Baize Shaman

Kas continued to ponder how to optimize his attribute panel for a while, hoping to squeeze just a little more out of his 5 points in Wisdom.

But after racking his brains, he ultimately abandoned the idea of continuing to play logic games with Isidore and headed toward the door.

"Miss Seneya, keep an eye on him. I'm going to pay a visit to the shaman of the Black Ember Tribe."

"Awoo~"

Under Isidore's fearful gaze, the werewolf approached step by step, her nose twitching as she sniffed his scent, seemingly preparing to devour half his body in one bite.

Seneya leaned in close to sniff Isidore, then fanned the air in front of her nose with a look of utter disgust.

She felt this little guy stank; he must not have bathed in a long time.

"Woo~" She placed a finger on the wooden basin beside the hearth, then pointed at the clean rag hanging on the wall.

"Is this... for me to wash up?"

Isidore asked with difficulty, though his eyes drifted toward the nuts and dried meat placed on the wooden table. He was already starving, and after Kas's torment, he was even hungrier.

He dared not move. Through his observations along the way, he had discovered that the Rishiman People placed extreme importance on food, and slaves were only allowed to eat the scraps left behind by their masters.

But Miss Seneya clearly did not understand what it meant for a person to have a leash around their neck. Seeing Isidore's hungry gaze, she pushed the wooden bowl filled with food toward him.

"Thank you..." Isidore swallowed his saliva, chewing the nuts and dried meat haphazardly. He might die, but he certainly wouldn't starve to death—that was far too miserable.

Tears streamed from his eyes as he thought of his deceased kin and the fellow tribesmen the merchants had sent into the furnaces; the delicious food in his mouth suddenly turned as bitter as pomegranate rind.

The Black Ember Tribe was bustling; this was Kas's second impression of it. Clans from all over the Sorrow Mountains wanted to tinker with some good gear before the southward raid.

Honey, owls, Saber-Toothed Tiger pelts, Mamba Black Tea... all sorts of precious goods could be seen on the streets.

In front of the low shacks lining the streets, vendors with shelves full of merchandise shouted for passersby to take a look.

White-feathered chickens inside fences rummaged through the dirt for hidden food—perhaps an earthworm, someone's bone fragment, or a piece of blood-stained iron slag.

Hunting dogs lay lazily at doorways, half-closing their eyes and ears to observe the flow of people.

Women carrying rattan baskets haggled tirelessly with merchants. Even in the martial Sorrow Mountains, the tongue was a sharp sword, and insults targeting the lower regions were particularly piercing.

"Selling a piece of hard bread for this much? Are you saving it to use on your wife tonight?"

But this was not the most prosperous area of the Black Ember Tribe. The truly heated place was the blacksmith district, filled with swords and battle-axes.

The "red-hot" atmosphere came from the clanging of forging hammers against anvils, the shouting of people arguing, and the faint, lingering sounds of wailing.

It was currently the intense midday sun, and the arc of light reflecting off the gold and silver made it impossible to keep one's eyes open.

He watched as piece after piece of fine equipment was carried out of the smithies by joyful people, his hand reaching for the Woodcutter's Axe tied to his waist.

The constant clearing of paths through the forest had left the crude Woodcutter's Axe with irreparable nicks. Kas naturally wanted to get his hands on a proper weapon.

Whether it was a sword or a battle-axe, it would be a great help for the journey ahead.

But the reality of the situation was clear: he didn't have a single coin to his name.

If he didn't want to seek help from Kaike, he would have to go to the notorious Radno Clan of the Sorrow Mountains and take out a high-interest loan based on his clan's reputation.

I'll go find Shaman Baize first, he thought. See if I can find some unlucky soul to squeeze for money during the festivities over the next few days.

If that fails, even if I have to beg, I need to get my hands on some usable gear.

Shaman Baize lived in a relatively secluded area, in a peculiar longhouse thirty meters long and twelve meters wide. It was pitch black, resembling a giant coffin.

