Chapter 401

I’ve mentioned it a lot, but Tartar is a country that went from a wild tribal life to a civilized existence.

Naturally, a bizarre culture emerged where the cruelty typical of savagery coexists with the order characteristic of civilization.

In a situation straddling civilization and barbarism, many people refer to this as romance.

If you can’t quite grasp what kind of culture this is, just think of South Korea during its so-called Romantic Era.

An era when the scope of self-defense was very broad, and fists were closer than the law. A time when only the strong survived.

South Korea achieved an abnormal rate of rapid growth, leading to that form, and Tartar is no different.

The reason I’m saying this is that the fragments of that romance are unfolding right in front of my eyes.

“What did that guy just say?! Oh yeah. You die today, and so do I!”

“Who says that! Just know that pulling out a weapon means you’re dead!”

Two grown adult men are wrestling with each other as if catching rats. And it’s happening right in the middle of the street.

Normally, you’d expect someone to intervene, but no one did. Everyone just stood by as if they were enjoying a fun spectacle.

Eventually, the guards will arrive to end the fight, but who knows when that will be? They probably reported it by now.

“Ughh!”

“How’s that! Surrender! You bastard!”

The surprising part is that both of them had impressive fighting skills. Would you believe it if I said this street fight was UFC level?

I was witnessing something comparable to that happening right in front of me. Especially with one guy pulling off a joint lock perfectly.

It’s a guillotine choke, which is incredibly hard to pull off. I remember how much trouble I had learning that from Kara.

But the guy on the receiving end wasn’t just taking it. Even though he was probably suffocating, he was desperately trying to escape.

*Puhk! Pah!*

The person who applied the joint lock was furiously punching the other guy’s face. At this rate, his teeth are gonna fly out.

If you only saw this, you’d think it was pure barbarism, but Tartar is a civilized country. The guy getting hit shouted angrily.

“If I lose my teeth, that’s a fine! Are you still gonna hit me?!”

“You… sneaky little bastard! Can you still call yourself a warrior?!”

“One tooth costs 3,000 unhwa! If you wanna pay the fine, go ahead!”

Hector’s law was effectively in play. A law imposing enormous fines for littering, especially body parts.

These folks aren’t shy about committing violence, but it seems they’re even more scared of money. They sure have their inhibitions.

“Stop the Movement! Stop the Movement! The one applying the joint lock is the winner, so stop fighting!”

“No! Why should I lose?! I didn’t surrender!”

“If you kept going, you would’ve surely fainted. Accept your defeat gracefully.”

“H, shit…”

In the end, time passed, and the fight between the two only ended when the guards arrived. Getting taken in for questioning is an added bonus.

But it raises a question—why are the guards playing the role of referees too? This country is truly overflowing with romance.

“Excuse me.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“Do Tartarians often act like this? Just to clarify, I’m a foreigner, despite the skin color.”

I gave a heads-up that I could be mistaken due to my skin color. Only then did the local nod.

He pondered for a moment, seemingly recalling the two who just fought, then shrugged and replied.

“Since the tribes have united, small and large conflicts are bound to arise. But those guys are on the milder side.”

“Milder side?”

“They just got into a scuffle over who among the dancers is the prettiest or something.”

“……”

Just your typical nonsense that can happen anywhere… Nah, just idiots fighting over nothing.

It seems fools are everywhere in the world. I felt a bit disheartened, yet strangely empathetic.

I passed through the bustling marketplace, heading towards the city center. Being the heart of the city, there were quite a few striking sights.

“Ugh…”

“…?”

Among them, one thing stood out. It wasn’t a building or structure; it was a person.

And not just any person—a person buried in the ground. I’m not explaining this weirdly; there’s a real human buried underground.

With only their neck above ground, they certainly couldn’t come out easily. Why on earth were they here of all places?

‘Are they being executed?’

If they’re being punished, I can understand. Grace once told me about this.

