The Boy Who Survived the Fever
Once again, the northern winter gnawed away at life. A biting wind battered the leather exterior of the yurt with relentless fury.
Inside, the air was stiflingly hot, defying the freezing cold raging outside. The acrid smoke of burning medicinal herbs stung the eyes. A thick, boiling stench of sweat hung in the air—not entirely repulsive, but certainly not something anyone would willingly breathe in. And beneath it all lay the heavy, unmistakable scent of death. A devastating plague had swept through the Krauk tribe, claiming almost every infant born that year.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Amidst the suffocating heat, the sole surviving baby opened his eyes to consciousness for the very first time.
Ugh... it's so stuffy. I'm literally going to suffocate to death here.
He tried to open his eyes, but an infant who hadn't even reached his first birthday lacked the strength to lift his eyelids. His entire body burned as if he were a log thrown into a roaring bonfire. Every breath of air felt heavy and oppressive. Yet, what felt even hotter was the embrace of the person holding him, squeezing his tiny body so tightly it felt like his bones might shatter. The hot, sticky liquid dripping onto the crown of his head stung with a searing heat.
Seriously, why does this giant of a man keep crying snot all over me while squeezing me to death? I'm already burning up. Let go of me!
He tried to flail his limbs to break free, but his physical strength was weaker than a falling snowflake, completely detached from his cynical inner thoughts. After all, despite his mature mind, his physical body was nothing but a fragile, newborn infant.
The man holding the baby began to wail. "Morza... I couldn't... I couldn't protect you...!"
His voice was cracked and broken. He wept with raw, unbridled grief. Temur, the eight-foot-tall Great Chief of the Krauk tribe, was sobbing as if his entire world had collapsed. His massive, muscular arms pulled his motionless son's tiny body even closer in a desperate, sorrowful embrace.
"Khan, Father is so sorry... I already lost your mother. If you leave me too, how am I supposed to go on...?"
Khan? Is my name Khan? The baby realized his name for the first time.
Khan... So this giant is my dad? And Morza was my mom? But... Possessing a mind far too mature for an infant, Khan quickly deduced that his mother, Morza, was already gone. However, he had no time to indulge in melancholy. At this rate, he was going to be crushed to death by his bear-like father's grip long before the fever could claim him.
That's all well and good, but ease up on the grip, Dad! I'm actually going to die!
He understood the grief, but the man had absolutely no control over his strength, and his massive forearms felt like solid iron. Let me... let me breathe!!
Khan summoned every ounce of his fierce survival instinct. He forced air into his lungs with all his might, channeling every bit of strength into his core. As his tiny chest expanded and collapsed, his blocked airway finally cleared.
Yes! Now... And from the baby's tiny mouth, a loud cry erupted. "Waaah—!!!"
It was a cry so thunderous that even the mighty barbarian Temur flinched. The sound drowned out everything else inside the yurt. Temur's sobbing frame froze instantly, stiffening as if he had been pierced by a blade. Slowly, disbelievingly, he lowered his head to look down at the son cradled in his arms. The boy's chest, which had been turning blue from the deadly fever, was now rising and falling with vigorous breaths.
"Waaah—!!! Waaah—!!!"Phew, finally, I can breathe!!!
Once more, the son cried out to his father. Squeezing his eyes shut, the baby unleashed a vibrant, life-filled wail that echoed throughout the entire yurt.
"...Khan?" His breath had definitely stopped. He had been doing nothing but gasping for his final breaths after the fever took hold.
"Waaah—!!!"Feed me, Dad!
Yet here he was, crying. Louder and stronger than the day he was born.
"Khan!" Witnessing this unbelievable miracle, Temur's eyes trembled. His face contorted, and covered in a messy mixture of tears and snot, he began to laugh and cry hysterically.
"Bwahahaha! My son! Khan! Morza, our Khan is alive!! Waaaah!" The Great Chief of the Krauk tribe, who was supposed to represent his people, was weeping and laughing like a fool, his rugged, scar-covered face smeared with snot. Objectively speaking, it was a hideous sight. Yet, the blind affection and profound relief shining in his eyes as he looked at his son were incredibly moving.
"Goo-goo!"Pfft! Dad, your face is hilarious!
