Rustle! Crunch!

Not long after, we heard the bushes and scrubs rustling and the crunching of the wet woods and other waste on the soil, including leaves being crushed.

Everyone's attention was drawn to the source of the noise.

And it was at that moment...

Snap!

Everyone stood straight, their backs as straight as a pencil, and all the stiffness in their muscles vanished. The mood of the area turned upside down, completely flipping from jovial to extreme; their gazes shifted from their laughter to remembering their horrors, but none shook.

I, however, instinctively covered my nose but removed it swiftly because I had to. I was the chief who had ordered them to do what they were doing.

Alcatraz and Tharl returned, their faces, their vests, their armour, and their hands covered in blood. They were dragging a few bandits as they came. The air around them screamed—of the agony, of the suffering they had endured. Their jaws were clenched, and their gazes were fixed. Their posture was straight too, but of a different kind—a determined kind.

'It's time.'

The ritual began, and they were marching towards the town hall. No one was allowed to talk, and they all knew, so they began doing what they were supposed to.

Alcatraz, Tharl, and the other seven barbarians, who were each dragging the bandits, had to go through the line that all the other barbarians who were present and who would soon be present who were called by a single barbarian that had run to call the ones who were at other locations.

Alcatraz, Tharl, and the seven other barbarians, each dragged a bandit, had to make their way through a queue formed by the waiting barbarians. On both sides of this path, their fellow tribesmen gathered, while a lone runner had been dispatched to summon those at distant locations, calling them to join the assembly.

There was one barbarian who had gone with Alcatraz who also joined the line as he wasn't dragging any bandits.

This was a ritual named 'The Blood Oath of Prosperity' that barbarians always performed when they sorted for the well-being of the tribe, and this was only performed once in the rule of a chief, implying that it would never be performed again until someone other than me was the chief.

The old hag stood in front of the stone, and for once, she had her hollow sockets closed. Closing her hollow eyes, she bent forward, kissed the stone's head, and began singing.

Her lyrics, shrouded in obscurity, remained elusive to all who had gathered. Yet her voice carried a paradoxical essence—a ferocious yet gentle cadence that seemed to dance on the edges of comprehension.

'It's different.' It sounded familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where I had heard it. 'Was it in my past life?' I shook my head, focused on the task at hand, and kept walking towards the stone.

The others who were all present soon joined in, saying the nine words that represented each oath and each sacrifice: valour, ferocity, dominance, tenacity, savagery, resilience, unity, protection, and glory!

The words were daunting and fierce; that would certainly not come from a declining tribe like barbarians, but there it was: they were exclaiming them with a thrusting chest, chin high, and eyes with a gleam of no fear.

They were, to some extent, proud. It didn't matter if they died tomorrow; they never feared death. They were exhausted, but that too didn't show right now.

Through the corner of my eye, I saw the remaining barbarians coming. Not making any sounds, and they too joined the lines, and I reached the stone.

Alcatraz and the men behind him were walking at a constant pace, slow and steady.

The bandits they were dragging were unconscious; otherwise, this serene atmosphere would have been filled with screams of horror and agony.

This ritual had its own significance and was very historical. I found out about it in Skylar Reigns's memory. When his father and the tribe performed this ritual, it was lively and on a grand scale, and the sacrifices were magical beasts that nearly cost some barbarians their lives. I was shocked, but not for long; it seemed like what it should be.

Back in my past life, however, if one had killed humans for such sacrifices, that would have certainly caused commotion on such a grand scale that many guilds would have cut each other's throats to have the case under them and solve it for their reputation. Such were humans, greedy to their core. Even in an apocalyptic world, they fought within.

My legs, spine, and countenance were straight as a pencil and rigid as an unmovable mountain, and my pupils were fixed ahead. They didn't shake; they didn't waver; rather, they were still as water.

Alcatraz and others reached the beginning of the line, and the first barbarians in both lines that stood ahead slapped Alcatraz's chest, which was obscured by the vest.

"The All! The Mighty! The Us!" They exclaimed, their veins on the neck bulging out.

Alcatraz took another step, and the men behind him—Tharl—also advanced. Now Alcatraz stood parallel to the second barbarian in both lines, while Tharl stood parallel to the first, and simultaneously they were slapped on their chests. While all four barbarians exclaimed, "The All! The Mighty! The Us!"

And the ritual continued, and Alcatraz finally reached the fifth-last barbarians in both lines, and they too slapped him on the chest and exclaimed. "The All! The Mighty! The Us!"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

These words were engraved in a barbarian's mind from birth; they held immense significance; these were the words that defined them. What they were, who they were, and why they were

Alcatraz finally reached me, a step away.