Those who commit crimes, especially those deserving of death, usually face ‘public execution.’

This is a practice that was abolished long ago on Earth, but here it’s considered a normal punishment.

I also heard that there’s a punishment where passing people throw stones at someone buried underground.

It’s one of the methods of execution that has occurred across both Eastern and Western cultures and is quite humiliating.

Grace advised me against committing any crimes to avoid such humiliation.

‘For something like that, they look fine, huh?’

What punishment could they possibly be enduring? Even the people passing by showed no interest at all.

Only the guards, who seemed to be on duty, were keeping watch around the person. I grew curious and cautiously approached.

“Stop! Do not approach any closer!”

As I quietly inched forward, the guards responded somewhat harshly. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I rolled my eyes and cautiously asked, knowing something unpleasant could happen.

“Why is that person like that? Are they being executed?”

“Why are you asking if you already know?”

“But I’m a foreigner.”

“A foreigner?”

The guards scanned me from head to toe. Then they looked at me with strange eyes.

It’s a shame my skin looks like a local’s right now. I used to win people over just by speaking Tartar.

“Mixed blood.”

“I see. Anyway, that person committed a crime and is being punished.”

“What kind of punishment? No stones being thrown?”

“It wasn’t a crime punishable by death. Anyway, step back.”

They probably had no intention of sharing any more information. I needed to ask a local instead.

When I did ask, I got an unexpected answer that exceeded my assumptions.

“Oh, that? It’s a punishment that blinds you with sunlight.”

“Sunlight… light?”

“Yeah. It’s usually for criminals who kill or ruin someone’s life. It’s to make sure they never see the light again.”

I looked at the criminal when I heard that. No wonder their head was slightly lifted; it was for that reason.

Executing it right in the city center must be for show. It’s a warning for anyone thinking of breaking the law.

Since Tartar is a young nation, it’s a way to instill a sense of caution. Seeing it once is definitely worth more than a hundred warnings.

‘That must hurt like hell.’

I clicked my tongue inwardly. The sun in Tartar is hotter than in other regions, and they have to look at it with their bare eyes.

I would struggle too. Sure, my eyes might regenerate if injured, but the pain is a whole different story.

Once again, committing crimes is a no-go. Well, self-defense might be a different story.

*Kraaang! Kraaang! Klank!*

Next, I headed to the smithy. It’s already a hot day, and arriving at the smithy, the heat was overwhelming.

The smithy didn’t look too different from what I saw at the Academy. The only thing that stood out was the blacksmith drawing something with a needle.

It was probably a process called ‘engraving.’ In other words, inscribing the name of the weapon so that when you call it, you can summon it.

‘I need to buy at least one weapon.’

I returned Ragnarok to Hector, and the Bloodletter Greatsword shattered on the sheath.

At least the Bloodletter can be repaired, but whether it will perform as well as before is questionable.

In other words, I need a weapon that fits me perfectly. It would be great if I could find something suitable, even if it’s not as good as Ragnarok.

‘Something that can withstand my magic power would be nice…’

I looked around the smithy, but unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything that fit. Eventually, I turned my steps elsewhere.

Honestly, I wanted to use Ragnarok as it is. However, Ragnarok is practically Hector’s symbol.

Especially at this transitional period, losing such symbolism could lead to unexpected events.

‘Well, Ragnarok was originally one of the ultimate faith-related items.’

Just as I was about to move on, I heard a voice calling out to me.

“Hey, young one.”

“?”

A voice cut through the cool sound of hammering. It was an elderly man’s voice.

But ordinarily, one would expect an old guy to be weak; that was not the case here. There was a strong power behind it.

I turned around to find the person hammering just now staring directly at me.

With the heat being what it is, he had his shirt fully off, and his muscular build, marked by small scars, was quite impressive.

“If you’re going to buy a weapon, then just do it; why are you turning back?”

“I just didn’t find anything I liked.”

