There was good news and bad news.
As always in life, good things came with a price.
The good news was that after harvesting more potatoes, I was now just a step away from reaching Farming Level 4.
And the bad news.
The Red Moon was about to rise.
That was the problem currently weighing on my mind.
The Red Moon.
One of the biggest reasons for the survival difficulty in this damn game, L.O.C., shot through the roof.
The setting itself wasn’t anything unusual.
At regular intervals, the moon turned red, monsters went berserk under its influence, and waves of them came charging in.
The real problem is the magical beasts.
Even normally docile herbivores would lose their minds and try to bite people.
Regular monsters were bad enough.
But magical beasts, which were already dangerous to begin with, became more than three times stronger and crossed the barriers.
Haa.
The reason I hadn’t worried about the Red Moon until now wasn’t that I had been careless.
I simply had no way of knowing the exact date.
But after Zakan gave me the bone calendar left behind by the previous shaman, I finally managed to calculate it.
And the result was.
One week.
Exactly seven days from today.
A chill ran down my spine.
According to the game’s setting, the barbarians at the beginning of the story were wiped out by the Great Famine.
They had gone extinct from starvation, not because of the Red Moon.
But that didn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t die during it.
The protagonist of the original story was Zakan, the barbarian hero who survived alone.
Not some random Tribe Member Number Twenty-Three like me.
What do I do?
I rubbed my face with both hands.
Our tribe’s current fighting power was miserable.
Most of the warriors, including Chief Zakan, were inexperienced fighters in their late teens.
There were also many children.
And since everyone had been starving until recently, they weren’t exactly in great condition either.
Earlier, I had asked Zakan,
Zakan. The Red Moon rises in one week. What are we going to do?
He hadn’t answered.
He had only stared at his greatsword.
Apparently, he didn’t have an answer either.
I sighed quietly and called out to the guy silently pulling weeds beside me.
Hey, Malko.
He was ugly, but after tasting potatoes, he had become my loyal follower.
Why call? Busy.
Malko ran over, sweating heavily.
A handful of uprooted weeds was still clutched in his rough hand.
Are you strong?
Of course!
He proudly pounded his chest.
Can you fight during the Red Moon?
Of course. I fight and die. That is a warrior’s honor.
Forget it.
His answer was exactly what I had expected.
Barbarians weren’t afraid of dying in battle.
No.
They were proud of it.
But I wanted to live!
Living and eating potatoes was much better than dying and collecting honor afterward.
I looked around.
The other barbarians were much the same.
They were all huge, but their faces still had traces of youth.
Should we hide?
The thought suddenly crossed my mind.
If we blocked the entrance to the cave behind the village.
It would be cowardly, but it was probably the safest option.
Then a large shadow fell over me.
I looked up.
Chief Zakan was walking past with his greatsword resting on his shoulder, glancing down at me.
There’s no way that bastard would hide.
Monsters were invading, and he was supposed to turn tail and hide?
There was no way Zakan could tolerate that humiliation.
And if the chief refused to hide, the rest of the tribe would refuse too.
Damn it.
I grabbed my head.
One week.
I had to find a way for us to survive the Red Moon within that short amount of time.
Time passed without caring about my worries.
My thoughts were tangled, but my body continued working mechanically.
Rustle. Thud.
With cheerful sounds, dirt-covered potatoes spilled out of the ground.
Seeing the large, plump potatoes lifted my mood a little.
When I harvested the tenth and final row, a transparent message appeared in the air.
Ding!
You have reached the target harvest of 500 E-Rank Potatoes.
Next Harvest Goal: 2,000.
Crop Understanding has increased.
Current Understanding: 20% → 40%
Level Up!
You have reached Level 4.
Lv.3 → Lv.4
Level increase grants Stat Point +1.
Class Skill Proficiency has increased.
Available Cultivation Slots increased.
10 → 13
Haa.
I let out a long breath and wiped away my sweat.
Today’s harvest was around two hundred potatoes.
At the moment, I could harvest about two hundred every three days.
It still wasn’t enough to fully feed forty people.
But if we mixed them into soup with the small animals brought back by the hunting party, it was enough to keep everyone from starving.
They’ve filled out a lot.
The barbarians had indeed gained a little weight.
But that sense of satisfaction didn’t last long.
What was the point of saving them from starvation?
If the Red Moon was coming in a week?
Wouldn’t I just be fattening them up into healthier prey for the monsters?
That was when.
Shaman! You work hard. I like Shaman!
A childish voice came from beside my legs.
I looked down.
Three or four little barbarian children were staring up at me.
Potato crumbs covered their mouths, and their bright eyes shone with admiration.
Hmm. Cute.
Something warm spread through my chest.
My tension loosened.
I reached out to pat their heads.
I wanted to say something kind.
Failure! You speak and act like a barbarian.
Of course! I am the great Barbarian Izak!
Damn it.
Instead of something warm, a narcissistic shout burst from my mouth.
Seriously.
This Barbarian Mind had absolutely no sense of mood.
But the children loved it.
Waaaah! Great Barbarian Izak!
Izak! Izak!
The children laughed, saying my shout was cool, and clung to my legs.
Their small, dirt-covered hands tugged at my leather pants.
I pretended to look annoyed, but I couldn’t hide the smile spreading across my lips.
They were cute.
Even if this entire race was rough and ignorant, children were still cute.
Or.
Had I grown attached to them because I saw them every day?
Was I actually becoming more barbarian myself?
At first, even these little kids had looked like potential monsters who might grow up and chop my head off someday.
Now they were starting to feel like people.
No.
Like younger siblings.
I want to save them.
The thought came naturally.
I wanted these kids to live without starving.
I didn’t want monsters to tear them apart and eat them.
To do that, I had to keep farming.
Raise my level.
Stockpile potatoes.
I lifted my head while making that warm determination.
And surprisingly.
The solution to my problem appeared from somewhere completely unexpected.
We came to see the chief.
Monsters were standing at the village entrance.
Chief Zakan’s tent.
Normally, it felt spacious.
Right now, it felt so cramped that it might burst.
I sat uncomfortably on Zakan’s right side, in the shaman’s seat.
Across from me sat three outsiders.
Are these guys monsters?
I swallowed.
Only after seeing them did I realize that the barbarians of the Northern Rock Tribe were actually the mild version.
These men were on an entirely different level.
Their skin was red like lava.
Their muscles were hard as stone.
Exaggerating only slightly, their seated height was almost equal to our warriors standing upright.
Especially the giant sitting in the middle.
I honestly couldn’t tell whether he was human or an ogre.
He was a full head taller than Zakan, the largest warrior in our tribe.
His forearms were as thick as my waist.
The Western Volcano Tribe.
A suffocating silence filled the tent.
The red-skinned giant, chief of the Western Volcano Tribe, finally opened his mouth.
We help.
Zakan said nothing.
He stood with his arms crossed, staring expressionlessly at Burta, chief of the Western Volcano Tribe.
But I noticed it.
The veins on Zakan’s forearm were trembling slightly.
