I Became the Chief of the Frontier Village
The entire village threw themselves into butchering and processing the wild boar.
The first step was draining the blood, which meant hanging the carcass upside down. That alone was no small task.
The boar was enormous. We couldn’t manage it in the empty clearing, so we had to move the whole operation closer to the forest’s edge.
Everyone worked together, shoving wooden planks under the boar’s massive body. We wedged stones beneath the planks for leverage, then looped ropes around the carcass. Little by little, we pushed and pulled until we reached the largest tree at the forest line.
It was exhausting. Thank goodness the woods were right there—if we’d had to drag it any farther, we would have given up on the bloodletting altogether.
We hadn’t even started the actual butchering, yet I was already drained from the moving process alone. While the rest of us caught our breath, a few men fetched fresh rope, braided two strands together, and twisted them even tighter.
To me the existing rope already looked thick and sturdy, but they said the boar’s weight might snap it anyway. The men grinned as they secured the doubled rope around the boar’s hind legs, then draped the other end over the massive branch. On the opposite side, everyone grabbed hold and pulled with all their might.
I jumped in midway and yanked too, but the boar didn’t budge. It felt glued to the ground. Was it even possible to hoist something that heavy without a crane?
It didn’t seem likely.
Then someone shouted, “Everyone, give it everything you’ve got! We can do this!”
“There’s still so much work left. If we don’t hurry, night will fall before we know it!”
I’d heard this was the largest boar these people had ever seen. Beneath their determined faces, they were probably panicking inside.
“On my count—pull on three! One, two, three—pull!”
The moment the command rang out, we all heaved in unison. At first it still refused to move. But after several coordinated pulls, I felt the carcass shift ever so slightly.
“That’s it! It’s moving!” someone up front yelled. The rest of us poured even more strength into the ropes.
The children clung to the very ends of the lines, grunting and straining as if they could make a real difference. Popcorn grabbed the rope at the front, then zipped backward to tug on people’s hair instead. It clearly had no idea what we were actually doing.
Whenever Popcorn yanked someone’s hair, a villager would suddenly cry out, “We’ve got extra power! The spirit is helping us!”
The man who shouted that was almost certainly the one whose hair had just been pulled. Popcorn spun in midair above his head, both arms raised triumphantly. It probably didn’t understand the words, but it seemed thrilled by the cheering.
The people pulling the ropes appeared to gain a little more strength. Was that the power of a spirit? Or had everyone simply tapped into some hidden reserve of human potential?
From the tail end of the rope came the children’s wild shouts.
“Hrrrrraaaaagh!”
“Let’s gooooo!”
“I’m a wizard!”
“Spirit, lend me strength!”
Realistically, the children’s efforts were like adding a single drop to the ocean. Still, they were giving it their all, screaming at the top of their lungs. It was oddly endearing.
Popcorn let out a cheerful pi-pi and flew toward the kids. I missed the exact moment because we were pulling again, but I’m sure it was tugging their hair while striking a heroic pose.
The children, however, seemed to have spent every ounce of energy on that one shout. When we paused to reset the rope, I glanced back and found them all sprawled on the ground.
A moment later they sprang back up, crowding around me with sparkling eyes. Having so many kids staring while I needed to focus on pulling made it strangely stressful. It actually made it harder to put my back into it.
Even Popcorn had squeezed in among them, staring at me with the same expectant gaze. I had no idea what they were all hoping for.
“Mister, can’t you lift the boar with magic?”
“Won’t the spirit help us?”
“Popcorn’s a magic spell, right? Can’t you say it now?”
I couldn’t lift it with magic, Popcorn wasn’t a spell but a name, and the spirit in question was currently hovering nearby watching us with the same eager expression. During the next break I simply told them it wasn’t possible. Their shoulders drooped in disappointment.
Popcorn mimicked them, drooping limply in midair.
Hey, you’re not allowed to look disappointed, Popcorn.
Thanks to the kids and Popcorn, I found myself laughing. Then I grabbed the rope again with renewed energy.
When the boar finally lifted free of the ground, the entire village—including me—erupted in a thunderous cheer. It didn’t matter whether the accomplishment was small or grand; the feeling of success tasted just as sweet.
I never imagined such a simple task could bring this much joy. For one brief moment, I felt like I could do anything.
We secured the rope to another tree so the suspended boar wouldn’t slide back down. The children immediately ran over to the men handling that part of the job.
Our team would pull, and at the perfect instant another team would loop their rope around a different tree to hold the new height. What had looked impossible slowly became reality through steady, coordinated effort.
It had taken forever to get the boar off the ground, but once it was airborne the rest went surprisingly quickly. The moment it hung completely upside down, the children sprinted through the crowd like soccer players who’d just scored the winning goal, screaming with delight.
Popcorn flew above their heads with both arms thrust triumphantly upward. Everyone laughed at the sight, and the whole village buzzed with cheerful noise.
