The Indomitable Martial King

“Oh, that is…”

While strolling through the troll village, Iniya kept asking Repenhardt questions. Each time, she subtly sidled up to him or linked arms. Watching this ‘behavior’ made something hot bubble up in one corner of Siris’ chest.

“Hmph!”

Snorting, Siris deliberately turned her gaze away.

‘It doesn’t matter, right? I mean, it’s not like I’m in a relationship with Repenhardt-nim.’

But she couldn’t understand why she felt so bad…

Just as Siris was making a sulky expression, a scrawny troll ran towards them. Painted with strange patterns all over his blue skin like Attila, he was a troll guru. He spoke in troll language.

“The Ritual of Birth is about to begin, King of Humans. It would be an honor if you could attend.”

As with all troll villages, a large altar stood at the center of this one.

This altar, called a ziggurat, was about ten meters high, built by stacking massive bricks made solely of sementerium. It was an essential structure in troll culture. Most traditional ceremonies were held on this ziggurat.

Around the ziggurat, lit densely with torches, about a hundred trolls were gathered in rows. Led by the guru, Repenhardt, Siris, and Iniya arrived at the base of the altar and looked around with curious expressions.

A primitive, shamanistic, and even mysterious atmosphere enveloped the altar, subtly flowing outwards. Repenhardt whispered softly to the two elves.

“From now on, maintain a reverent posture. Observing the Ritual of Birth is a great favor to the trolls, a sign that they recognize us as true friends.”

Siris and Iniya nodded seriously, their eyes filled with curiosity as they watched a troll man ascend the altar.

Ivory-like tusks gleamed in the moonlight. Faint light emanated from the patterns etched across his body. As Attila climbed the altar, the trolls raised their hands and began to sing a strange song.

“Ah…”

Both Siris and Iniya, unconsciously, placed their hands on their chests. They couldn’t understand the words, but it somehow made their hearts swell.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

The sound of drums softly resonated under the moonlit sky. The trolls’ singing grew louder.

Attila, now at the top of the altar, raised his hands.

The singing stopped.

Attila shouted in troll language.

“Women of the tribe who carry our future, our hope. Come forth and receive the great blessing in this place!”

From beneath the altar, about a dozen young troll women appeared.

They were all slightly pregnant. Judging by the size of their bellies, it seemed they were only about ten months along. Unlike humans, trolls carry their children for twenty months in the womb, so they could not be considered full-term yet.

The pregnant trolls lined up in sequence below the altar. The atmosphere was so intensely serious that Siris swallowed hard.

At that moment, Attila lay down on the stone altar set up on top of the ziggurat.

Another troll guru appeared and pulled out a dagger from his bosom. It was a sharp bone blade made from the bones of a beast.

The trolls’ song resumed. The sound of drums began to rise higher and faster.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!

The drums echoed through the air like the thundering beat of a heart.

The troll guru shouted in a single breath.

“Attila Tilkata Latira!”

The dagger plunged deeply into Attila’s chest!

“Ah!”

Siris, horrified, reached for her waist. Blood gushed like a fountain from Attila’s chest. She was about to draw her sword and rush forward when Repenhardt restrained her.

“Wait!”

“What?”

Siris, her wrist held, turned to Repenhardt in confusion. Though not as impulsive as her, Iniya also looked pale. Repenhardt shook his head, glancing between the two elves.

“He’s not dead.”

The two turned their eyes back to the altar. They were astonished once again.

The blood gushing from Attila’s chest did not fall to the ground. It hovered in the air, forming a large sphere of blood. Below it, the troll guru slowly reached out and pulled out Attila’s heart.

Thump, thump, thump!

The extracted heart still beat strongly, displaying intense vitality.

Thump, thump, thump!

The drumbeats matched the heartbeats, resonating loudly.

Holding the extracted heart carefully, like a treasure, the troll guru began to sing.

“Life and death coexist, and within it lies hope.
Hope becomes the future, lighting the dark path ahead.”

The troll guru took the extracted heart to the pregnant women.

Standing before the pregnant women, he squeezed the heart tightly. The heart burst, and the blood soaked the swollen bellies of the pregnant women one by one. The pregnant women, blessed with the blood, each knelt and expressed their gratitude.

This was the trolls’ “Ritual of Birth.”

Trolls could not conceive normally due to their immensely powerful regenerative abilities. This regenerative power only manifested when they became adults, making it impossible for a fetus to withstand the mother’s regeneration.

However, if a powerful troll shaman sacrificed his own heart to bless the fetus, his shamanic power would protect the child for ten months, allowing it to be safely born.

In ancient times, primitive trolls, much like praying mantises, protected the fetus by having the mother devour the father. But after gaining the power of shamanism, they could safely give birth without the father’s sacrifice. Instead, while ancient trolls could conceive seven or eight at a time, they now bore one or two like humans.

“Still, doesn’t it become a problem if the shaman dies every time?” Siris shook her head in disbelief. Repenhardt placed a finger on his lips.

“Shh, keep watching.”

After a moment, the blood suspended in the air flowed back into Attila’s chest. From the gaping wound in Attila’s chest, blood and flesh began to rise. The rising blood and flesh intertwined and started to regenerate the heart.

Siris muttered in amazement, “My God, I never thought a troll’s regenerative power was this incredible…”

“Only a true guru can do that.”

Trolls with strong regenerative abilities could regrow their limbs, but regenerating delicate internal organs was still challenging. However, with the power of shamanism, even damaged internal organs could be somewhat regenerated, and a troll who had reached the level of a true guru could survive even with their heart removed.

