Timing is Now (2)
The village fell silent the instant I spoke to Turgan. It wasn't my imagination. The murmurs that had been tickling my ears cut off abruptly. All I could hear was the distant cry of some bird. Nothing else.
A chill silence and Turgan's narrowed eyes were all that greeted me. The stark change nearly made me let out a hollow laugh.
How could their reaction be exactly what I'd predicted?
These guys sure have sharp ears, though. They were probably all perking up, listening. The chief's voice carried like thunder, after all.
"Balun. You've been different from the other children since you were young. You weren't brave. You were timid and fearful. The tribe warriors called you lacking in a warrior's qualities, but I saw you differently."
Turgan continued. "You're not timid or fearful. You're simply wise. I believed you'd excel because of that, and you fulfilled my expectations perfectly—no, beyond them."
Wise, my ass. I am a coward. This guy's got shit eyesight.
"Look at you now. You've become an outstanding warrior acknowledged by every tribesman. It must be because of that unique weapon you possess, which others lack. Your wisdom."
Suddenly, I wanted to ask, What the hell makes you think I'm wise? Aside from running away like a scaredy-cat, what set me apart from the other warriors? I'd learned to fight just like them, hunted just like them.
Fighting well? No matter how I thought about it, that was pure talent. With this body, if I couldn't do this much, I'd be a total loser.
"Balun. I just can't figure out why someone as wise as you would make such a strange judgment."
Turgan's low murmur was surprisingly gentle. But I knew he wasn't the type to speak softly to another man. The guy who, at every opportunity, would hold an axe to your throat and rant about "exorcising the demon possessing you." Gentle? Bullshit. No way.
So what did it mean that it was happening now?
If I answer wrong, I'm dead meat.
My heart pounded. It felt like the tension from facing the rock crevice troll during my coming-of-age rite was replaying in my veins.
But how the hell do I answer?
I had no confidence in convincing this warrior-obsessed zealot with logic. Would logic even work on him? If it did, I'd have talked him out of this ages ago.
Maybe appeal to emotion instead of logic?
"Yes. Try convincing me. I pray your pure soul hasn't been tainted by those Ironclads."
I swallowed hard and opened my mouth.
"Chief. Do you remember a question I asked you when I was little?"
"A question...? Hmm."
"How big is the world?"
"Ah, yes. I remember."
Turgan instantly recalled the moment from ten years ago. The snot-nosed kid who'd boldly come up and asked that one question.
"You told me then that the world is vast. That the Great Plains where we live are just a tiny part, so I shouldn't settle for this plain and should dream big. A real man dreams big, you said."
"Ah, yes. That's right."
A faint smile played on Turgan's lips. Looking back, Balun had been different even then. While other kids cried at his fierce face, Balun stayed calm, unflinching. Not just calm—he'd pester with bold questions.
"Maybe those words resonated deeply with me. After that, I started harboring a big dream."
"A big dream? What is it?"
"To make our Red Fang Tribe the greatest in the world."
"I see."
"Yes."
"That's a grand dream. Just like you, Balun."
Seeing Turgan's lingering smile made me feel a twinge of guilt. Was it right to invent a dream that never existed?
"To realize that dream, I thought long and hard. But no matter how much I pondered, only one answer came to mind."
"And what is that answer?"
Huh?
I blinked in surprise. Turgan's eyes seemed to sparkle, like he was brimming with anticipation.
"Tell me quickly. What is it?"
He even urged me on, so I mumbled the answer reluctantly.
"To become the greatest warrior."
"Exactly! That's it!"
Clap!
Turgan slapped his hands together in excitement, caught up in the moment without realizing it. Oblivious to his own fervor, he pressed on.
"I had no idea you harbored such ambitions! You never showed your true feelings as a child. So that's it! Haha!"
He even burst into booming laughter. It left me stunned—I'd never seen him laugh that heartily.
What the hell?
"You fool. Why keep such a grand dream bottled up? Why not share it with anyone?"
"Uh? Oh, that."
I was flustered. I'd never expected this dramatic reaction. He was thrilled like this?
"If you'd confided in your parents, me, or the shaman, we would've backed your grand dream from the start!"
Suddenly, Turgan rubbed his eyes with thick fingers.
"Truth be told, I was a bit upset thinking you had other intentions. But now that I know it was a misunderstanding, I'm overjoyed. Sniff."
Seeing the moisture—probably tears—on his finger, I thought, How could I confide in someone who reacts like that?
If a little lip service made him this happy, imagine saying I had no interest in being the greatest or a warrior. What would his reaction have been? Definitely not this. At best, I'd lose a limb in some tragic "accident."
"Hm. After hearing your story, I think I understand your intent. Shall I say it? Listen."
"Uh? Sure. What...?"
Still buzzing with excitement, Turgan didn't give me a chance to speak.
"Bringing back those Ironclads was just a fancy excuse. Your real goal is to defeat strong Ironclad warriors. Am I right?"
"Uh? Yeah."
"Haha! I knew it! Nailed it!"
I scratched my cheek awkwardly.
That reason sounds way more plausible. I'd use that if anyone else asked.
"That's why you protected the Ironclad prisoners. Subjugate them thoroughly, make them your subordinates, and leave a strong first impression on the Ironclads..."
Turgan was no longer looking at me, lost in his own delusions, muttering to himself.
After a long ramble, he whipped his head around and asked, "Balun. Do you know what that journey you're embarking on is called?"
"Uh? Journey? No idea."
"It's called the Great Warrior's Journey. The grand path to become a Great Warrior—the warrior of warriors, a legendary figure passed down through tales."
"Great Warrior's Journey..."
"Heard of it?"
"No. First time."
"You found that path instinctively. Without anyone telling you."
