If you asked who the poorest race on the Saint Cassis Continent was, the Wilderness Barbarians would say they were second, and no one would dare claim first.
The Savage Ancient Plains, bordered by the Behemoth Kingdom to the north and numerous human nations to the south, had been ravaged by constant warfare for years. Hundreds of years ago, under the leadership of the Holy See, the many human kingdoms formed an expeditionary army hundreds of thousands strong, pointing their swords at Shabak, the royal city of the Behemoth Orcs, intending to wipe them out in one stroke.
Then this expeditionary army, armed to the teeth and numbering in the hundreds of thousands, encountered a rather awkward problem. They had barely set foot on the Great Wilderness and had yet to see a single Behemoth Orc when they started fighting the native barbarians of the Wasteland.
The native barbarians of the Wasteland were very willful. With a population of fewer than a hundred thousand, the barbarians charged the human soldiers bare-chested and howling without a second word.
Not only were the humans dumbfounded, but the Behemoths were as well.
No one serving in the Holy See had much of a temper. They had always been the ones bullying others, and this was the first time someone had proactively picked a fight with them. How could they possibly tolerate that?
When you were out in the world, face was the most important thing. So, under the wise and mighty leadership of the first Pope, they did not hesitate and launched the first campaign against the heretics, later known as the Battle of the Great Wilderness—though their enemy was not the Behemoth Orcs they had originally intended to fight.
Barbarians were naturally gifted. They were born with semi-petrified skin, stood over two meters tall on average, and looked like huge black bears walking upright. Not only was their combat power off the charts, but they also had sturdy bodies that could take a beating and keep fighting. Though few in number, one of them taking down seven or eight ordinary soldiers was as routine as a daily workout.
Humans had plenty of tricks as well: Holy Light Priests responsible for healing, high-ranking Templar Knights with Battle Aura, all manner of mages from different schools, and especially their fully developed military system and experience in large-scale warfare.
The Battle of the Great Wilderness lasted three months. The barbarians suffered grievous losses, but the Holy See did not fare much better. After that battle, forget causing trouble for the Behemoth Orcs—their lack of supplies and shattered morale left it uncertain whether they could even survive long enough to leave the Great Wilderness and see the Behemoth Orcs.
This senseless battle thoroughly pushed the barbarians to the opposite side of the Holy See, but the barbarians did not care. They were already this poor; a few more deaths would even save on rations. Most barbarians were the sort who became fiercer the poorer they were, and poorer the fiercer they became.
Of all the names from that massive battle involving hundreds of thousands that history remembered and passed down to this day, the only one was neither a great Legion Commander nor the commanding Pope, nor one of the countless barbarian heroes who had turned the tide. It was a minor noble baron.
That noble baron was named Bote. He came from a declining noble branch of the Kingdom of Locke and was the second aunt-in-law's cousin from Allen's grandfather's grandfather's maternal uncle's family.
It was this insignificant man who ended that farcical battle.
The process was nothing short of miraculous. Baron Bote had no sense of direction. While fighting alongside everyone else, he got lost and somehow wandered alone into the Great Chieftain Tribe.
He was quite the character. Facing tens of thousands of barbarians without changing expression or skipping a beat, he directly pretended to be a negotiator from the Holy See and said something to the Great Chieftain that roughly meant: "We took heavy losses this time and are discussing leaving the Great Wilderness. Your little brothers have been biting at our heels the whole time. Big brother, what do you want? Draw a line, and we can talk it over."
After a group of burly barbarians discussed it, the Great Chieftain finally stated his terms. "A hundred wagonloads of food, ten wagonloads of cloth, and it would be best if you left the horses and wagons behind too!"
Bote immediately settled the matter on the spot. But the barbarians could not write, and there was no written agreement, so they could only seal the alliance with a clap of hands.
When Baron Bote returned to the expeditionary army headquarters and told the commanding Pope about it, the Pope readily gave him an immediate response. He waved over two knights, who gave Baron Bote a sound beating, then expelled him from the expeditionary army.
