Seeds of the Future

In diplomacy, the first rule is communication. The second is finding something both sides want. Once these two conditions are met, you can strike a deal even with your worst enemy. Personal feelings and grudges usually take a backseat to profit. But there are exceptions—moments when a deal is rejected despite clear benefits. That means they no longer even view you as a partner worth trading with.

After handing down my orders, I realized I knew next to nothing about the Baba tribe. I immediately summoned Yerin, my personal information pocket, and tasked her with an investigation. A few days later, she returned with a handful of rumors.

They were typical rumors and hearsay. What caught my interest wasn't the content itself, but the source. The fact that every single rumor originated from the Karis Empire. That alone was enough to reveal the truth. After all, contaminating information by building on a grain of truth is the absolute basics of lying. Doesn't everyone learn that in elementary school?

I looked over the rumors again. Sifting through the sensationalist fluff, I analyzed what the Baba tribe truly represented to the Empire.

"They delight in slaughtering nobles" translated to: "They possess the combat prowess to breach the guards of imperial nobles and assassinate them."

"Savages who roam around clad in mere rags" translated to: "They possess the sheer physical resilience to traverse battlefields without armor, combined with the mobility to evade coordinated pincer attacks."

"They sold their souls to the devil" translated to: "Their combat capabilities are so anomalously terrifying that people whisper they must have made a pact with a demon."

Simply put, the Baba tribe consisted of all-rounder warriors who could both dish out damage and tank hits. In the terms of my past life, they were literal tanks. Was such a thing even possible? Well, I didn't need to waste my breath questioning it. The Empire's actions spoke louder than words. Just look at the sheer volume of grain they had demanded upon arriving in Elium. The war against these "barbarians," which they had assumed would be a swift, decisive campaign, had dragged out into a war of attrition.

Why would the Empire choose to fight such a formidable force instead of coaxing them to their side? According to the records, the Baba tribe originally inhabited fertile lands. However, the Empire broke their treaties and seized their territory through deceit. To the Baba tribe, the Empire was a treacherous invader. There was no way any imperial overtures would ever work on them. That was likely why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Empire shifted its strategy: if they couldn't possess this weapon, then no one else would. They manipulated all information regarding the Baba tribe, dragging their name through the mud and obscuring their true nature. Savages, demons, uncivilized brutes.

Looking at it this way, it made perfect sense why they were relegated to such barren, desolate lands. I would have done the same. Having an enemy overflowing with raw power is bad enough, but what if they also had the resources to sustain that energy? It must have been a living nightmare for the Empire. So, for decades, they isolated, starved, and suppressed the Baba tribe. Though it seemed the Empire's policy had shifted recently as the older generation passed away and younger blood took charge... well, that was none of my business. If the Empire wanted to score an own goal, I was more than happy to watch.

But that didn't mean the Empire would lose this war. Why? Because even in the future timeline I knew, I had never once heard the name of the Baba tribe. The Empire would win. And they would massacre every single one of them—children, women, and the elderly alike.

The fabric of the tent whipped violently in the wind. "Chief... we have no food left."

Wise Bird, the chief, stared at the great warrior in silence. "If we distribute even these remaining rations to the children, we won't have the strength to fight..."

Wise Bird shook his head. "Do not forget. Those children are our future."

The great warrior closed his eyes in silence. The thick veins on the back of the chief's hand were taut and rigid. "Must we not survive even a single day longer?"

"We cannot starve our children for the sake of that single day." Wise Bird continued softly, "Do not lose your pride."

At those words, the warrior bowed his head. "...Forgive me."

"Think no more of it."

It was then that the sound of rushing footsteps echoed from outside. A warrior burst into the tent, breathless. "Chief! An envoy!"

"An envoy?"

"Yes! A messenger bearing the flag of Elium requests an audience!" The warrior held out a sheet of paper. "They told me to deliver this to you."

A path was drawn across the paper. It was the travel route of the imperial ambassador.

"...This is..."

In that moment, Wise Bird's eyes widened. The words written on the paper were in the native tongue of the Baba tribe. A wave of familiar yet foreign emotion washed over his chest. It was their own language—one that neither the Empire nor any kingdom had ever deigned to write. Seeing their words inscribed there shook something deep within him that had been suppressed for decades.

Wise Bird recalled his past. The name his father had bestowed upon him in his youth: Wise Bird. That was his name, and he had strived to live up to it. Desiring dialogue, he had learned both the imperial and kingdom languages. But it had been in vain. They had never listened to the words of a "savage." And yet, memories he thought had long faded began to resurface.