Looking at his father, the baby gasped for air and let out a bright, toothless grin. On that day, the son learned how to smile from his father. But because the very first smile he ever saw was his father's ridiculous, tear-soaked face, even after he grew older, he would greet adults with that exact same goofy grin. And so, Khan, the son of Temur, who was destined to perish before his first birthday and dissolve into the snow of the mountains, defied his fate and survived his very first winter.
Years flew by after Khan safely survived that first winter. The barren lands of the north did not yield life easily. Yet, any life that managed to take root grew tougher and more resilient here than anywhere else. Khan was no exception.
"Come here, Khan! I brought back a horned boar's hind leg from today's hunt. You must eat this to grow into a fine warrior!"
"My, look at our Chief's successor. He's grown again!"
Life in the Krauk tribe was harsh but lively. Clad in heavy furs, the tribal elders would approach Khan at every opportunity, handing him chunks of meat, ruffling his hair, and boisterously chatting away. Their favorite story to tell was always the same.
"Khan, you probably don't remember this, but when you were a tiny babe, your breath stopped completely! We were all wailing, thinking it was the end, when you suddenly burst out crying. I bet the Chief's sweat stank so bad it woke you right up! Bwahahaha!"
"Hey, watch what you say to the Chief's son! But seriously, Khan, was it really that bad? Hahaha!"
It was a tale he had heard hundreds of times already. Every time, Khan would simply gnaw on the meat attached to the bone and offer them an innocent, childish grin.
What do you mean I don't remember? I remember perfectly well how Dad dripped snot all over my head while sobbing.
But his internal thoughts were quite different. Though, to be fair, his sweat really did stink. Even if he is my dad.
Khan glanced over at his father, Temur, who was commanding the tribal warriors in the distance. Temur was the strongest, most majestic chief in the history of the Krauk tribe. He was the ultimate man's man, possessing a massive, rock-like build and a sharp gaze that could drive away wild beasts with a single look. Yet, he had never once spoken of the day Khan came back to life. According to the elders...
"Our Chief keeps it a secret because he's afraid he'll start crying again if he thinks about it, and that would ruin his reputation."
Well, I have to protect my dad's pride. I'll pretend I don't know about his snot-nosed crying for the rest of my life... Or maybe not my whole life, but I'll save it for at least ten years before teasing him about it.
Khan chuckled to himself as he swallowed the rest of his meat. However, his abnormal memory was a secret he kept from the adults from an early age. Remembering things from infancy was unheard of. On top of that, he had learned to speak exceptionally early, prompting his father to boast that a prodigy had been born.
But what's the point? I can remember my dad crying, but I can't remember my mom's face...
He had been told his mother died giving birth to him. Her funeral had taken place before Khan could even fully open his eyes. Despite his blessed memory, he had never been given the chance to imprint his mother's face in his mind. Because he was far more mature than other children his age, Khan missed his mother, Morza, even more bitterly during the quiet nights, yearning for a face he could not recall.
It wasn't just his mind that was unusual; his body was extraordinary as well. While his skeletal structure and physical strength far surpassed those of his peers—which could be attributed to his father Temur's genetics—there was something else.
...Ah, eating this meat makes my blood boil.
A few days ago, while practicing hunting, a wolf had lightly scratched his forearm. A normal child would have cried in pain and sought comfort from their parents, but the moment blood trickled from the wound, Khan felt a searing heat surge through his entire body instead of pain. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his vision stained red, and an explosive, monstrous strength erupted within him. It was the remnant of that deadly fever he had nearly died from as an infant. Temur hypothesized that when Khan miraculously survived the plague, its traces had seeped deep into his veins. It was a curse and a blessing that granted overwhelming physical power at the cost of one's sanity the more one bled. The constitution of the legendary Great Warrior, a figure spoken of only in barbarian myths, was beginning to manifest in Khan.
Perhaps due to his maturity, Khan instinctively understood how dangerous this power was. Thus, whenever his blood began to boil, he consciously practiced taking deep breaths to suppress his wild instincts. In this manner, Khan adapted to the peaceful yet savage life of the north. At least, until the harsh northern climate began to bare its ominous fangs.
By the time he entered adolescence, Khan had grown strong enough to receive Temur's permission to hunt alone. However, Frozenpia, the homeland of the barbarian tribes, was already collapsing. The summers had become abnormally short. The winter blizzards grew so fierce that even the hardened adults, long accustomed to the cold, complained bitterly. Game was frequently found frozen solid, and the migratory birds that used to return in the summer vanished entirely after experiencing a single harsh winter. And today, Temur had awakened Khan at dawn, leading him up a rugged, snow-covered mountain.
