Kai moved through the new lands of the Lombards, taking in the sight of the growing settlement. He had to admit, everything felt meticulously planned out. When he’d told Francis to lend a hand in designing the territory, he hadn’t expected the Lombards to follow the guidance so well.

Afterall, they had no reason to follow the structure that nobles provided, but surprisingly, they had. Of course, they were integrating their own architectural style into the designs, but that was a good thing. It gave the place character, made it distinct. And if the settlement expanded enough in the coming years, maybe—just maybe—it could become a tourist destination. That idea wouldn’t take shape for at least a decade, but it was an interesting possibility.

As he walked, Brugnar, the barbarian escorting him, finally spoke. The man was second-in-command to the chieftain and the warrior who had accompanied Ragnar to assist in the beast wave.

“I apologize, Lord Arzan” Brugnar said. “The chieftain didn’t come to personally greet you at the gate. We weren’t aware of your arrival today, and he’s been occupied with something important.”

Kai gave a slight nod. “It’s no big deal. I had some time and figured I’d stop by to discuss a few things with him.” He paused, glancing toward Brugnar. “What exactly is he observing?”

Brugnar let out a low chuckle. “Ragnar is taking on a group in the new sparring grounds.” His expression shifted, as if he was weighing his words. “It’s not finalized yet, but soon, Ragnar is expected to be named the heir officially. Before that happens, the chieftain wants him to learn to control his anger.”

Kai raised an eyebrow. Not at the part of Ragnar becoming the heir. That was something set in stone already, but he didn’t knew that the man had trouble controlling his anger. He had always been an aggressive warrior, but other than their initial meeting, he had only seen him be more in control.

“I didn’t know Ragnar had anger problems. Other than our first meeting, he’s always been amiable.”

Brugnar shook his head. “He doesn’t. But things have changed since Wulfgar’s death. His emotions aren’t in check, and he’s not even able to sleep properly. It’s affecting him, and could possibly affect him if he were to be put into a position of power. We Lombards have to be very careful about… everything, if you know what I mean. And the chieftain made it clear that we can’t have him as heir if he’s like this.”

“So the way to fix it is to fight?” Kai asked, glancing at Brugnar.

“It’s not to… fix.” Brugnar exhaled through his nose. “He has a lot of anger in him right now. And this is a good way for him to release it all.”

As they walked, the sounds of shouting and cheers grew louder. Kai’s gaze finally landed on the sparring grounds—a large clearing where a crowd had gathered in a wide circle.

Brugnar led Kai and Talon through the throng, parting the gathered warriors with ease until they reached the front. Standing there, watching the fight with sharp, small eyes, was the chieftain, Yafgar.

Yafgar turned at their approach, his gaze landing on Kai. For a moment, he was still, then he inclined his head slightly—just enough to acknowledge Kai’s authority without seeming fully subservient.

“Lord Arzan,” Yafgar said. “I did not expect you today.”

Kai gave a small nod. “I wanted to see how you were assimilating here and discuss something with you.”

Yafgar gestured to the growing settlement. “As you can see, we are adapting well. But tell me, what is it that you wish to discuss?”

Kai glanced toward the center of the clearing. “We’ll talk after the fight.”

His attention shifted to the battle taking place. In the middle of the clearing, Ragnar was locked in combat with three men at once, his movements precise yet brutal. Two others lay on the edge of the clearing, injured, indicating that the match had originally started as five against one.

Kai observed closely. This wasn’t just a spar. It was a test. But it hardly seemed fair. “Why are there so many against one man? Are they all Enforcers?”

Yafgar nodded towards two of the opponents of Ragnar. “Those two are. The rest didn’t make the cut.” His eyes were unreadable. “To be the next chieftain of the Lombards, Ragnar must be stronger than anyone else. Being blessed has given him power beyond what he would have originally possessed, but the world is changing—I can feel it. That power alone won’t be enough. He will need more. If he cannot stand against five of his own tribe, then he cannot rule above them.”

Kai nodded, understanding the logic behind it. The Lombards were a strength-based tribe, wild and untamed, with a culture built on survival and dominance. It made sense that only the strongest could lead.