For someone at Attila’s level, even if his neck were cut or his brain destroyed, he could still regenerate. The only ways to take the life of such a guru were to completely exhaust his shamanic power or to burn his entire body to ashes. According to legend, a guru who had reached the pinnacle of shamanism could retain his consciousness even after returning to nature and resurrect from the ashes, though such a level was far beyond even Attila’s reach.

‘That’s why Teslon in his past life had completely ground Attila to pieces with the Spiral Guard.’

Repenhardt grimaced at the painful memory. Pushing away his thoughts, he continued to observe the ritual.

Iniya stammered, “I-I was so shocked…”

“That’s understandable. It looks very much like human sacrifice, which is why other races often misunderstand trolls.”

Eventually, Attila opened his eyes.

He rose from the altar and raised his right hand high. The trolls cheered at the sight of Attila demonstrating his well-being.

“Attila! Attila! Attila!”

Attila spread his arms and clashed his glass bracelets together, producing a clear sound as he declared,

“The Ritual of Birth has been completed safely! Once again, the future unfolds, so let everyone be blessed!”

* * *

As the ritual ended, the gathered trolls dispersed once again. Attila walked down the altar steps and gave Repenhardt a slight nod.

“You came, Fist King.”

“How could I miss the honor of observing the Ritual of Birth?”

At Repenhardt’s sincere response, Attila shook his head in amazement.

“You truly understand our culture, Fist King. A human seeing this for the first time would typically be horrified and call it barbaric.”

Repenhardt gave a vague smile.

In truth, he had reacted that way in his previous life. How terrified he had been to see Attila, whom he had barely made friends with, have his heart pulled out! He had immediately summoned lightning and flames in both hands, ready to kill everyone.

Fortunately, Attila had revived quickly and cleared up the misunderstanding, but the shock from that moment remained vivid in his memory.

“Haha, well, I’ve heard some things here and there…”

Siris, looking at Attila, threw in a remark.

“You gave me such a fright. You could have at least given us a heads-up.”

“Oh? Didn’t you explain beforehand?”

Attila blinked at Repenhardt. Repenhardt replied calmly.

“I wanted you to accept it without any preconceptions.”

However, from the looks of it, it seemed like he thought others should experience the same shock he had.

Attila narrowed his eyes slightly. Repenhardt whistled and looked away.

At that moment, Iniya stepped forward and spoke to Attila.

“Hello. I am Iniya, the leader of the Stiria Tribe.”

“Ah, the ones who have newly relocated here…”

Iniya greeted him with the etiquette of the elves. Attila responded with the troll’s custom, joining his hands together in a prayer gesture.

“I am Guru Attila, follower of the will of nature. Pleased to meet you.”

After exchanging greetings, Iniya rummaged through her belongings and took out something. It was a rather large box. She handed it over with a bright smile.

“Since we are neighbors now, we should be friendly. So, I brought a small gift.”

Attila received the box with a slightly surprised look.

Though many elves, orcs, and dwarves had gathered in the Duchy of Antares, they rarely exchanged gifts, even if they greeted each other. This was a human custom, not theirs. Giving gifts among different races was an act reserved for showing significant goodwill.

Nonetheless, there was never a reason to be displeased about receiving a gift.

Attila opened the box. Inside was a shiny, pure white cloth, the same material as the clothes Iniya was currently wearing. It was none other than Snow Elven Silk, which the Stiria Tribe proudly produced.

Attila exclaimed in admiration, “Oh, such a precious gift…”

For trolls, who crafted most of their goods from molded earth, cloth was a rare and valuable item. Given their high regenerative abilities, minimal clothing to cover their skin was usually sufficient, so there was little need for cloth. Leather, after all, was a barbaric material obtained by killing beasts.

Receiving this precious elven silk, Attila’s expression brightened considerably. Iniya smiled inwardly at the clearly pleased Attila.

‘Got it!’

She had heard that this troll was on close terms with Repenhardt, which was why she had come here intentionally. The saying goes, to capture a general, aim for his horse first. Iniya was already steadily working on winning over the people around him.

Seeing Attila and Iniya getting along, Repenhardt also felt pleased. Amidst the harmonious atmosphere, only Siris frowned. For some reason, she disliked what this woman was doing more and more.

‘…Why am I feeling this way?’

Attila, who had wandered the world for over ten years, was not oblivious.

‘Oh?’

He immediately sensed the strange atmosphere between Repenhardt, Siris, and Iniya (though, in truth, Repenhardt was clueless, and it was only between the two women).

With a mischievous smile, Attila gently placed a hand on Repenhardt’s shoulder. Being over two meters tall, he could easily put an arm around him.

In this position, Attila whispered, “Fist King.”

“What is it, Attila?”

“Let me sing you a song that is passed down among the trolls.”

Attila quietly began to sing to the puzzled Repenhardt.

> The sun and the moon cannot rise together
> Day must end for night to come.
> When ice and fire are together, disaster befalls.
> Wise one,
> Know that coexistence and opposition are a hair’s breadth apart.

“Do you understand, Fist King?”

Repenhardt blinked.

‘Sorry, I have no idea what you mean…’

This guy had always been like this. Every time Repenhardt tried to ask him something, he would reply with such cryptic words. It was no wonder Repenhardt usually consulted with Makelin. Attila was undoubtedly wise, but his wisdom was often so profound that an ordinary person like Repenhardt could hardly understand his answers.

Anyway, it seemed he was giving some advice. Knowing that asking for clarification would only result in more cryptic replies, Repenhardt simply nodded.

“I understand, I’ll keep it in mind.”

With the inspection complete and the ritual observed, Repenhardt prepared to return to the White King Castle. Siris and Iniya naturally followed him. Attila smirked as he watched them head toward the horses tied outside the village.

“Enjoy it while it lasts~.”