“What do you like?”

What a nosy old man. But since he spoke to me, I should at least respond to him.

Instead, I decided to tell the truth. Whether he believes it or not is up to him.

“Ragnarok.”

“Ragnarok?”

“Yeah.”

I made sure to glance around just in case Ragnarok might come back.

If it did, that would be a disaster like no other. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

“Hahaha! You’re quite the ambitious one, aren’t you? Do you know what Ragnarok really is?”

“I do. It’s the symbol of the Destruction King.”

“And it’s a weapon blessed by Gulrak. Originally, it was just a regular sacrificial axe.”

I’ve heard about it. Ragnarok was originally a sacrificial axe, which means its edge isn’t that sharp.

But after being blessed by Gulrak, it transformed. Rather than being sharp, it destroys opponents with lightning.

Furthermore, it merged with Usuk’s blade recently, so even if I call it a top-tier weapon, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

“Since we had some fun chatting, feel free to take any weapon you like.”

“Huh?”

“Take any weapon you like. If you want, I can even engrave it for you.”

“All of a sudden?”

That’s a curveball. Now it’s my turn to be surprised.

The elderly man grinned and pointed at me.

“Being old gives you the vision to see things. You’re also someone loved by the gods, aren’t you?”

“Oh…”

Gulrak is always raining down lightning, and Chaos is just too busy having fun.

Still, the fact remains that I have the gods’ interests heavily on me. Out of curiosity, I asked.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe? You have an unbelievable amount of lightning power in your body!”

“How do you know?”

“Actually, I was just kidding. I guessed and turns out I was right.”

“…”

This old man isn’t joking around or anything. I was left in disbelief.

Regardless, the old man chuckled and looked at me again as he made another offer.

“In Tartar, we have a culture of giving free weapons to adults. You must fall under that category, right?”

“Nope. I’m a foreigner.”

“A foreigner who looks like a Tartar and speaks Tartar fluently? Is there something wrong with your head?”

“I’m mixed blood.”

“Forget it. Anyone who looks like a Tartar and speaks Tartar is a Tartar. Just grab any weapon you like.”

“…”

Suddenly feeling awkward, I scratched my head. Should I be happy or not about this?

But since he said I could just take any weapon, I might as well. I carefully looked around for something.

“I definitely think you’re a foreigner. Despite that, you should buy it.”

“…”

“Don’t make that face. Surely you’re not thinking of hitting an old man, are you?”

Alright, fine. Getting angry would only hurt me.

Anyway, the old man told me I could take any weapon, just to grab whatever looked good.

As I glanced over the neatly arranged weapons, something caught my eye suddenly.

It was a one-handed blunt weapon, a one-handed hammer, to be precise. The handle seemed a bit shorter, which stood out.

“I’m gonna take this one.”

“Huh? You want to take that? There are better ones around.”

“I just wanna take it.”

“Well, since it was thrown away anyway, you don’t have to pay. Go ahead.”

The old man then seemed to remember something he’d forgotten and asked me.

“What will you name your weapon?”

“Name?”

“Yeah. You have to give it a name. Tartarians name their weapons.”

I thought to myself that I wasn’t a Tartarian. I swallowed that thought and began to ponder.

This hammer looks hefty for its short handle. One name immediately came to mind.

“Mjolnir.”

“Mjolnir?”

“Yes.”

“The one who destroys… Hahaha.”

The old man let out a hearty laugh and left behind a peculiar remark.

“It should’ve been named for the Ragnarok of our King.”

[Faith is increasing!]

As soon as the old man finished talking, a message popped up saying my faith was increasing.

I had no idea what that meant.

‘Does that mean Kara’s in need of a name too?’

I’ll have to ask later.

After wandering around the city and experiencing cultural events,

“Ugh…”

“Yuck! Smell of alcohol! Where the hell have you been?!”

“I was at a drinking contest…”

I returned to my lodging reeking of alcohol.

---