Reborn in the Goddamn Barbarian Tribe
Falling off a cliff trusting just a safety line, skiing down a wild snowy mountain, or scaling a sheer rock face—plenty of people enjoy hobbies like that. And maybe it's only natural. Men are animals that thrive on danger, after all.
But Park Minho, a young man from South Korea, couldn't have been further from that world. Why risk your life for some stupid thrill? For something that could straight-up kill you?
'I'm not doing anything dangerous!'
That was Minho's motto his whole life. He even avoided common bets like ice cream wagers that most guys his age jumped into without a second thought. Competitions, gambles, duels, life-or-death brawls—all that stuff that gets a man's blood pumping? None of those concepts were even installed in Minho's brain. His head was filled only with safe, sure choices.
That's how it'd been so far. That's how it was now. And that's how he figured it'd stay.
Or so he thought.
Who could've known? After a freak accident, he'd wake up reincarnated in some fantasy world.
Actually, that part wasn't so bad. Reincarnation? Sure. Nobody's come back from the afterlife to confirm it doesn't exist, so why not an isekai? Minho wasn't against it. A new life—just live it well.
The problem was where he was born.
"Wah! Wah!"
He hadn't asked for a fancy noble house or a rich merchant family—fat chance of that anyway. But a solid middle-class home? Or even a humble farmer's family with both parents alive and getting along okay? That would've been fine. A bit poor, sure, but what did it matter? A harmonious family tilling the fields together sounded perfect.
But this damn world had no intention of granting his wishes. It flipped him the bird instead.
Because the place he was born was the last one he could've imagined.
"Warriors of the tribe, hear me! The valiant warrior Ktam of the Red Fang Tribe and his wife Rana have borne the fruit of their love. A new sprout of a warrior child has been born to our tribe!"
Red Fang Tribe. A savage tribe making its home on the vast Great Plains.
That's where Minho was reborn as one of them.
"Thus, I, Chief Turgan, bestow upon this sprout—who will bear the future of our tribe—the name 'Balun.' It means 'wolf's fang'! Let us warmly welcome our new family member, who will tear all enemies apart with the fangs of a wolf!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Balun! Balun!"
"What a mighty cry!"
"A valiant warrior!"
Yeah. A barbarian warrior. One of those folks also called barbarians.
He must've been around three. When he first realized the truth, he was so flustered. In his tiny body that could barely grip a fist, Balun sighed.
'Ha, life.'
Out of all the possibilities, why this hellhole? Among savages who didn't even have the benefits of civilization.
Sure, it sucked. But what could he do? A new life handed to him—he'd just have to live it diligently.
So Balun tried. He really tried to live diligently.
But it wasn't easy. He couldn't understand it at all. Why were these goddamn barbarians so insanely brave? Were they missing the safety instinct entirely?
"Young warriors of the Red Fang! Let me ask you. If a tiger appeared before you, what would you do?"
"Fight it!"
"Exactly! What is your name, young warrior?"
"Kortan, sir!"
"Right! The brave warrior Kortan speaks true. We fight. Red Fang warriors know no retreat! Face any foe head-on and seize victory! That is the spirit of the Red Fang!"
Look at this. Even a tiger shows up, and they're teaching kids to charge in and die.
'......'
All he could do was sigh. No wonder everyone turned out like this.
"We're going bear hunting! Who wants to come? Only three young warriors—I permit just three!"
"Me!"
"No, me!"
"What are you talking about? It's me!"
These kid warriors—how old do you think they were? Barely twelve, tops. Elementary school age, and they're shoving them out to hunt bears. With real weapons that had edges, no less.
Was this for real? Not a dream?
"Balun. Why aren't you coming?"
"Huh?"
"Don't you want to hunt bears? Earn the honor of bear hunter?"
"Uh, not really..."
"What?!"
"No, I mean yes! I want it! A sturdy warrior protecting the tribe—Bear Hunter Balun! I'll go!"
"Haha! That's the spirit! Even pretending otherwise, you're a true Red Fang man with our blood flowing through you!"
Minho—no, Balun—really gave it his all. A guy so low on testosterone he didn't even have a "bravery" module deep in his soul, yet he diligently joined the "Red Fang Tribe Warrior Crash Course."
And maybe it paid off. Bear hunting? The old him wouldn't have dreamed of it. Back then, he'd duck his head at taunts like "What, too chicken for a bet?" even over ice cream with friends.
"Big bear ahead!"
"Ooh!"
"Young warriors! Who will taunt it first? The first to raise a hand gets the opening clash!"
"I'll do it!"
"Yes, young warrior Kortan! Go!"
"Yes, sir!"
Look at that. Shoving a twelve-year-old at a bear four times his size to throw the first punch.
Balun was out hunting with child abusers like these.
"Next, Balun—you go!"
"Huh?"
"Our brave warrior Kortan landed a solid hit on the bear. Follow it up. With your courage, you can wound it too!"
"No, mister—hold on a sec."
"You backing out?"
"No, that's not—"
"Everyone, look. Balun seems scared. We'll cut off his left heel. That'll restore his bravery—no running away then."
"I'm going! Right now! Bear, you bastard—face me in single combat!"
Humans are weird creatures. Stuff you think is impossible somehow gets shoved through anyway.
"Hahaha! Knew you could do it, Balun! Good job!"
"Yeah, whatever..."
How? Didn't want to die, so he squeezed his eyes shut and went for it.
