The Famous First Line of That Novel About Surviving on Mars (1)

“Alright! Alright! No biting, no scratching like some little girl, no hitting below the belt! Obviously no weapons allowed, and no running to the authorities just because you got hit… Ready… begin!”

Though it still lacked any particularly fancy name, the duels that broke out in the bathhouses had become a sort of cultural content in their own right. This was an era where the mindset that a man grows through fighting still lingered, and brawling bare-handed without weapons inside a bath where falling wouldn’t crack your skull open was, to the people of this time, nothing more than a rather rough sort of “play.”

“You bastard! I’ll make you regret this!”

“Hah, old man, why don’t you just go sit in the back and watch the kids!”

Because the hot spring water reached all the way to their thighs, it was difficult to move their feet with any flair, which made fancy techniques impossible. The slippery floor of the bath—where even an ordinary person walking normally could slip and fall if they were unlucky—meshed perfectly with the primitive shamanistic doctrine that “the gods favor the righteous.” The sailors and nomads of Laling County, who were constantly at odds with one another, often settled minor disputes that weren’t quite worth bothering the high officials at the government office through the results of these bathhouse fights.

“You son of a—!”

Araban had fought dozens of times on these very tiles and watched hundreds more bouts. As he always did, he walked slowly toward Sun Ce and swung his fist like a whip. On solid ground it would have been a slow, telegraphed punch that even a snot-nosed brat could dodge, but in the extremely restricted mobility of a bathhouse brawl, it was a surprisingly efficient attack.

“Too slow, you old— whoa!”

The bath floor, coated with lime, sulfur, and mineral deposits, was slippery enough that someone fell every single day even without a fight. Shifting your center of gravity sharply on that slick surface was dangerous, so it was inevitable that Sun Ce’s feet would slip out from under him as he tried to arch backward to avoid the punch.

-Thud!

The last thing Sun Ce saw as he fell was a fist the size of a pot lid. That became his final memory.

It was an era without clocks, and in an agrarian society being an hour or two late for an appointment wasn’t exactly strange… but this was pushing it, wasn’t it? The hour of the Rat was already halfway over. In modern terms, it was a little past eight in the evening. Though winter had passed, the days still weren’t very long, so it was already pitch dark outside, and the food on the table had gone cold, radiating a chilly aura.

“Even so, this is far too late. County Magistrate of Laling, did you perhaps give them the wrong time?”

“That couldn’t be. I clearly instructed them to finish preparing before the hour of the Rooster… My apologies.”

“How amusing. Truly amusing. In my entire life, the only people who have ever made me wait this long are those two brats and the previous emperor. Could it be that those two are actually the emperor’s hidden children?”

In this era, if someone said “meet me during the hour of the Rat,” it was generally accepted that arriving anytime before the hour ended was fine. However, if the appointment was set for before the hour of the Rooster (5 to 7 p.m.), it was common courtesy to arrive before the hour of the Rat began. It was the minimum etiquette that could be maintained in an agrarian society without precise timepieces.

“Young people these days really are bold, aren’t they? Even setting aside my position as Duke, most people don’t make someone significantly older than them wait this long.”

I didn’t particularly care much about etiquette, but I wasn’t some ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠saintly pushover who would tolerate being kept waiting two full hours by people I had scheduled a meeting with. The position of Duke came with a mountain of work, and there were far too many rebels across the realm. I had agreed to this meeting because I had no idea what schemes Yuan Shu was cooking up, but honestly, I didn’t have much time to waste on some defeated loser holed up in a southern backwater.

The greatest immediate threat was Dong Zhuo, who was staring us down across the border at Pingyuan County. I also had to worry about Cao Cao’s situation, which Dong Zhuo had apparently set his sights on. The problems in Qingzhou and Xuzhou held slightly higher priority than some village thugs from the south.

“I will send someone again immediately. We did receive a report that they had arrived at the hot springs, so it’s possible… there might have been… an accident… or perhaps not… maybe… Yes, my apologies.”

