People in all of the nations had similar appearances.
Because children were often "exchanged" between nations before the war, the citizens' appearances became mixed over time.
Still, it was widely believed that the first barbarians had crimson hair, while magi were known for blue.
That's why barbarians with red hair often held a quiet belief that their blood was stronger. In contrast, those with blue or bluish-black hair, like Caelen, were seen as lesser.
Of course, there was no real proof behind any of this. Just another belief passed down among barbarians.
---
"Are you out of your mind? Why didn't you move? Do you want to die?" the woman with the crimson hair shouted.
But before Caelen could answer, she turned back to face her pursuers.
They had already surrounded her vehicle.
"Hehehe! This thing'll sell for a fortune," one of the barbarians said.
To Caelen, they looked like cavemen.
Yes, barbarians were primitive relative to the other nations—but they still had a civilization.
They didn't sleep outside or eat raw meat. They wore traditional clothes, but they had fashion, not rags.
They followed hierarchy, had a functioning judiciary, and lived in structured communities.
But the men in front of him looked like they'd crawled out of a jungle.
They weren't even wearing shirts.
"Who are you?" Caelen asked, but none of them bothered to look at him.
He turned back to the woman. She looked to be around twenty-five. But she didn't acknowledge him either.
"Are you really going to fight me over my hoverbike?" she asked.
"Hahaha! And what if we are? You gonna fight back?"
To them, there was no way a magus could win against this many barbarians.
"I'd rather smash it into pieces than let bandits like you take it!" she snapped.
Caelen sighed. So, they were bandits. And they didn't look weak either.
He slowly moved his right hand behind a nearby tree, shielding it from view. He didn't want anyone to see his Crest of Knowledge.
When his hand came back, he was holding the one-handed sword Illgorn had given him.
It was the first spell Idel had taught him: dimensional storage. A simple spell, even children could learn it, Idel had said.
But there was a catch—his current storage capacity was only three cubic meters. Just enough to store his sword, the crystal fragment, and a few small things.
Nothing else.
As he grew stronger, the space would expand.
He clipped the sword to his waist carefully. No one seemed to notice him.
Do they know I am weak?
It was the only explanation. The others were probably at a much higher level. Even their movements proved that.
Caelen didn't think he could run as fast as they did while following the hoverbike.
Still, that didn't mean he'd sit and do nothing.
"Hey," Caelen said, "you don't have to destroy your... thing. If they're really bandits, I'll help."
The barbarians still ignored him, but the girl turned her head.
"Great. Just what I needed—another clueless barbarian kid."
"What do you mean, clueless? I'm trying to help you!" Caelen snapped.
She sighed. "I'm a magus. Why would a barbarian help me unless he didn't know any better?"
She said it instead of hiding the truth and using Caelen.
It didn't matter what he did since he was weak. If Caelen helped her, he would be killed by the barbarians.
And if he sided with them after hearing the truth, she'd probably kill him herself while fighting the others.
"The girl's right," one of the bandits called out. "If you're just standing there, how about you give her a good smack and earn yourself some fame?
You know what a big deal it is to kill a magus in Barbara? Bring back some gear and—"
"Shut up, Tarik," another bandit cut in. "You and I both know he'll die the second he tries anything."
Tarik frowned. "You moron. Don't you see the sword at his waist? That looks like an Animar's blade. I was trying to keep him from running off with it!"
The second bandit grimaced, realizing his mistake—but it was too late. Caelen had heard everything.
The girl glanced at his sword too, but she didn't seem particularly interested in it.
Caelen, on the other hand, was focused on something else.
"...What's an Animar?"
The girl frowned again. "Sigh... Just run. I'll hold them off as long as I can. They won't chase you—my hoverbike is too valuable. And it is a guarantee unlike your sword."
Caelen hesitated, staring at her.
"What are you waiting for? Go!" she shouted and activated her Crest of Knowledge on her right hand.
The moment her crest began to glow, it felt like the air itself thickened. His chest tightened, and he could barely breathe.
So, he ran.
He kept running for two full minutes before the pressure finally lifted. The weight in the air vanished, and he could breathe again.
"What the hell was that?"
It was terrifying.
He'd known he was in danger, sure—but this was something else entirely.
Back there, surrounded by people stronger than him, he'd been frozen with fear even though he tried to act tough.
But now, out of range, a worse feeling was starting to rise.
Shame.
He clenched his fists. "Come on, didn't you say fresh start?"
He had to go back. Even if he couldn't do much, even if all he could land was one hit—that might be enough.
Still, his legs refused to move.
It hadn't been direct danger that paralyzed him. It was that girl's crest. It hadn't threatened him. It had suppressed him. Pressed down on him like the weight of a mountain.
But now he needed to push back.
She was strong, probably stronger than the bandits—after all, they hadn't attacked immediately after she crashed. But even she couldn't take on all of them alone.
What do I do?
He tried to remember what Idel had told him.
***
"You said I have the two strongest crests," Caelen said, trying to learn dimensional storage at the same time. "But doesn't that just make things harder?"
"And why's that?" Idel asked.
"My barbarian side needs injuries to grow stronger—but my magus side prevents me from getting hurt. How do I fight while I am scared of getting injured?"
"Being scared of an injury is normal for a magus since we lose a lot. But, do you think magi don't fight? We also fight, so it means there is a way around.
I told you, we're the strongest for a reason. You just haven't trained enough. And right now, we don't have time. You'll have to figure it out yourself."
"Figure what out?"
"The fear. It's not a rule. It's instinct. If you want to fight, you have to push past it. When that happens—when your barbarian side kicks in—you'll be able to fight just fine."
"And how do I push past it?"
"Heh. That's your problem to solve."
***
Of course, he didn't help, Caelen thought bitterly.
So the magus' tendency to avoid danger wasn't a rule. It was instinct. And instincts could be overcome.
But training under Taek hadn't done anything. So just fighting fear head-on wasn't enough.
Wait... my fear isn't about fighting. It's about getting hurt.
A terrible idea crossed his mind.
He didn't like it. Not at all.
From his pack, he pulled out his old sword—the one he brought "just in case." He unwrapped the cloth from around the blade, then shoved the cloth into his mouth.
There was only one way.
He drove the blade into his foot.
It wasn't about harming himself. It was about breaking the part of him that flinched from injury. He didn't plan to do this ever again—but right now, that girl needed help.
Pain lanced up his leg, and his body dropped to one knee. His heart thumped faster, and a strange heat spread through his limbs.
The resistance was gone and his Crest of War was shining.
Barbarian Spirit... Caelen thought. He had also learned about it from Idel.
The fear that had chained his body in place had lifted.
And now, it was time.
Time to betray the race that had raised him.