I said, and she eyed the meat. I’d smelled meat cooked a hundred ways back on the islands, but this was different. It smelled sharp and tangy, almost sweet. Some kind of animal that wasn’t common to the Volcanic Island?

“Let’s try it,” she said, her eyes lighting up with that familiar barbarian curiosity.

“Later,” I said. “It won’t fill our belly. We’re gonna grab a bigger meal instead.”

She scowled at me, opening her mouth to protest. That was when a boy, no older than eight, ran up to Ragnar holding a bunch of wilting wildflowers. We looked at him and observed his eyes grow wide with awe, gaze lingering on her muscles as he craned his neck to look at her. “Flowers, miss?” he asked, his voice a nervous squeak.

Ragnar stared at him, unblinking. Then, a grin cracked her serious expression, and she took the bunch from the boy. “Thank you, little one.” She ruffled his hair with a hand that could crush a skull, but he beamed. Receiving his pay, two coppers, he darted off to join a group of children who watched from a safe distance.

It seemed the group had bullied him into this. Kids.

“Didn’t take you for a flower girl,” I said, giving her a sidelong look.

She cleared her throat, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “I’m not. The kid just looked too adorable to refuse.”

“Definitely,” I said with a smirk.

She scowled, and I laughed as we moved on, weaving between merchants and shouting the prices of their goods. “Oh look, more flowers,” I nudged at her teasingly when a flower shop caught my eye. She grumbled but still looked at the place. Its window was filled with blooms in every color, petals open like yawning mouths. An old woman sat inside, arranging a bouquet with hands as gnarled as the roots of an ancient tree. 

She glanced up, eyes narrowing when she caught sight of us, then went back to her work with a huff. The people here were curious, yes, but wary too. A port town saw all kinds, but not many like us. Barbarians wearing leather skin for clothes.

After what felt like hours of walking and a thousand questions from Ragnar—some I answered, some I had to ask the shopkeepers for—we reached an inn. It had a sign that was faded but legible, swung above the door: The Rusty Anchor. 

“Rusty it sure is,” I said. The place looked as worn as the sea-sprayed buildings around it, but it was busy, which was a good sign.

I pushed open the door, the low hum of conversation inside quieting the moment we stepped in. People with weapons beside them, adventurers and mercenaries if I had to guess, filled the tables, their eyes sliding to us and then quickly away. One man’s drink paused halfway to his lips, a bead of ale slipping down his chin. 

Ragnar, incredibly tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, was intimidating enough on her own. Paired with me, who towered over her too? We might as well have been dragons walking into a chicken coop.

The inn workers had stopped in the middle of their work but quickly regained their senses. “W-welcome, please take a seat!” The innkeeper behind the counter shouted a greeting, and we nodded.

We found a table near the back, away from the prying eyes. The chair groaned under Ragnar’s weight as she sat, and I smiled at the nervous glance the innkeeper shot our way. A young, round boy with a mop of hair ran over, his face pale as he took in our size.

“W-what’ll it be?” he stammered.

I leaned back, scanning the chalkboard menu propped against the far wall. “What do you have?” I asked, keeping my voice steady but not unkind.

He rattled off a list, eyes darting from me to Ragnar. “Uh, stew of the day, spiced pork with bread, roast chicken with garlic, and… ale?”

“Two of the stew and roast chicken,” I said, catching Ragnar’s nod of agreement.

The boy scampered off, and we settled into our seats. The tension in the room slowly faded as the other patrons realized we weren’t there to pick a fight. The food arrived quickly: steaming bowls of thick stew and a hunk of bread each, followed by tasty chickens that made my mouth water. 

I dug in without hesitation, but Ragnar paused, her eyes widening as she took her first bite. “By the Warrior Gods!” she exclaimed, louder than she intended. Heads turned again, but she didn’t care. “This is better than anything from the Volcanic Islands!”

At the mention of our homeland, a few nearby patrons coughed, choking on their food. They exchanged glances, some choking on their drinks. The Volcanic Islands. It seemed our home had a reputation here.

We enjoyed our meal with pleasant hums and moans, the food wasn’t bad at all. While the customers still looked worried, the innkeeper didn’t. Someone who enjoyed the food so much would be less likely to cause trouble. Once we finished our meals, I tossed two silver coins onto the table. The payment was written on the chalkboard, but Borric’s explanation also fitted it. Two silver seemed perfect for what we had.

I leaned back, letting my weight sink into the chair, and my eyes slipped shut for a moment of rest. The warmth of the food settled in my stomach, a rare comfort. I assumed Ragnar wanted to do the same and take a rest; instead, she fidgeted around and spoke a minute after I had closed my eyes.

“Um… Thorvyn?”

Her voice pulled me from the edges of sleep. I didn’t open my eyes. “Hm?”

“I…” She hesitated, and I could feel her eyes on me. “I think I’ll separate from you.”

My eyes snapped open, and I frowned, turning to her. “Huh, why? What’s wrong? Did I do something that bothered you?” Did I tease her too much with the flower incident?

“No, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s not that. It’s just… I feel like I’m being carried by you. You know so much about everything, and you’re stronger. I feel like I’m holding you back. I feel… useless. What’s the point of pilgrimage then?”

“Oh.” I shrugged, closing my eyes again. “Then no.”

She blinked, stunned into silence. “Uh? T-Thorvyn?”

I cracked an eye open, meeting her confused gaze. “You’re stuck with me. I don’t care if you feel useless. To me, you’re useful, and that’s all that matters. If you want to leave, you can beat me in a fight and then go.”

“....” I met her gaze in silence for a moment and then went back to rest. She stayed silent, confused and bewildered. A beat passed, and then she sighed. “Bring me ale!” Ragnar shouted, and when I peeked, I noticed a look of frustration on her face… along with a soft smile that she tried her best to hide.

Silly girl. I smiled, snoring as I let the noise of the inn wash over us.

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