Turgan closed his eyes, crossed his arms, nodded sagely, then snapped them open and patted my shoulders firmly.
"Good. I permit it. Your 'Great Warrior's Journey', Balun!"
"R-Really?"
"Of course! How could I deny you stepping up for such a noble cause? Haha!"
Even with permission granted, my expression remained awkward. It had come too easily.
"Balun! I heard the news! You're off on the Great Warrior's Journey?"
"How could you even think of that? Walking right into Ironclad territory."
"Hey, Balun! Go crush every last Ironclad!"
"Those filthy Ironclads. Let 'em taste Balun's axe! They'll be sobbing and begging in terror!"
"Show those sneaky Ironclads what a Red Fang warrior really is!"
Rumors spread like wildfire. Half a day after the chief's approval, the whole tribe knew.
In a slightly distorted form: Balun's off to smash all the Ironclads!
Yeah. Like hell I am.
Of course, I had no such plans. Why risk my neck?
Honestly, my feelings were mixed. Escaping was the goal, but this was still home—my second hometown. How could leaving feel purely relieving?
I had attachments. My parents were alive and well, and I had close friends. In this life, Balun had enjoyed a harmonious family and friendships far from misfortune.
I didn't hate them. I loved my parents from my previous life and liked my friends here. But survival came first.
Can't be helped. Gotta live first. Who knows when I'd catch a blade here?
Honestly, I'd wanted to take my parents and live together, but I'd realized early it was impossible. We had an unbridgeable gap despite our harmony.
My parents wouldn't understand my values. Upper-rank warriors Ktam and Rana of the Red Fang Tribe preferred roaming the Great Plains freely until old age.
Dragging them to the civilized world? They'd probably get frustrated and fall ill.
Mom and Dad... they'll survive fine. They're not the type to die from a random blade. Both upper-rank warriors.
Still, thinking of parting made me wistful. But life meant leaving the nest eventually—early or late.
"Son."
"Yes."
"Come back safe."
"That's it?"
"What more do you want? Should I sob and beg you not to go?"
"No, but..."
This seemed too much, even for them. Was this how parents react to their son leaving home?
"Mother. Say something. Don't just watch."
"Your father's right. What more is there?"
"Huh?"
"Come back safe. End of story. How affectionate is that? Right?"
After 16 years, their consistent indifference was almost comforting. If they'd wailed about missing me, it'd feel weirder.
"Ah, stay healthy. Most importantly, guard your life. Honor's great, but your neck comes first. Got it?"
"Obviously."
"Good. Our sturdy son. Go make those Ironclads kneel. Bring back a pretty bride when you return."
My mother, Rana, patted my butt. Her pretty face paired oddly harmoniously with her muscular female warrior build.
Feeling her seemingly indifferent yet affectionate touch, I heard footsteps outside. It was the shaman, Ulan.
He exchanged glances with my parents, then beckoned me.
"Balun. Come here."
"Where to?"
"Follow me first."
Following Ulan to his house, he went inside and came out with a rectangular box, handing it to me.
Opening it revealed a necklace. Made by stringing together several large fangs.
"Take this."
"What... is it?"
"A protective talisman. Strung from saber tiger fangs. It'll guard you."
I fiddled awkwardly with the saber tiger fang necklace. Each fang was huge and sharp—more weapon than talisman.
Wear this scary thing?
Wouldn't it slice my neck? It looked more likely to stab the wearer than protect.
But I couldn't refuse, so I pocketed it without complaint. For some reason, a strange haze seemed to rise from it—maybe my imagination.
"I'll use it well."
"It's to keep you from dying. Your responsibilities are heavy."
"Gotta stay alive. I plan to live long."
"Good. Only then can you become chief of the Red Fang. The greatest chief, with both skill and intellect. Heh heh."
That damn chief obsession.
I chuckled dryly. This old man still couldn't let go of making me chief.
"If you truly become a Great Warrior, you might unite all the plains' warriors as Grand Chief. Just imagining it is thrilling. Heh heh!"
This grandpa must be senile from old age.
The next morning, I finished preparations early and stood at the village entrance, weapons packed and Ulan's saber tiger fang necklace around my neck.
Tribesmen swarmed the gate to see me off. Voices poured in: Crush the Ironclads! Make the Red Fang name echo! Become a warrior worthy of a Great Warrior! Big bro Balun's cool! Bro Balun, fighting! Mom, I wanna be like big bro Balun too!
As I loaded the wagon amid the cheers, Turgan sidled up slyly.
"Really no need? I can assign more escort warriors."
"I'm good. It'd hinder a proper journey. I'd rely on them too much."
"Hm, true. Your resolve is admirable."
Are you insane? Me, with escorts?
It was goodwill from him, but a nightmare gift for me.
"Alright. All set? Off you go."
"Yes. Everyone, stay healthy."
I bowed deeply, then left with Barrel's group toward Death Canyon.
The farther from the village, the lighter my steps, my chest swelling with dreams.
Finally free! Woo-hoo!
At 16, Red Fang Tribe warrior Balun thought his future shone bright.
But that optimism lasted less than two days. Shortly after entering the Gray Plains through Death Canyon's pass, bandits ambushed us.
Twenty of them, all mounted.
"Hey, merchants. Halt."
"One question. Answer honestly, and we might spare you."
"Seen a hooded cavalry unit?"
Seeing them charge up on horseback, I sighed and told Barrel in the Ironclad Language.
"Barrel."
"Yes, sir."
"You lied. Said no mounted warriors."
"Uh, th-that... It's weird. Gray Plains only has Red Wolf Band bandits. Definitely. So why..."
I let out a deep sigh at Barrel's panic.
Sigh. Life.
Looks like escape meant worrying about my neck right away.