"Pant... pant... Dad, wait up!" The biting wind slapped Khan's cheeks. He trudged up the mountain, wading through snow that reached his thighs. Temur brought Khan up this treacherous peak almost every day, wanting him to see with his own eyes how the boundary of the permanent snowcap was creeping further down the mountain. Finally reaching the summit, Khan gasped for breath, utterly speechless at the sight before him.
"Dad, this is..." The lifeblood of the Krauk tribe, a river flowing through the valley. It was a rapid torrent that had never frozen over even in the harshest winters due to its violent currents. Now, it was completely frozen solid, transformed into a massive wall of ice. The laws of nature had collapsed. Temur stared down at the frozen river with a grim expression, placing a heavy hand on Khan's shoulder. Feeling the immense weight of that rock-like hand, the son felt the crushing burden his father carried as chief for the very first time.
"Khan."
"...Yes, Dad."
"Our homeland is dying. Our mother, Serilla, can no longer embrace us. One day, we must head south. We must undertake the Great Migration into the Empire's territory."
Khan understood the full weight of those words. His mature perspective allowed him to see the world far more clearly than other children his age. Above all, this was the decision of Temur—the Great Chief and the father he respected more than anyone else. Knowing the heavy burden his father carried, Khan nodded immediately without questioning him.
"If that is your decision, Dad, of course I will follow." However, still unaccustomed to having serious conversations with his father, he sniffled and added a playful complaint. "...But Dad, you could have just told me about going south while we were warm inside the yurt. Did you really have to drag me all the way up this freezing, treacherous mountain just to say that?"
Thwack! "Ouch! Why did you hit me?!"
"You little punk! A future chief shouldn't have such a loose tongue!" Temur gave Khan a playful but firm rap on the head, making his skull ring. For a split second, the lingering effects of the fever almost made his blood boil against his father. Fortunately, the biting wind of the snowy mountain quickly cooled him down. Above all, he was still just an immature son who had no intention of defying his father.
"I brought you here so you could see it with your own eyes and carve it into your bones—the screams of this dying land." Temur turned his gaze back to the frozen river, his voice graver than ever. "If we bow our heads and crawl south as we are now, the Empire's people will treat us as nothing more than pitiful refugees, or slaves worse than livestock. We would live a life of eating whatever scraps they throw us and dying whenever they command."
The father squeezed his son's shoulder tightly. "Khan. We live to live, not merely to survive. We must live with pride, never losing our dignity as human beings. To do that..."
"..."
"We must unite the children of our mother goddess, gathering enough strength so they can never dare to look down on us. We will unite all the northern tribes as one, and proudly demand our rights and a land to live on."
For the first time, the great leader of the barbarians confessed his grand vision—conceived through countless sleepless nights—to preserve the dignity of their entire race. A father was asking his son to share the burden he carried. Today, the rock-like hand gripping Khan's shoulder felt exceptionally heavy. Though he had complained about the cold like a child, Khan fully grasped the gravity of his father's resolve amidst the raging blizzard. The burden of carrying the fate of all barbarians, not just their own tribe, felt unimaginably vast to the young boy.
Khan silently looked up at his father's broad back as the man stood tall against the howling blizzard. It was a back so vast and reassuring that he still wanted to lean on it and whine like a child. Will I... ever become even a little like him? Could he one day grow into a true chief who could shoulder the fate of his people, just like that back? As if anticipating his destiny, the blood of the Great Warrior sleeping within Khan boiled quietly, warming the young boy's heart. Yet, despite his boiling blood, Khan remained an immature son who couldn't help but complain.
"...But Dad. If we go all the way south, it's going to be really hard to visit Mom."
At the childish worry slipping from his mature son's mouth, Temur's broad shoulders, which had been tensed against the blizzard, relaxed. Through the howling wind, his voice returned—not with his usual booming shout, but with a heavy, tender warmth.
"...Indeed. That is my greatest worry as well. Your mother always did get lonely easily."
A large, rough hand reached out and affectionately ruffled Khan's hair. Setting aside the heavy burden of the Great Chief for a brief moment, the father conveyed the warm touch of an ordinary man missing his departed wife. With that touch, Khan took his first step. Step by step, the boy who would one day rule the north as a legendary Great Warrior began his journey as a leader.