The reason was simple. No one believed what Bote had said. The barbarians' demands, converted into Gold Coins, did not even amount to one day's consumption for an army of hundreds of thousands. Was that not a joke?
In truth, the Great Pope could not be blamed for this. After all, no one had expected the barbarians to be so narrow-minded.
The reason Baron Bote's name could still be sung to this day was that he immediately rode a fast horse back to the Kingdom of Locke, scraped together the supplies through borrowing and outright grabbing, then personally delivered them to the Great Chieftain Tribe with several guards.
The Great Chieftain distributed the goods, and the chieftains of the major tribes were all satisfied. They gave Baron Bote a warm reception.
The barbarians were very straightforward. The next day, every barbarian warrior withdrew from the battlefield, dispersed into smaller groups, and went home to live their lives as though nothing had happened.
This time, the Pope was dumbfounded. He suddenly realized something: why had the expeditionary army he led started fighting the barbarians in the first place? Unable to figure it out no matter how hard he thought, he sent an envoy to ask the Great Chieftain.
The Great Chieftain could not write either, so he simply gave the envoy a message to relay: "How the hell would I know? A huge crowd of you came to the Great Wilderness, and I thought you were here to steal our tents. How was I supposed to know you were going to fight the Behemoth Orcs? Next time, say so earlier. You wasted our expressions."
After that farcical battle ended, the Holy See, having suffered a silent loss, classified the barbarians as heretics and uncivilized savages.
The barbarians had finally surpassed the Behemoth Orcs and risen to second place on the Holy See's list of enemies.
First place belonged to the Holy See's peers, the Ice Goddess Cult far away in the Far North. Only peers held naked hatred for one another.
Against this backdrop, the barbarians had no favorable impression of the Holy See or the human nations. As long as we do not provoke you, do not come to the Great Wilderness looking for trouble.
And now, Bloody Hoof Zack, chieftain of the Bloody Hoof Tribe, was the first Barbarian Chieftain in hundreds of years to set foot within human territory.
The elite warriors of the Bloody Hoof Tribe had traveled all the way without obstruction. They had not encountered any resistance, not even the human legion originally stationed at the border.
Looking at the dilapidated city gate in the distance, Old Zak frowned deeply and waved over one of his warriors. "Big Babylon, something feels wrong to me. You're the cleverest in our tribe. What do you think we should do?"
Big Babylon, over two meters tall, with a shaved head and covered in totem tattoos, replied in a deep, muffled voice, "Chieftain, how about I sneak in after dark and take a look? Didn't that human envoy say a few days ago that there were no guards in Outpost County? I remembered the route. When the time comes, we can just rush in and seize the person."
Old Zak shook his head. "That human envoy may not have meant well. He might just be trying to use us to get rid of the lord here."
"Ah, Old Chieftain, stop worrying." Big Babylon kneaded his fists and volunteered, "Leave it to me. There are too many of us, and we'd attract attention. I'll sneak in by myself."
Old Zak looked at Big Babylon's little-giant-like build and nodded helplessly. "Then be careful. If anything happens, set a fire immediately. It would be best to burn all those crafty humans to death. When we see the smoke, we'll charge in to help. Make sure you find the location of that Old Castle."
"Alright! Just wait, Old Chieftain." Big Babylon gave a savage grin and ran toward Outpost County's outer wall under cover of night.
A half-grown barbarian child with an especially youthful face came bouncing over, two streams of snot swaying beneath his nose in the wind. He had just opened his mouth to speak.
Old Zak directly kicked him in the chest, sending the child rolling across the ground.
The nearby Bloody Hoof Tribe warriors silently wondered whether Little Zack was really the chieftain's biological son.
"Get lost!" Old Zak roared. "Don't make trouble for us. Go play somewhere else."
Little Zack climbed back to his feet as if nothing had happened and said innocently, "Dad, that idiot Big Babylon is so tall and strong. One look tells people he's a barbarian. Why not let me go? My build still looks like that of a normal human."
Old Zak bared his teeth and snorted, silently giving his consent.
Little Zack ran off excitedly, shouting Big Babylon's name.
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