Two elite Black Ember warriors stood before the door. They wore the signature bull-horned helmets of the Larona Clan, their eyes hidden beneath the steel, cold and ruthless.

As their halberds pressed against Kas's chest, one of the Black Steel warriors said in a deep voice:

"Halt. State your business, stranger."

"Kas of the Zagwell Clan, Her Tribe. I request an audience with Shaman Baize."

Having stated his origins, Kas expected the guards to enter the longhouse to ask for the shaman's opinion, but they simply opened the door directly.

"Please, enter. The shaman has been waiting for a long time."

Assuming Kaike had put in a good word beforehand, Kas didn't think twice and walked into the longhouse.

The moment he stepped inside, he was stunned by the scene before him.

At first glance, he saw a very spacious round table placed in the center.

Clean, dust-free stone mortars, conical glass bottles, distillers, flasks... all sorts of instruments that looked completely out of place were neatly arranged on the table.

The wooden shelves lining both sides of the longhouse were likewise filled with various ores. The shelf labeled "Copper" alone held over a dozen different types of copper ore.

Native copper shaped like tree branches, purple-red-blue variegated bornite, dark brass, indigo azurite, dark gray chalcocite, gradient-colored cuprite...

This longhouse, filled with countless stones, could be called a natural museum of ores. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of different minerals shimmered in the sunlight, dyeing the longhouse in bands of iridescent color.

"My god... this is truly..." Kas expressed his heartfelt shock at this museum storing hundreds of types of ore.

Many of the ores he had never seen before, and they didn't look like products of the Sorrow Mountains.

This was not something that could be achieved in a single generation. He recalled the legend surrounding the Black Ember Tribe.

Give them a piece of ore they have never seen before, and they will give you ten times its weight in gold.

"Hahaha, to be able to surprise the Great Shaman's apprentice—it seems the Black Ember Tribe's millennium of persistence has finally been rewarded."

The hearty laughter caused Kas to shift his attention from the ore to the most inconspicuous human in the longhouse.

Baize wore a starched linen robe, his dark hair and beard appearing somewhat youthful compared to this museum that had witnessed the shifting of geography, and his thick, blacksmith-like arms made him look more like a sturdy warrior.

He walked up to Kas, scrutinized that young face, and let out an exclamation of admiration from his rugged features:

"I can feel it, the traces of the spirits' blessing. You have many things you wish to ask me... but perhaps there are many things for which I cannot provide an accurate answer, Kas."

Kas first nodded in greeting, analyzed Shaman Baize's words in his mind, and said hesitantly:

"I am not the apprentice of Great Shaman Hadi, Shaman Baize. I do not know why you would address me as such."

"See? This is exactly the kind of thing for which I cannot provide an accurate answer." Baize smiled and asked with a hint of confusion:

"But could I have heard wrong? Are you not from the Zagwell Clan of Her Tribe?"

"Of course not. I am Kas of Her Tribe, son of Malik Axe-Breaker."

"Malik would be glad to have such an outstanding child..." The shaman maintained a mysterious smile and raised a hand to invite Kas further inside:

"You are confused by the spirits. They whisper in your ears—perhaps cold, perhaps gentle—inflicting wounds upon you, yet also offering selfless help. Along the way, you will always feel lost as to what the spirits truly are."

He stopped in his tracks and said in a mysterious tone:

"This is normal, Kas. Everyone who steps onto the path of the Shaman goes through this process because our vision is no longer shackled to the mortal realm. Have you heard of the theory of apes descending from the trees?"

"Please enlighten me."

After the incident with Little Red Riding Hood, Kas had begun to learn to respect these long-winded shamans, no longer viewing them as... old bastards who had eaten too many mushrooms.

Had it not been for an old thing who knew many mysteries revealing that an umbilical cord was an important witchcraft medium, he would never have been able to make Nosa choose suicide through Angeli's spirit.

The shaman fetched two chairs, let Kas sit down first, held up a thin sheet of paper and a piece of ore cut into a cube, and spoke in an even more mysterious tone:

"Do you know the difference between two dimensions and three dimensions?"