CHAPTER 200: CHAPTER 185: TRIBAL SECRETS_3

Boudica became visibly angry upon hearing these words, even forgetting her seasickness. She sat up and roared at Lance, "You’ve insulted a warrior!"

"I don’t understand these things, and you don’t tell me, so how can it be considered an insult?" Lance replied calmly, almost causing Boudica’s head to smoke with frustration. She felt that something was amiss, but she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly was wrong...

Forget it! Boudica was never fond of using her brain; she simply explained the reason straightforwardly.

"Because the weak cannot earn the recognition of the Ancestral Spirit and cannot withstand the power that battle scars bring."

The tribal Shaman, whom they preferred to call Elders, would use the prey from the rite of passage as a sacrifice. They would concoct a special substance—which, according to Boudica, emitted a fluorescent glow—and, in the presence of the Ancestral Spirit, bestow the battle scar. The more formidable the beast from which the battle scars were derived, the stronger the power they conferred. Different types of beasts used as sacrifices yielded different effects, which was why everyone was eager to hunt more powerful beasts during their coming-of-age ceremony.

Lance was no longer the novice who had only a cursory understanding of Supernatural Power. After reading so many books, he had picked up some concepts.

If the "battle scars" ritual was also based on Spiritual Essence, it was probably the difficulty of the physique in withstanding such immense Spiritual Essence that caused backlash, similar to the Wolf Spirit Possession of the Fang Wolf Tribe. Unfortunately, he had no more information at hand and had never witnessed such a ceremony. Although Lance was curious, he had to stop there. However, he discovered an interesting fact: both barbaric tribes and the civilized world have always been influenced by Supernatural Power. It was an ancient force that predated humankind. Yet, for years it had not been studied and harnessed for peace. Instead, it had stagnated or even regressed amidst human infighting—a true waste.

"Then why were you banished from the tribe?"

Initially angered, Boudica was stunned by the question, a look of indescribable loss appearing on her face.

"How can you look to the future if you cannot face the past? The road to becoming a warrior lies ahead of you, yet you remain stagnant. No one can help you." Lance urged from the side. He wasn’t simply making idle chitchat with her; he didn’t have that much time to waste. He wanted to use this opportunity to make her speak, delving step by step from trivial matters, to eventually touch upon the tribe’s secrets, and then her own inner past.

Corruption existed in Hamlet all along. If one had obvious psychological weaknesses, they would very likely be overwhelmed. He had no need for such useless people.

"My cowardice brought shame upon my comrades..." Eventually, Boudica opened up, and Lance understood what had happened back then.

She completed her trial and joined the war band with extraordinary feats of bravery. She was only fourteen at the time, much younger than the typical age for joining the war band. Many in the tribe questioned whether she was ready, but soon she proved herself with her fists, and those who slandered her paid a price in blood. Only then did the questioning voices about her joining the war band cease.

That very year, the tribe discovered an invading army that threatened their safety. But under the Sanctuary of the Ancestral Spirit, no one knew the forest better than they did. Therefore, the chieftain planned to launch an early battle. As a tribal warrior, she naturally had the right to join the fight. On the eve of departure, she and her fellow tribespeople drank heartily in anticipation of victory.

She was ready to indulge in bloodshed and become eternally renowned among her people.

They lay in ambush on the only route the enemy would take. The tribal warriors had already nocked their Feather Arrows, gripping their weapons tightly.

Should those people fall into the ambush, arrows would pierce their heads, axes would sever their limbs and rip open their bellies, and warriors armed with Great Halberds would cleave them in two.

These, however, were just fantasies. The reality was that they encountered an elite force.

Led by the war band’s leader, they launched an attack on that troop. These soldiers, seasoned in combat, did not panic in the face of the sudden attack. Instead, they held their lines firm.

If that were all, the fight might not have been too bad for their barbarian warriors.

But the problem lay in the equipment gap – the soldiers were all clad in fine Armor, wielding two-handed Great Swords. The weapons that easily cut through their prey had no effect on the Armor. Conversely, the soldiers’ Longswords could easily harm the unarmored tribespeople.

Limbs were severed, bellies were slit – their people were reaped like crops in a heartless show of carnage. And their leader, wielding a Great Axe, would cleave a man in two, then let out a haughty laugh that echoed through the valley. Her people bled before her eyes. Intestines and other innards scattered on the ground; a body, nearly cleaved in two, howled in agony for a long while before finally succumbing to death.

She still remembered the gaze of that dying tribesperson, seemingly unable to comprehend why she was holding back in fear.

At that moment, she was stunned. Her previous hunts had been against animals, and clashes with fellow tribespeople always stopped short of serious harm. But this was her first time facing humans in combat—and an elite enemy at that. The sheer gruesomeness of the battlefield overwhelmed her.

She knew. She was afraid.

She had prepared for this all her life... but at this most critical moment... she had failed...

The army left. She couldn’t remember how she spent that night, only recalling the cold—a bone-chilling coldness. She curled up under a damp tree root, wishing she could bury herself in the earth.