Still, he believed ruling took more than just brute force. Yet, in a world where creatures could forge weapons from their own blood and Mages wielded devastating affinities, having overwhelming strength was a necessity.

His thoughts drifted back to the fight just in time to see a large man charging straight at Ragnar. He was one of the two Enforcers still standing and hefted a large battle axe.

Ragnar met the strike head-on, their weapons clashing in a thunderous impact. Before he could recover, the other Enforcer lunged at him, a spear thrusting forward. Ragnar barely managed to twist out of the way, but that left him open.

An arrow sliced through the air. Fast and well-aimed.

Ragnar tried to shift, but it grazed his shoulder, drawing a sharp cry from him. He clenched his teeth, eyes flashing with pain and frustration.

“Fuck!” Ragnar clenched his fist and his other hand curled around his mace.

Kai analyzed the situation quickly. The logical move would be to take out the archer first—remove the long-range threat—before dealing with the melee fighters. But before Ragnar could move, the axe-wielding warrior let out a sharp, loud laugh.

“You’re slow, boy! What kind of man takes a hit like that? You’re not made for it. Chieftain Yafgar would think twice before letting you lead after seeing such a weak display of strength. No wonder you can’t protect your men.”

Ragnar’s body tensed at the jab. His grip on his weapon tightened.

Instead of charging at the archer, he reached into his belt and, with a quick flick of his wrist, sent two knives flying towards him. The archer barely had time to react.

Ragnar’s breath came in ragged gasps, his fury burning hot as he locked eyes with the archer. One of the blade he’d thrown cut deep into the man’s leg, sending him stumbling back—but not down. The archer’s grimace only sharpened his focus, and he sent another arrow in quick succession, one that narrowly missed Ragnar’s side. The pain in his leg barely slowed the archer’s rhythm.

But Ragnar’s eyes were already darting to the larger threat—the axe-wielding warrior charging toward him. Rage seemed to bubble up inside him, and he surged forward with a newfound aggression, his mace crackling with intent to finish this. The axe came down with a crash, its sheer weight aimed to split Ragnar in two. But Ragnar was quick—too quick.

He pivoted and parried the blow, feeling the shudder of metal on metal, and without losing momentum, swung his mace low, aiming for the spear-wielding man who was right there, looking to attack him. But Ragnar’s speed was unmatched. The spear’s haft cracked as his mace cleaved it in two, the sharp tip falling to the ground with a dull thud. The spear-bearer staggered backward, eyes wide in realization.

He moved back, retreating to the edge of the clearing, out of the fight for good. But Ragnar’s eyes had no time for mercy. He turned to the axe-wielder, who was already swinging his weapon again at him. He dodged the axe’s edge by backtracking, and just then, his eyes flickered downward in a brief moment of distraction.

He groaned loudly.

The arrow struck right before his leg, a sharp, violent thunk. His muscles tensed, his eyes narrowing in pain—but only for a split second. That second was enough. The axe-wielder took his chance, crashing forward and hitting Ragnar squarely in the chest with the flat side of his axe. Ragnar’s eyes widened as he was flung back, crashing into the dirt with bone-jarring force.

He gritted his teeth, struggling to rise, but his legs betrayed him. Arrows pierced deep into his flesh, one after another, pinning him to the ground. His fingers twitched, but he couldn’t push himself up. The pain was clearly unbearable, but his pride made him fight it.

“I can still fight!” Ragnar roared, but his voice cracked with desperation. He looked to the archer, still nocking another arrow, ready to finish him off.

But Yafgar’s voice cut it off.

“The duel is over.”

Ragnar froze, his chest heaving with each agonized breath. His gaze snapped to his father, disbelief flashing across his face. He clearly didn’t want it to be over, not by a long shot. Kai knew it by how the man was ready to fight again, and again if necessary—his eyes said it all.

“You lost.” The chieftain’s voice was firm, unwavering. “In a real fight, you’d be dead by now.”

Ragnar’s eyes blazed with a fight and he tried to stand up, but his body refused to cooperate. He had lost. His fury slowly drained away, and his shoulders slumped. The archer lowered his bow, and the axe-wielder stood silently.