That night, while the tribe slept. A letter he would normally have rejected without a second glance. Wise Bird had clutched the letter, agonizing over it late into the night, until his eyes grew weary and he stepped outside. Inhaling the crisp night air, he gently closed his eyes. The sounds of his surroundings drifted into his ears, helping him forge a final decision.

The whimpering of starving children. The quiet sobbing of mothers whose breasts had run dry. The grinding of teeth from warriors holding back their rage. He could hear them stifling their cries, terrified of waking the rest of the camp. Yet Wise Bird's formidable, honed senses caught even those faint, muffled sounds, forcing him to hear every single one.

What was there to hesitate over? What indeed...

Wise Bird looked down at his open palm. It was wrinkled and worn, a testament to the decades he had weathered.

"I have grown old," he murmured. "I should have died... yet because I lived, I have become so unsightly."

Wise Bird. Wise Bird. How could you...

"What was there to agonize over? True pride does not stem from petty, stubborn ego."

"Have I truly let this seat of chieftain blind me? Has this trivial authority possessed my mind?"

That very night, dozens of the tribe's swiftest runners slipped out of the village.

And the following morning, wagons of food lined up to enter the village—accompanied by a small, blood-splattered box.

The tribe was divided into two groups. One represented their present hope; the other, their future.

Wise Bird spotted his granddaughter hiding behind her mother. Her small head was trembling, terrified by the heavy, solemn atmosphere. The chief approached her in silence, his loose hair fluttering slightly in the wind. The mother gently nudged the child's back, urging her forward, step by step. Taking hesitant steps, the young girl slowly walked up to stand before the chief.

"Grandpa..."

At that soft call, Wise Bird's eyes trembled. He gently lowered his head ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and sank onto one knee. As he leaned his forehead forward, his granddaughter's face brightened, and she pressed her forehead against his.

They rested their foreheads together—a silent promise to meet again in Barbatos in their next life. Barbatos: the warrior's paradise believed in by the Baba tribe. In that brief moment, their warmth seeped through their skin. As their foreheads rubbed together, a bright, innocent smile bloomed on his granddaughter's face.

"Grandpa... are you coming back?"

The chief hesitated for a moment before replying in a low, steady voice. "...Of course."

Even if it was a lie, in this moment, it was his absolute truth. And so, their farewell was carried out quietly, without fanfare.

The seeds of their future departed toward Elium. Once they were gone, someone quietly approached the chief.

"Chief."

"Speak."

"Care for a wager? Let's see who can take more imperial heads."

Laughter erupted among the warriors at those words. They laughed with forced cheer, raising their voices to drown out their sorrow. The heavy gloom that had hung over them vanished. In its place, something that had been missing for days appeared on their faces: composure. There was no fear. To the Baba tribe, death was not something to be feared, for they already knew exactly where they would return.

Those who remained were mostly elderly and middle-aged warriors. They deliberately seared their own faces with fire, masking their age beneath fresh scars. It was a declaration that they would never look upon this world alive again—an ancient tradition and manifestation of resolve unique to the warriors of the Baba tribe.

Every gaze locked onto Wise Bird. He drove the shaft of his battleaxe deep into the earth and spoke.

"What is a Baba?" His voice was low and resonant. "Are we not born in struggle, and do we not die in struggle!"

A breathless silence fell over the crowd, and then, the eyes of every warrior flashed with a fierce light.

"I shall see you all in Barbatos."

Once more, it was war. In the distance, the flags of the Karis Empire appeared. Amidst billowing dust, roaring battle cries, and the clashing of steel, the battle began anew. This time, it did not feel so grueling. For those who had already embraced death, all suffering had already reached its end.

I paused as I was handed a note. As I read it, my eyebrows slowly arched upward.

It was a polite request asking if Elium could take in a portion of the Baba tribe. This was an unexpected turn of events. My original plan was simply to bolster the Empire's enemies to strike them from behind, using that leverage to pressure the Karis Empire.

I stared down at the paper, lost in thought. A group of fewer than a thousand people. Should I welcome them into the Elium Kingdom?

In truth, my mind was already made up. Every single one of these individuals possessed the potential to become a literal main battle tank in the future. They were formidable enough that the Empire had been forced to establish an entire front just to deal with a single minority tribe. To reject them out of fear of the Empire? That would be a foolish, short-sighted decision that sacrificed the future for the present.