Hyper-Dimensional Player-Chapter 434 - 54: Heracles’ Script

A magnificent bonfire blazed fiercely.

Beside the bonfire lay the grisly heads of snakes and lizards, whose frightening appearance continued to terrify the nearby Dibite people in service, despite being long dead.

Hegel’s robust stature sat at the forefront of the bonfire, accompanied by two young maidens serving wine.

Directly opposite him sat a hunched old man in his fifties, the King of the Dibite people, who was more akin to a chieftain. There were many kings on this land, some ruling over tens of thousands, others controlling a few city-states.

Hegel embraced a beautiful maiden and raised a bullhorn cup to offer a toast to the king before him, though his gaze fell on the king’s rear. There stood a coquettish priestess in her thirties, draped in a thin linen robe that shimmered in the flickering firelight, revealing her graceful figure. She was the Dibite priestess, and one of the king’s wives.

Perhaps intoxicated, Hegel’s eyes burned with intensity, and under his gaze, the priestess’s cheeks blushed.

The elderly king seemed to notice but did not mind, even inviting the priestess to sit beside Hegel.

On the other side of the bonfire.

Crete pushed a woman in her twenties, possessing some beauty, into Duncan’s embrace, then raised his bullhorn cup to clink with Duncan’s, his breath reeking of alcohol: "You saved my life today, this woman is yours."

After speaking, he casually pulled a woman delivering roasted meat into his arms and indulged; the woman didn’t get angry, even giggling while pouring Crete wine.

Noticing Duncan’s gaze, the woman smiled coquettishly, tugging at her neckline, seemingly displaying her full figure.

Meanwhile, the woman pushed into Duncan’s arms showed a hint of displeasure, glaring fiercely at Crete before she grabbed Duncan’s hand, placing it on her chest. Her skin was a bit dark, but her figure was alluring, with strong thighs, moving in Duncan’s embrace like a snake, softly humming the Dibite people’s sacrificial chant, echoing the revelry around.

"How many women do you think Hegel will sleep with today?" (Barbarian tongue)

A rugged barbarian warrior held one woman in each arm, seating them on his strong thighs, one feeding him wine, the other meat, while his hands busily entertained, making the women in his arms laugh heartily.

Beside him, a drunk barbarian fighter looked up, smiling: "I guess ten."

"After all, he was in a frenzy today; his legs might be a bit weak."

Hearing this, Crete tossed the leg of lamb in his hand nearby. The barbarian warriors’ eating manners were atrocious, devouring everything like reincarnated devils, leaving the place in chaos. He wiped the oil from his mouth with the back of his hand, then touched the woman in his arms, smearing her neck and much of her chest with grease, and laughed: "Hegel is the mightiest barbarian fighter."

"I guess twenty."

"The women here aren’t strong enough!"

Suddenly, laughter erupted all around, with an air of merriment filling the atmosphere.

The nearby Dibite people couldn’t understand their barbaric tongue, yet seeing these barbarian warriors laugh heartily, they laughed along.

Soon, a slightly drunken barbarian warrior couldn’t contain himself, burping as he rudely embraced a woman and headed toward the wooden huts outside the bonfire. The surrounding barbarian fighters didn’t care, some even jesting how long he would take to return.

As night deepened.

The bonfire lit for the sacrificial celebration gradually dimmed. The king of the Dibite people had already left unnoticed, and the increasingly drunk Hegel pulled the mature and alluring priestess into his arms, gorging on a sheep, his oily hands unceremoniously slid under the priestess’s gown.

Aside from Duncan, he ate the most at the feast. While Duncan continued his wild gluttony, Hegel was busy with other pleasures.

Crete now stood up, holding two women. He turned and patted Duncan’s shoulder, chuckling: "Don’t just eat, tonight is the Dibite people’s midsummer festival; they are waiting for you to sow the seeds."

"The weak Dibite people need the bloodline of barbarian warriors to preserve their land."

"You’re younger than me, you should sleep with at least ten."

"Let the Usga people’s bloodline spread throughout the Dibite river basin."

Crete laughed as he got up, looking at the pitiful group of skinny women watching him, he waved, quickly attracting three more women.

At this moment.

Duncan finally reluctantly set down the lamb leg in his hand, a woman immediately offered a bullhorn cup, eagerly watching his rock-solid chest muscles.

"It really is the damn barbaric era!..." Duncan shook his head, sighing.

He was now in the Dibite river basin of the southern wetlands, a land where tribal kingdoms had only recently transformed from polygamous practices a few hundred years prior. Due to the need for population propagation, they desperately required external bloodlines to infuse, to avoid the bloodlines constantly repeating internally. Hence, grand ceremonies like the midsummer festival, hunting festival, and fertility festival were held.

In the absence of outsiders, invitations would be sent to nearby tribes, and in some places, even the tradition of offering wives to entertain guests existed.