A piece of memory surfaced in Galthor’s mind.
The Howling is a revolutionary group that was made up of races that had no gods of their own. Although those races were the smallest of minorities scattered around the Divine World, they still came together now and then to fight.
But most especially, they are found in the Thirteenth Region, which was the land of the Barbarians before they were enslaved. The Barbarians are a curious case because they are the only majority race without a single god to their name.
Their only god perished a long, long time ago, and the other races enslaved them.
There are ten majority races and lots of other minority races that should not matter in the grand scheme of things, but they are forcing themselves to matter through The Howling.
The Barbarians are a majority, but they are not united. They are scattered through slavery in their own land. So some join the Howling, and others do not.
The Howling itself is not a united front. There are different ideologies on how things should be done from Region to Region and from district to district.
Galthor sighed. "The Howling, eh. What is this particular Howling about? What do they want?"
Brakthar shrugged. "I don’t know. It was your father that was part of the leaders of the Dustspire District Howling. But I can guess that they want to start something big from this district, especially right here in Shatterpeak Range, in this mine."
Shatterpeak Range is a territory made of rocky mountains and deep pits. There are countless mines scattered around that the Barbarians mine for their overlords, just like other resources in the entire Region that others take advantage of.
Galthor frowned. "Good. We will go to this revolution base that you mention. I still don’t know how I’ll give this bastard eternal torment, but we’ll take him along with us."
He picked himself up from the ground and gestured to Brakthar, who nodded.
Galthor’s former personal guard turned toward the wall, raised his sword, and carved out a section from it as if he were working with butter instead of stone. He revealed a tunnel and then began to lead them, carrying the weapons in hand.
Galthor gripped Thrainor’s hair and began to drag him on the ground as he followed behind.
Brakthar led him through different connected tunnels, from one place to another. The Howling had created thousands of false tunnels, and only people like Brakthar, who were taught specifically, could lead the way.
They said little on their way.
Brakthar was still filled with suspicion, looking at Galthor from the side of his eyes, but he was ignored.
Galthor himself had a lot on his mind. Everything had happened so fast that he really did not have the time to think it through. From his deathbed to the Yellow River and then now to him being a Barbarian god.
’...Throughout my entire life I had no freedom. I stayed only in bed, soaked in depression, masking it by playing audio puzzle games and books, but now, I am given a new life...’
’...As a Barbarian! To be a God to a race who had no God. It’s a lot to take in, but it is also a chance to be what I never was. The first thing, though, is to survive. From the memories of my host body, I know that it is not an easy thing...’
’...But I get a second chance. I can’t let that be taken from me. Ever. I need to grow stronger!...’
Thankfully, with Brakthar’s help, they were able to navigate the tunnels and hide from the monsters inside. But that also meant they did not go out of their way to hunt for food, which left them starving for days.
Galthor still needed food, as there was no faith aura to sustain him.
But eventually, after what felt like days, Brakthar announced that they were now in the Revolutionary Group, the Howling’s territory.
There was no change in the surroundings. Everything was still stone and dust.
The only difference was that they started meeting the scouts. Those had been placed at different entrances to take care of any wandering people that did not belong.
Fortunately, Brakthar knew all the answers to the questions they asked, and soon, they reached the place.
"This is the Revolutionary Group?" Galthor asked, one hand holding Thrainor by the hair, the other holding his own waist. His dark eyes stared at the mountain-like structure in front of him.
The Howling stronghold was a giant mountain underground. It was surrounded by a tall wall etched with runes that hummed with power.
Above, where the sky should be, burned a pillar of light that illuminated everywhere.
Brakthar said, "We are here, Lord Galthor."
Galthor nodded, too tired and hungry to care. His lips were cracked, and his muscles heavy. Despite his Barbarian endurance, going for one week without food and water had made him incredibly weak.
Fortunately, Brakthar took care of the guards, and they were allowed in.
What he first saw were stone buildings that spread as far as the eyes could see, and different types of races.
"Although right now there are four leaders of the Dustspire District Howling, with you there should be five, but since the Chief..." Brakthar stopped talking for a while.
And Galthor resisted the urge to point out that he was the Chief and would be part of the leaders or whatever. But he chose to simply watch instead.
"Those four leaders, while they might represent a race, they have different types of races in their banner. You see, if you are not Galthor Stronghide and just a nameless Barbarian that managed to find their way here, then you can just choose any banner that you want."
Galthor’s eyes darkened. "And the Stronghide banner?"
Brakthar looked away as he led him toward the big mountain fortress. "It wasn’t that bad when I last came here."