Yafgar nodded at them as he turned away from his son and motioned with his hand, signaling the end of the spar.

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As the gathered Lombards began to disperse, their movements were respectful, each bowing their head toward the chieftain in acknowledgment before retreating to their own corners. Even the two remaining fighters, their muscles taut with the thrill of combat, gave a quick bow to the chieftain and Kai before heading off. The murmurs of the crowd slowly died down, and a few of them glanced at Kai with curiosity in their eyes, finally noticing him, some bowing his way before they turned back.

The clearing, now quieter, allowed Kai to move closer to Ragnar, who had been slumped on the ground, his body weighed down by both injury and the humiliation of his defeat. Ragnar’s gaze didn’t lift immediately, but when he finally noticed Kai approaching, the harsh, ragged breath he had been taking seemed to pause in his throat.

Before he could utter a single word, his father’s voice, sharp and full of disappointment, cut through the air.

“You’ve lost yourself in your anger,” the chieftain said. “There were so many moments in that duel where you would have been dead. You’ve lost your way, my son.” His words hung in the air, a solemn reminder of all that Ragnar had once shown promise of becoming. “After seeing a flicker of maturity and brightness in you after all those reckless years, I had hoped… But now, you’ve started to disappoint me again. Like before!”

Ragnar’s head lowered immediately as if the weight of his father’s words had struck him harder than any blow he had taken in the fight. The silence between them stretched on, thick and oppressive. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Ragnar spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sorry, father… anger got me. I wasn’t able to follow your principles.”

Yafgar huffed, his breath escaping in a frustrated exhale. He didn’t respond immediately but instead crouched down, inspecting the arrows lodged in Ragnar’s legs, the sight of the blood seeping from the wounds sending a faint grimace across his face.

“We need to get you healed,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m pretty sure Helga will have some of the herbs we need for this.”

Kai, still standing at the side, reached into his cloak and pulled out a small phial of potion, the liquid inside a bright shade of green. He stepped forward, offering it to chieftain with a firm gesture.

“Remove the arrows,” Kai said calmly. “Make sure nothing stays inside. Then drink this. It’ll heal you.”

The chieftain looked at the potion for a long moment, his brow furrowing. But he nodded, silently taking the vial. He began to remove the arrowheads from Ragnar’s legs who groaned with each pull.

“You’re stubborn, boy,” Yafgar muttered, his voice more exasperated than angry. “The pain you’re feeling now wouldn’t have been there if you had controlled your anger. Instead of rushing forward, instead of fighting with a blind fury… you let it consume you.”

Ragnar’s face twisted in pain, but his eyes glinted with something more—understanding, perhaps, or something close to it—as he finally took the potion, drinking it down quickly. A small sigh of relief escaped him.

He lowered the phial, his voice thick with something deeper than just anger. “How could I?” he asked quietly. Kai noticed how he avoided Yafgar’s eyes for the briefest moment, looking far away. “How could I control it when I feel so angry all the time? Not at others… but at myself. I can process it, but it just leaves me haphazard, like a storm I can’t stop. It’s… It’s bubbling inside me, father. I lose it all in a matter of seconds.”

The chieftain, still crouched beside him, exhaled deeply, his weathered eyes softening. He placed a steady hand on Ragnar’s shoulder, his voice low and steady, like a grounding force. “It wasn’t your fault Wulfgar died. In war, people die. Friends die. Even I will die one day. I’ve told you this since you were old enough to understand the world. It’s something you have to learn to accept.”

Ragnar’s jaw clenched, the frustration mounting. His fists tightened around the empty vial, his fingers white-knuckled. “But I don’t want to be weak enough to just let you die… or anyone else. When I became blessed, I thought it would open new paths of strength for me. But I didn’t realize… I didn’t realize that I would still feel so weak.” His voice cracked slightly, a bitter edge creeping in. “I have so much anger inside me because of my weakness. No matter how much I train, no matter how hard I push myself, I don’t feel like I’m improving. I should have defeated them all easily. But I made a fool of myself.” His chest heaved. “I feel weak, father.”

Yafgar studied him for a long moment and gave a short, almost amused huff, as though Ragnar’s struggles were familiar to him, but still worthy of attention.

