Black Heart Brand Banana Jam

Morse Ironbone gave up on playing dead. He could not accept the buzzing of flies around his ears, nor could he tolerate his descendant being slandered as a rootless, withered leaf.

He drifted before the kneeling Blackheart, his hoarse voice brimming with such violent intent that the crows pecking at eyes took flight in terror.

"Xipei Blackheart of the Larona Clan, you attempt to provoke me by slandering the lineage of Malik—attendant to Great War Chief Busuo, the first warrior to scale the walls of the Visma Empire, Dragon Butcher, Titan Slayer... Morse Ironbone.

You seek death, so I shall grant you death."

"You!"

Xipei's pupils constricted violently. He had not expected the skull of Ironbone, which seemed like a mere ornament, to be "alive."

No, to be precise, the Rishiman People do not truly die; they simply go to another place. It just so happened that Morse had returned, only to hear him insult Kas.

Ironbone did not grant Xipei the power to speak a second word; the red light in his eye sockets flickered violently.

The incredibly hard black steel twisted and deformed inch by inch, the blood runes possessing no power to resist when faced with a "spirit."

Wrapped in armor, Blackheart crumpled like a drooping banana, dark red, overripe flesh slowly seeping out through the gaps in his plates.

Jam dripped down, blooming in layers upon the dust-covered earth.

The Blackheart who had been twisted into banana jam collapsed heavily. He might have had a legendary history, but when faced with a warrior even more legendary, he did not appear particularly special.

Morse returned to Kas's shoulder without a word, the skull reverting to its dusty, ordinary appearance. Only the corpse lying on the ground served as proof of the consequences of offending an ancient clan.

Facts proved that in a brutal place, one only earns respect by proving they are stronger and more ruthless than the rest.

The death of Xipei Blackheart did not cause the men of the Larona Clan to raise their weapons. One by one, they suppressed the agitation rising in their hearts, their fiery gazes beneath their helmets fixed intently upon that unremarkable skull.

Kulan Black Halberd, who took over the authority of Xipei Blackheart, walked up to Kas and raised his axe, hacking down into the gap between the plate armor and the helmet.

Without hesitation, he lifted Blackheart's head, tore away the bull-horned helmet embedded in the flesh, and scanned the surroundings to ensure everyone could see that bloodied, mangled face and the look of terror and dread upon it.

"I have said it before: Kas of the Zagwell Clan is our honored guest, bearing the sacred mission of Great Shaman Hadi.

We mortals have no way of knowing the mysteries hidden within this sacred mission, but we are well aware that defying the will of the Great Shaman brings disaster.

Look at him, Xipei Blackheart, a warrior of whom our clan was once proud!

He offered the lives of countless Southerners to the Blood Forge and led us to victory in battle after battle at Iron Peak Mountain.

We all thought his cold, dark resolve could defy death, yet he intended to defy the will of the Great Shaman and slander the descendant of an ancient clan, bringing down the wrath of Morse Ironbone, who enjoys endless glory in the Pierce Arena!

Blackheart cannot go to the halls of Vagha, for he was afraid before he died. The Lady of Death will not tolerate a shameful man who brought disgrace to his clan entering her realm. His spirit shall wander the peaks of Iron Peak Mountain, forever suffering the scorching sun and the piercing cold winds!"

Kulan fetched a spear, tossed the head he held high into the air, and threw the spear in his hand, pinning it precisely through Blackheart's left eye socket against the towering cliffs of Iron Peak Mountain.

From the perspective of a power transition, Kulan's actions could quickly draw a line between himself and Xipei Blackheart, appease the wrath of Ironbone, and seize the power vacuum left behind.

But Kas knew very well that this cruel and barbaric act stemmed more from a fear of religion and divine power.

Religion, witchcraft, and the environment—the three great mountains pressing down upon the Rishiman People.

He took the spear Kulan offered with both hands and sighed inwardly.

Standing in place, he tensed his arm, tilted his body, and threw the spear with force, striking Blackheart's right eye socket with precision.

This was the way to eliminate hatred. If he had shown even a hint of hesitation, Kulan would have used the heads of Blackheart's kin to appease the wrath of the Great Shaman and Ironbone.

With the hatred eliminated, a satisfied smile appeared on Kulan's face, as if he felt nothing at all for Blackheart's death.

He approached Kas with extreme caution, his peripheral vision observing the seemingly dead skull of Ironbone:

"Is he still there? I mean, is Ironbone still alive?"

"Ironbone died long ago, smashed into dust by the hammer of a Thunder Titan."

Kas shook his head. He had wanted to pat Kulan on the shoulder, but looking at the spike-covered black steel armor, he decided against it:

"A truly terrible affair. I hope your War Chief will not be like him and do things that make guests feel uncomfortable."

"He was just a fool who lost his courage. After being defeated by Malik Broken Axe, he took pleasure in torturing others.

But War Chief Kaike will not disappoint you, Kas."

"I look forward to meeting War Chief Kaike. I hope he will not mind Seneya entering the territory of Black Ash."

"War Chief Kaike will understand; he has always been very tolerant and wise."

Kulan nodded, tugged on the iron chains binding two bugbears, and raised a hand to invite Kas to lead the way:

"Please, I believe the Black Ash tribe will surely open your eyes."

The Black Ash tribe was located at the gentle entrance between two mountain peaks. Just as the name Black Ash suggested, dyed-black oak and mud constructed a towering city wall.

The wall was covered in sharp, jagged barbs, the towers stood like swords, and arm-thick siege crossbow bolts were silently aimed at passing travelers.

At least in terms of war machinery, the Black Ash tribe was very willing to learn advanced technology from the weak Southerners. While other tribes were still howling and brawling with wooden clubs, the Iron Peak Mountain chicken coop had already entered an era of arms races.

A man riding a tall horse was surrounded by a group of armored warriors in front of the city gate.

He did not resemble the burly, tall image of a Rishiman warrior one might imagine; his gloomy face and body appeared somewhat lean.

A pair of gray eyes were very lively, and his well-trimmed beard softened the hideous scars on his face, yet he remained full of majesty.

The moment Kas laid eyes on Kaike, he knew this man was ruthless.

To convince warriors to accept one as their leader, one usually had to satisfy one of two conditions.

First, be strong enough to beat everyone into the dirt.

Second, be ruthless enough to make everyone feel fear.

He felt Kaike was the latter, for there was a famous saying in the proverbs of Reshman: "Pray your War Chief is not a small man, otherwise you will die, and he will die too."

Yet, unexpectedly, Kaike actually dismounted and walked forward personally to welcome his guest.

From quite a distance away, Kaike spread his arms wide and, as if treating an old friend, pulled Kas into a tight embrace, patting his back repeatedly.

"May the gods be praised for letting me see the son of Broken Axe while I am still alive. I personally escorted you from Lohalin to Ferode Canyon back in the day; I never expected you to have grown so much in the blink of an eye."

Kaike released his grip while Kas was still wearing a bewildered expression, then grabbed his arm to carefully scrutinize that familiar face.

"Hair burning like a raging flame, eyes as blue as ice—you must be Kas."