Night had fallen over the chief’s tent.
Cold wind slipped through the gaps in the roughly tanned hides, making the torchlight flicker.
Beneath that wavering light, Zakan, chief of the Northern Rock Tribe, sat alone.
One man’s face appeared in his mind.
Izak.
Compared to the other tribesmen, he was slightly smaller and didn’t look much like a warrior.
He had always been so insignificant that Zakan barely remembered anything about him.
Was Izak always like that?
A small question planted a seed of doubt in Zakan’s mind.
Those confident eyes.
The way he had met Zakan’s gaze without flinching and made his demands boldly.
And above all.
He was someone who had created food from dead land where nothing could grow.
Wisdom.
Zakan silently rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mind.
Wisdom was a strange concept to barbarians.
A thought that couldn’t pierce a monster’s hide was nothing more than a useless distraction.
A worry that couldn’t solve hunger was a luxury.
This was a world where strength was law and survival was truth.
That was why Zakan had swung his sword.
That was why he had done everything he could to protect the tribe.
But.
Zakan turned his gaze toward the massive greatsword resting in the corner of the tent.
It was his father’s keepsake.
And the symbol of the chief.
That sword might be able to cut down monsters.
But it could not cut down hunger.
Am I tired?
The thought suddenly occurred to him.
He was still young.
No.
Even by barbarian standards, he was too young to be chief.
But the previous chief, his father, had died on the night of the last Red Moon.
He had been torn apart while stopping wave after wave of magical beasts.
And it hadn’t been only his father.
The experienced warriors of the tribe.
The elders who possessed wisdom.
All of them had vanished like morning dew that night.
Those who survived were young barbarians like Zakan, still immature and with much left to learn.
And children who needed protection.
Zakan had no choice but to become chief.
But strength alone was not enough to lead a tribe.
I don’t know.
The tribe’s hunger worsened day by day.
And Zakan had no idea how he was supposed to solve it.
Then Izak had created potatoes.
He had performed a miracle said to belong only to mages.
If the ancestor god had truly given him wisdom.
Had his father’s spirit perhaps sent the ancestor god to help his inadequate son?
Zakan’s gaze sank deeper.
His thoughts tried to continue, one after another.
But the simple thought process unique to barbarians eventually hit a wall.
For the first time in his life, Zakan felt frustrated by his own inability to think further.
Wisdom.
Perhaps he was the one who desired it most desperately.
Come in.
He pushed aside his thoughts and spoke toward the presence outside the tent.
Zakan still did not realize that the small miracle created by Izak had already begun to change his life.
After being summoned by the chief, I stood outside the tent feeling extremely nervous.
Why did he call me?
I was uneasy.
Could he still be suspicious of me?
According to the setting of LOC, a barbarian chief held absolute authority.
Calm down, Kang Jinho.
You’re the hero of the tribe right now.
You multiplied twenty potatoes into four times that amount.
I swallowed and steadied myself.
For now.
I needed to look as polite and intelligent as possible.
I wasn’t just some ordinary barbarian anymore.
I was a wise farmer barbarian chosen by the ancestor god.
Come in.
Zakan’s voice came from inside the tent.
Good.
Polite and intelligent.
That was the plan.
Failure! Barbarian Mind resists polite speech and behavior.
Chief! I came!
But the words that burst from my throat were nothing like what I had intended.
BANG!
Oh, come on.
Before he could even answer, my body kicked aside the hide curtain and charged into the tent.
My footsteps were loud.
My voice was confident.
Are you kidding me?! Why is my body moving on its own?!
Is Mental Strength 10 still not enough? Is this some kind of probability-based system?!
I screamed internally.
On the outside, however, I looked like the rudest bastard alive.
This damn trait.
Barbarian Mind!
Maybe I simply hadn’t adapted to this body yet.
Thankfully, Zakan didn’t even twitch an eyebrow at my rude entrance.
He simply stared at me with that frightening expression.
You came.
I tried to sit politely in front of him.
Instead, my body dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, and I crossed my legs.
Zakan stared at me.
It was terrifying.
Just as the heavy silence became unbearable, Zakan finally spoke.
Izak. Did the ancestor god give you wisdom?
Yes.
I nodded once.
Zakan’s eyes visibly trembled.
What was he thinking?
He fell silent again.
After staring for a long while at the greatsword resting in the corner, he let out a deep breath.
Then, Izak. Will you manage the tribe’s household?
Huh?
What?
Manage whose household?
Why would I?
Wait.
Did I grow potatoes so well that he wants my genes or something?
My imagination immediately ran in a very strange direction.
The tribe’s household. Will you manage it?
Only then did I understand.
Oh.
Not that kind of household.
I suddenly felt awkward.
Zakan, completely unaware of my misunderstanding, continued with a serious expression.
The chief fights enemies and hunts. But counting things and managing the tribe makes my head hurt.
He tapped his temple with one thick finger.
My father said a tribe needs two pillars. One is the chief who protects the tribe. The other is the shaman who makes the tribe prosper.
Shaman.
Our tribe has no shaman.
For some reason, Zakan’s voice sounded lonely.
Come to think of it, there really aren’t any adults here.
Most of the tribe was made up of cheerful, reckless young barbarians and children.
Was that why none of them knew anything about farming?
For a moment, I imagined Zakan trying to manage all these muscle-brained barbarians by himself.
He must have had a rough time.
Zakan looked directly at me.
Izak. The ancestor gave you wisdom. Barbarians lack wisdom. You made life bloom from dead land.
Become the shaman of our tribe. Become my brother and take care of what I cannot. I will trust you and swing my sword.
It sounded less like an offer and more like a sincere plea.
I stared at him blankly for a moment.
According to the original scenario, I should have been nothing more than some random Tribe Member Number Twenty-Three.
I was supposed to swing an axe without thinking and eventually die.
But now.
The chief was offering me the second-highest position in the tribe.
Shaman.
The person responsible for the tribe’s wisdom.
The one who handled rituals.
The one who stood directly beneath the chief and filled in whenever the chief could not.
There’s no reason to refuse.
Life would be much easier if I became the shaman.
More importantly, I would no longer need the chief’s permission every time I wanted to carry out my survival plans.
A grin slowly appeared on my face.
This time, it wasn’t forced.
I was genuinely happy.
Good. I’ll do it.
Zakan’s expression brightened noticeably at my answer.
He hesitated for a moment, then stood and carefully patted me on the back.
Good choice. From now on, you are the shaman of the Northern Rock Tribe.
Wasn’t the process a little too simple?
I hadn’t expected some grand, flashy appointment ceremony.
But this was much more casual than I imagined.
While I stood there confused, Zakan began searching beneath his bed.
Then he pulled something out and held it toward me.
It was an old wooden box covered in dust.
What is this?
The previous shaman left it behind. Only the shaman may possess it. Now it is yours.
Zakan pushed the box toward me again.
My heart immediately began pounding.
An inheritance!
There was a rule in games like this.
Treasures belonging to chiefs or inheritances left by previous generations always contained hidden items or skill books.
Maybe there was a magic book inside.