Doesn't remember much. He was scared shitless—how could he?
No bullshit: if no one was around, he'd have bawled his eyes out.
"Did you all see? The youngest warrior Balun slit the bear's throat!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Balun! Balun!"
"Bear Hunter Balun!"
"Valiant warrior!"
Balun was ten then. Honestly, he thought he'd be safe now. Killed a bear at ten—they had to acknowledge that, right? No more forced hunts.
"Bravest of the young warriors, Balun. Come hunting. Can't go without a warrior like you."
"Chief, can you give me just one day off? I feel a cold coming on..."
"A cold? Demon possession. Axe'll fix that. Don't worry—I'll exorcise the demon in you."
"Hunting! Let's go! Right now!"
Nope. He got even more popular. Dragged on hunts constantly.
And not just that—wars with other tribes too.
...Fuck this shit.
Later he learned: first and youngest in tribe history to kill a bear at ten. No wonder the adults' eyes lit up whenever they saw him.
"Valiant Red Fangs! The bravest young warrior Balun slew a tiger alone!"
"Ooh!"
"Balun! Balun!"
"Amazing!"
"The tribe's future is bright!"
As he grew, Balun's status in the tribe soared. But inside, his heart was rotting away.
Daily life-or-death bloodbaths didn't suit him at all.
Honestly? He admitted it. He had talent for fighting. Self-praise felt embarrassing, but this body? Insanely good.
But so what? Didn't fit his nature. He was anxious. Heart pounding at the thought of tomorrow's hunt—getting mauled by a beast and dying.
Sure, bears he could handle now without fear. But other beasts? Monsters? Wolf packs charging in formation? Goblins sniping poison darts from afar? Lizardmen? Those fuckers were smart. Crude armor, weapons. Red Fangs didn't even wear armor... Shit.
Danger everywhere. That's this world.
...Goddamn fantasy world.
Time flew by, and Balun turned sixteen.
Sixteen meant adulthood rite time.
The time-honored Red Fang Tribe tradition: the Fang Trial.
Four testers this year. Balun included.
"The time has come at last! When you young sprouts shed your childish skins! Prove yourselves and become true Red Fang warriors!"
"Woooaaah!"
Tribal feast. Meat party. Bonfires, spinning dances. Everyone eating, drinking, reveling.
Even the testers were grinning.
Except one.
Balun.
The valiant child warrior who'd slain a bear at ten. The Red Fang Tribe's top prospect. The future greatest warrior in tribe history.
His face was a rotting mess.
'Fucked. Totally fucked.'
Plenty of Red Fang boys didn't survive past sixteen. The Fang Trial pass rate was under fifty percent. Failures included plenty of deaths.
"Testers, step forward!"
The trial began. Chief called names, assigned missions one by one.
Complete it safely, become a true Red Fang warrior guarding the tribe.
"Karnik, you're swift-footed and quick-witted. Sharp ears and silver tongue. I assign you the messenger's trial."
"Yes, Chief."
"Reserve messenger Karnik. Head this way to the Moonwatching Mountains. At the peak, where the new moon is carved, find the moon wolf flower."
"Moon wolf flower..."
"Yes. Bring it back. That's your trial."
"Yes!"
First runner, swift-footed Karnik, vanished on orders.
"Tarkunan, you're nimble and skilled with the sword. Not the bravest, but your quick moves make fine fights. I assign you the warrior's trial."
"Yes, Chief."
"Reserve warrior Tarkunan, head this way to the Frost Mountains. Hunt a frost boar there and bring it back."
"Yes!"
Second, blade-wind Tarkunan, off.
"Volker, you're adept with bow and traps. You know beast habits well. I assign you the hunter's trial."
"Yes, Chief."
"Reserve hunter Volker. Enter the Dark Forest this way. Deep inside lives a shabel tiger—kill it and bring it back."
"Understood."
Third, eagle-eye Volker, gone.
Last: Balun's turn.
"Balun."
"Yes."
"Your turn at last."
"Yes."
"You know your fate."
"Uh? What..."
Chief switched up his usual spiel.
"You're already a mighty warrior. Strength, stamina, reflexes—nothing lacking. And your axe work? Unrivaled. No need for a warrior's trial; your skill and worth are proven."
"Thank you."
"But you can't skip the trial."
Something fishy in his tone. How brutal was this gonna be?
"I assign you the greatest warrior's trial."
"Huh?"
"Outstanding warrior Balun, enter Death Canyon this way. Deep in the sunless valley, kill the rock crevice troll and bring it back."
"......?"
Balun doubted his ears. Kill what?
'You shitting me?'
"Something wrong? Not going?"
"Chief, I think the mission got mixed up..."
"Defying the trial?"
Suddenly, hundreds of murderous glares hit him. Felt like he'd die, so he backpedaled fast.
"No! Of course I'll go. I'll smash that troll bastard flat."
"Good! That's the way! Go!"
"Yes!"
Long story short: Balun passed.
Entered Death Canyon, fought a brutal life-or-death battle with the rock crevice troll, won, and returned with its head.
"Tribe members, hear me! Today, a warrior who may be the greatest in Red Fang history was born!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Balun! Balun!"
He returned covered in blood, critically wounded. Lay unconscious for two months straight.
Two months later.
Balun finally woke—and vowed.
To escape this place for the central continent's civilized world.
'I'll die before my time here. Gotta get out, no matter what.'