At that, Kai finally decided to speak. “You aren’t weak. You’re pushing yourself too hard. Things don’t work out when you’re going beyond what your body can take. You’re going to break yourself like this. You’ve gained newfound strength, but you’re not using it properly. I understand the anger. But you’re not utilizing it the right way.”

Ragnar’s brow furrowed as he looked up at the Kai, confusion clouding his gaze. “What do you mean?”

Kai, who had played the role of a quiet observer till now, took a slow step forward. “I actually came here to talk to you about it.” His eyes met Ragnar’s, then the chieftain’s. “Originally, your martial techniques were well-renowned. Especially for anyone who uses heavy weapons like axes.”

Yafgar nodded in acknowledgment, his pride evident. “Yes, so?”

Kai continued. “Is there a role for fury in those techniques?”

Yafgar’s gaze became sharper as he considered the question, then he nodded. “There are seven techniques, each requiring more and more strength. Fury is a tool and one mentioned in the techniques… a good way to temporarily enhance strength. But it comes with a price. It can cloud judgment, make you reckless. The stronger you get, the more your emotions will play into your power. Fury is a good way to unlock a surge of strength—but it won’t solve everything. Not if it’s the only thing you rely on.”

Kai nodded again. “Actually, I’ve been thinking. You can enhance those techniques in a way that even Enforcers can use them. I know these techniques were originally designed for your warriors, but looking ahead, I think a lot of your tribe’s men are going to become Enforcers. Optimizing these techniques could turn you all… undefeatable. Moreover, what I have in mind is mixing in anger when optimizing them, to help you use it to its full potential.”

Ragnar blinked. “How do we do that?” he asked, his voice almost eager, as if waiting for something to make sense of his endless frustrations.

“Mana moves on emotions,” Kai said. “A lot of the time, a Mage’s mana can act differently—more destructively—if their emotions are triggered. Let’s say, for example, they’re angry. Their spells will hit harder, but they’ll also drain their mana reserves faster. It’s a temporary boost in strength, but it has consequences. The same goes for Enforcers, since you also use mana. I’ve heard of techniques that temporarily grant a huge surge of strength in a fury-induced state. Of course, it’s temporary, and you’ll be exhausted soon after. But while the effect lasts… you’ll be a war god.”

Ragnar’s eyes gleamed, the hunger for that power evident in his posture. He straightened up, gripping his mace tightly as though imagining the raw power in his hands.

But the chieftain stood up from his crouched position, his brow furrowed as he considered what Kai had said.

“I think,” Yafgar mused slowly, “you’d want something in exchange for helping us with the optimization, Lord Arzan.”

Kai’s lips curled into a faint smile, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “Yes. I won’t lie about that. I was hoping a part of the Enforcers, and even some of my ordinary men, would train with the Lombards.”

Yafgar raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You won’t ask me to teach them our martial techniques, though?”

Kai’s smile softened, and he met the chieftain’s eye with a calmness that belied the heaviness of the words. “That’s your choice. I’m not here to force you into anything. I would be grateful, of course, but in the end, these techniques are something your ancestors passed down to you. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to give them up.”

He had hoped that his men could learn the techniques of the Lombards, but he wasn’t about to push too hard. His relationship with them was too important to risk, and forcing the issue would only cause resentment. Besides, the help he was offering was merely a starting point—a few basic notes, nothing too intricate or deep. The real optimization would be done by the Lombards themselves, as they were the true experts in their own martial techniques.

He wasn’t well-versed in Enforcer techniques, after all—he only knew a few key aspects, not enough to teach them properly. His role, he knew, was to provide the foundation. It would be up to the Lombards to perfect it.

“Because, my help will be basic, just enough to get things started. The rest is up to you and your warriors to figure out. After all, you’re the ones who truly understand your techniques.”

The chieftain nodded, his expression inscrutable, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes. “Very well. I will ensure your men are treated well during their training. When they return to your cities, they’ll be much more than they were when they came here.”

Kai smiled. “That would be great. I believe in their potential, and this will only help them grow stronger. And as for the technique I mentioned earlier—it came into being by being used by a group of Enforcers called Berserkers—let me tell you more about it.”

***

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