//AN: This time, as the other party don't really know the language at all, they are only able to understand certain words. As such, there is no translation.//
'The hell?' Noticing the sight, Markus cursed in his thoughts, barely stopping himself from openly expressing his shock. Not because the clothes of those men were weird.
But because they were familiarly weird.
"Who *** ***?" Only the first part of the barbaric-looking man was understandable. A shiver travelled down Markus' spine. Yelna fixed a bolt on her ballista.
"We. Are. From. High. Clan." Speaking each of his words slowly and carefully, Markus gently brought his hands up to indicate a lack of hostile intentions. Noticing his move, the eyes of the three burly men that came out turned into slits.
"Hmm?" To the side, Yelna looked at her husband with surprise clearly written in her eyes. A single droplet of sweat on Markus' forehead didn't escape her attention.
"High Clan? Did ***...?" A fast nudge to the side from one of his companions quickly silenced the man. Bringing his eyelids together, he fixed his grab over a huge axe. "Where do *** **** from?"
Changing his wording after the silent reprimand, the barbaric-looking man-made Markus job easier. Because this time, he understood a few words more.
'It's as if…' For a moment, Markus forced this inner feeling down. Just from the scale of the tremors it was already sending through his soul, the saint knew that allowing it into his mind would potentially break him. But after this short moment, the usual Markus returned.
"It's as if they came from the ancestral age." Speaking openly to his wife, Markus hands slightly tightened.
"Age? Ancient?" Suddenly speaking out two words, the other party finally caught on. For some reason, either side could only understand certain phrases. To a degree, it was as if they recognised the melody of the words rather than their direct spelling. And that indicated something, that would ultimately shatter Markus hopes of easily resolving the strange situation they happened to be in!
"Hmm…" As long as his guess was correct, Markus could attempt to solve the encounter peacefully. Making up his mind, he slowly lowered his hands towards his belt. Unhooking the mechanism, Markus snapped the scabbard away, only to use its tip to draw a line on the ground.
"Ancient." Placing a mark on the far left of the line, Markus waved his hand enthusiastically, emphasising something big, enormous. Playing with his face and the rest of the body alike, he could soon see the looks of realisation on the unshaved faces of the other party.
"Ancestral." Moving his scabbard to the middle of the line, Markus placed another mark. Looking up, he raised his free hand to point it at the group of burly men.
"Wait… What?!" For the first time in ages, Yelna reacted so strongly. For everyone else, she just uttered two words. For Markus, it was akin to a roar of a wounded and furious beast.
Yet, he ignored her.
"We, us…" Pointing his left hand at the two of them, Markus moved the scabbard's tip to the far right of the line. With a grave look on his face, he then moved a free hand to his chest, heavily clutching at his heart.
On the side, Yelna's hands trembled. Her eyes teared up. The ballista fell out of her hands.
Snap!
Despite being the hero, despite being the greatest huntress to ever live, despite… Despite everything that made her as infamously powerful as she was, she failed to notice her mistake. And when the synergy of the forces within the weapon broke, the inevitable happened.
Thankfully, the shot went far above everyone's head, right in the direction, the group of men came from. Despite the scare, nobody was hurt.
But that didn't mean everything was going great.
"You….!" This time, Markus could clearly understand the meaning of the words. And he didn't hesitate. Instantly falling to his knees, he slammed his forehead on the ground.
"We are sorry!" Screaming out with his face smashed into the dirt, Markus forced his entire soul to pray for a miracle. Right now, despite how great everything was going so far, they were on the edge.
But not on the edge of a fight. That they could win easily.
'Damn it, damn it, damn it!' Screaming in his mind, Markus continued to bury his head in the ground. For a moment, the situation remained tense. 'Fuck it, I'd rather die than commit sacrilege!'
Tightening his teeth, Markus waited. And then a small thump reached his ears.
Bringing his chin up, he stared at the apparent leader of the group. The bottom of his axe resting on the ground, while the man rested his upper body atop the weapon's head. His hand, pointing at the painting.
'Bless the miracle…' Trembling from agitation, Markus brought himself up. Fixing his attire with a few pats, he suddenly looked around, turning his eyes high towards the skies.
"Day. Time. Age." Using different words with similar meaning in hopes of the other party catching up, Markus finally found the location of the sun. Pointing his hand at the pair of giant and minuscule orb casting light upon the entire planet, he then moved his arm in a circular motion, tracing the movement of the twin sun on the skydome.
As his arm started to revolve rapidly in the same, constant motion, his right hand once again pointed the scabbard at the line he drew before. And then, as his left arm continued to swing, he started to slowly trace the tip of his sheathed weapon towards the left.
'It seems like they got it.' Breathing a slight sigh of relief, Markus cast a glance towards his wife. Finally overcoming her shock, she clutched her hand atop her own chest. 'Right, for her this is…' Moving his eyes back towards the barbarians, Markus stopped his act.
Bit by bit, his hands and his expression started to change. Using the simplest gestures to combine them into more complicated ideas, the saint proved why he was given the title. In just a few moments, two groups of people with several ages between their timelines managed to communicate.
And the message Markus passed explained it all.
"You are our ancestors. You built our civilisation. You have our utmost respect."
If their fortune would be good, this would be all. Even though he would have to spend hours calming his wife down, Markus almost managed to believe that the situation could be resolved peacefully.
Then, a man who had to tread on the limit of how massive one could get appeared with a dead body hanging over his shoulder. The reason for death was pretty obvious, as the feathers of Yelna's bolt fluttered along the wind.
In a moment, everyone's face soured. Markus and Yelna suddenly found themselves surrounded by legendary figures, one of which could easily rival their entire strength. Just a single look at the mark on the newly arriving barbarian gave away his legendary name.
Name that everyone knew about even before receiving formal education. One of the High Twenty, the council established by the friends of the mystical, unnamed General, after his assassination. And it was their reforms and great foresight that set up the foundation for the explosion of the modern civilisation barely a thousand years past the last apocalypse.
"I'm Ation, inter in the Gener clan. Who are you guys?" The giant's words sounded completely different to how his brethren spoke. Out of nowhere, Markus found someone he could easily communicate with. Someone who touched the real legend. One of the founders of humanity.
But once he heard the man's name, his eyes widened as his head instantly turned towards the girl.
Only to see the girl moan silently in pain, before falling unconscious.