“Go confirm it.”

“Yes, sir! You there! Send men to the bathhouse at once and check on the condition of those two!”

An accident… an accident, huh…

The people of this era were remarkably numb to safety concerns, so it was entirely possible someone had slipped in the bath and suffered a concussion. If the heir of a marquis-level figure, sent as an envoy, had died after slipping while taking a bath? That would make for an excellent pretext for war. Of course, with a layer of cheoljowang laid along the defense lines, we probably wouldn’t lose… but if Dong Zhuo decided to take advantage of the chaos and began moving his troops, the country we had barely stabilized would once again turn into a battlefield.

At this point, with both sides’ spheres of influence firmly established, any war that broke out would be on an entirely different scale from before. Therefore, war at this moment had to be prevented at all costs.

For some reason, I suddenly thought of that prime minister from our time who used to shout about peace… but well, there was no mustached demon king among the warlords yet, so there probably wouldn’t be any art-school aspirant who would step on the accelerator again after being spared.

“…Your Excellency, someone has just arrived from the bathhouse…”

“We just sent someone. Looks like they crossed paths. So, what did they say?”

“A young man named Sun Ce from Jingzhou got into a quarrel with the Wuhuan tribesman Araban and underwent a ‘Gyeoltu Jaepan.’ He was defeated and lost consciousness. He is currently receiving treatment from Physician Byeon and resting…”

“Gyeoltu Jaepan? What the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hell is that nonsense?”

Come on, the Han Dynasty was supposed to be a proper nation of rule of law with actual laws. Why the hell was there trial by combat? Were these guys Vikings? Or… what, Saiyans? Might makes right, that kind of crap?

No matter how ancient the era, the Han was a centralized state with laws and bureaucrats. If the rule of law stopped functioning properly, anarchy would erupt. Unlike the chaotic times that still had the final restraints of nation or ideology, a state that fell into true anarchy would end with everyone except a few warlords becoming miserable.

“Let’s go see for ourselves. Liu Ziahui, you’ll have to explain to me on the way what exactly this Gyeoltu Jaepan is… and in great detail.”

“…Y-yes… understood…”

“Don’t drag your words.”

“I’m sorry…”

The man’s height, close to eight feet, was so enormous it was impossible to take in with both eyes. His body, which easily exceeded four hundred pounds, was packed entirely with muscle and not an ounce of fat. His forearms were covered in calluses and scars that testified to the bloody path he had walked. The black silk robes that covered his entire frame were cut narrowly so as not to hinder him while riding. Aside from a small silver necklace, there were no decorations at all, yet the unfamiliar style of black silk clothing carried an inexplicably heavy sense of weight.

Above his neck, his beard was neatly trimmed to reveal a smooth chin. Above that were firmly closed lips and a straight nose. His black hair was slicked back with oil, and the fact that it was cut at shoulder length suggested it had been trimmed to avoid being cumbersome when riding or wearing a helmet.

“I am Gongsun Zan, Duke of Yan.”

When I slightly lowered my gaze, the man’s jet-black eyebrows were faintly furrowed, revealing his displeasure… and his eyes were so pitch black, like the night sky on a new moon with not a single star, that I couldn’t read any emotion within them at all.

A coward? That thing?

No. That thing was absolutely not a coward.

That thing was a well-fed black bear.

If my father was a fierce and sharp tiger, then that thing was a full-bellied, lazy black bear. No matter how hard a human swung a spear, it couldn’t leave so much as a scratch on its hide, and the desperate struggles of the greatest warriors in the world were nothing more than amusing play to that black bear. If it grew tired of the game and swatted with its paw, a frail human would be torn apart and killed. If it found the game entertaining, the human might barely cling to life. The reason it hadn’t struck at Dong Zhuo wasn’t because it feared him, but simply because it was catching its breath while digesting the land of Yan that had been forcibly handed to it.

When my eyes rose slightly higher again, the furrowed brows that declared their owner’s displeasure came back into view.

I’ll say it one last time.

I am screwed.