Again, the same unsettling, thick, overpowering scent of metallic tang of blood assaulted my nose. I controlled the urge to close my nose with my hands and my teeth, pushing against their counter.

His short, raven-black hair was damp due to the blood, and his youthful, chiselled countenance appeared horrifying because it was all covered with dark-thick blood.

His dark asphalt eyes were alcoholic but fixed.

There was silence. The old hag continued to sing while keeping her head firmly affixed to the stone. She did, however, move to the opposite side of the monument, and Alcatraz moved the body and held it in his hands, his sleek, bloody muscles bulging.

The only barbarian who didn't join the queue because he didn't have a fellow barbarian to make the queue equal—which was the requirement instead of keeping the queue at eleven members—came forward and handed me a rusty axe.

That was the requirement. The tribe believed that making a sacrifice with a rusty weapon would allow them to predict how prosperous their future would be. Although strange, this served as a test of one person's fortitude, and that person happened to be the tribe leader—me.

I gripped the axe; it was as long as Alcatraz's leg. There was no sharpness in it; it was dull, with scars running and bending it against its will.

I took a step back. I was the one who would offer the sacrifices. My hands and fingers trembled slightly as I looked at the bandit's body, his rugged breathing, and the muscles in his neck going up and down. A breathing and alive human, but really?

"Get a grip." I murmured to myself as my hands, fingers, and, at this point, the entire body, trembled.

'It's not the first time.' It wouldn't be my first time killing someone, but was it easy? No, but I was just slightly out of touch from all these sensations.

Gripping the axe with both hands, I raised my arm. 'I can butcher him, even with this rusty ass axe.'

Yes, you can, because you are a monster.

I heard a nudging whisper—a familiar whisper that didn't belong to anyone but was simply there. Maybe my inner self

Who cared?

Wasn't this the start we needed?

Yes, this was. One that made sure what would happen ahead and how every barbarian was aligned with it

I released my breath through my mouth and brought down the rusty axe with force.

Katch! Crack!

It struck the back of the bandit's neck in the bone, and the bones cracked under the heavy impact of the blunt axe. The axe dug deep, halfway through the neck. The blood, like jammed water in the dam, rushed from the different veins of the neck, crashing at me, Alcatraz, and the monument and painting us red. 'I held back.'

I retreated my hands and again struck the neck, this time with more force.

Thud!

The head fell down, and Alcatraz, taking the body, placed it beside the monument while attaching its bleeding-dead neck to the monument.

Next came Tharl, and again I raised my hands and struck the back of the neck, this time with more force, and the head fell to the ground in one strike. A few bones from the neck were scattered here and there, and blood gushed out, painting me, Tharl, and Monument red.

And it continued...

Thud!

You don't even blink!

The voice whispered again, just like the wind, the day, or the night itself, without thought, just simply being.

Thud!

Your deep eclipse pupil doesn't emit an ounce of sympathy—not even remorse.

Thud!

That one seemed more forceful! You don't seem satisfied.

Thud!

Will only this much blood even sooth your hunger?

Thud!

Your short ebony hair is even more damp than his.

Thud!

Your sharp face; none of its corners seems to look like a barbarian or even the human you used to be—you painted yourself red, their blood didn't—you truly are—

Thud!

A sinner!

One by one, all nine bandits in their unconscious state were sacrificed. There were heads rolling on the ground in front of the monument, and their bodies were kept attached to the monument by their severed necks.

I could feel the warm blood on my face, my hand, my neck, and other parts of my body that were not covered. The soil became damp where I cut the heads due to excessive blood.

The sacrifices were made, and now only the last part of the ritual was left.

I went in front of the stone, bent down on my knee, and kept my head on the stone. Though I didn't know what I had to say or do here, I played my part.

I took my time and then stood up. The old hag had stopped singing, and they all looked at me.

They looked solemn; whether they liked the ritual or not was one thing, but how they all performed it was another.

However, that wasn't the thing I was focused on right now.

'Fucking! Finally!'

Ding!

The host has completed the Special Upgrade Quest.

Host's Tribe Level: 1.

Reward: All the town hall level 1 functions are unlocked.

Ding!

Town Hall Level 1 Functions Unlocked:

>Buildings: Residential building [10]

>Defence: Wall, Cannon [1]

>Army Camp [1]

>Construction Camp [1]

>Farming Field [1]

>Layer Cryptor [1]

>Qi Infuser [1]

>Tribe Guardian.

>Tribe Banner.

>Willow of Arc.

>System Shop.

Ding!

The host also completed the hidden requirement: complete the Special Upgrade Quest within 24 hours.

Reward: Epic Novice Mystery Box

Mystery Box Ranking: [Common