While the men slit the boar’s throat to finish draining the blood, I lay flat on my back staring at the sky. My palms were raw from unfamiliar labor. Even though we’d wrapped the ropes in cloth, my hands were a mess. They would probably hurt terribly by evening.
Still… it was fun.
I’d felt satisfaction working at the company back on Earth, but never joy like this. My body was so heavy I could barely move a finger, yet my heart felt strangely light, as if I’d purged every negative emotion I carried.
After racing around the workers for a while, the children and Popcorn flopped down beside me. Popcorn claimed the center of my forehead as its personal spot.
“There are so many clouds,” one child said.
“That one looks like a rabbit.”
“There’s a boar too. Right there.”
“Ours was bigger, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Dad says he’s never even seen a boar this big before.”
“When I grow up I’m going to catch one ten times bigger.”
“I’ll catch one a hundred times bigger.”
“I’ll catch a dragon.”
They had big dreams.
The children who had been bickering earlier now seemed to have become fast friends. For some reason they kept rolling around near me, chattering noisily. Popcorn imitated them, tumbling from my forehead to my nose, then my mouth, then my neck. The tickling sensation made me laugh without thinking, and the children burst into giggles too.
…
I hoped all these children would grow up healthy and strong. I hoped Popcorn could help them do that.
I was too exhausted to keep working right away, but the others moved straight on to the next task. Some men hauled water nonstop while others sharpened knives and tools on whetstones. People lit fires, boiled water, fetched barrels to clean, and prepared the workspace. Everyone was busy.
As they moved about, villagers occasionally came over to speak with me.
“Tired, wizard?”
“Leave the heavy lifting to us and rest a while.”
“Goodness, look at those hands. They’ll hurt for days.”
They were shocked when they saw my palms. Everyone else already had thick calluses; only mine were soft and torn. The children peered at my hands and offered their own opinions.
“Wizards are supposed to have pretty hands, right?”
“They’re so clean.”
“And soft.”
“Squishy.”
“Totally different from mine.”
The older children already had small calluses of their own. Seeing that made me feel a little guilty for lying down. If I was going to survive in this world, I needed to work until my own hands toughened up.
“I’ve rested enough. Time to get back to work.”
When I sat up, Popcorn rolled off my face and landed on my thigh. The butchering was already in full swing.
The men had severed the head and legs and were stripping off the hide. While some plucked the bristles and others singed the rest over fire, another group removed the internal organs. From there the work split again—people carving the body in half, salting meat, cleaning organs, grinding meat for sausages.
I never would have known how many different products could come from a single animal if I hadn’t seen it myself. Once separated by cut, the pile looked several times larger than the original boar. Given its size, the yield was far greater than I’d expected.
Even as they sweated through the difficult labor, every villager wore a bright smile. They laughed while complaining they were going to die from exhaustion. Since there were no refrigerators in this era, the meat had to be processed quickly. That was why so many meals consisted of jerky.
While the adults handled the main work, the children helped with their small hands. They were assigned to sausage-making. With nimble fingers they stuffed minced meat into casings, twisted them, and tied knots at surprising speed. They seemed completely familiar with the task despite their age.
I’d wanted to help carve the meat, but my ruined hands made that impossible, so I joined the children instead. I was painfully slow. While they tied ten sausages, I barely managed one. The kids couldn’t stand it and began offering advice.
“When you put the meat in, you have to push it through like this with your finger.”
“It’s better to hold the casing this way. Otherwise it slips.”
They kept working while constantly commenting on my technique. Popcorn mimicked them, flapping its little arms and pretending to stuff meat into a casing. My pride was in tatters.
Living here really would be impossible without other people’s help.
It was completely different from life on Earth. This wasn’t limited to butchering, either. Flour wasn’t bought at a store—you grew wheat and milled it yourself. Houses weren’t purchased from real estate agents. I didn’t know about the cities, but out here everything had to be made through collective effort.
If you couldn’t get along with others, you would die.
Listening to the children’s instructions, I gradually improved at sausage-making. My speed increased. The shapes were turning out smoother too. I was mentally patting myself on the back when the kids nodded approvingly.
“You did well, mister.”
“That one’s actually pretty good.”
“See? You can do it when you try.”
“Keep practicing and you’ll be better than us soon.”
Popcorn clenched both tiny fists. It looked less like encouragement and more like a victory celebration.
Still, thanks for the support.
While we were focused on the sausages, one of the men carving meat straightened up after talking with the others. He walked around the group, whispering. Eventually he approached me.
“Wizard, we’ve talked it over…”
He bowed deeply.
“Please become our village chief.”
“Uh… I don’t know anything about running a village or farming.”
I was an outsider from Earth. I had no idea what a chief was supposed to do here.
“Someone who actually understands village management would be better.”
The people around us kept working but still chimed in.
“We’ll help you with anything you don’t know.”
“We can handle all the miscellaneous tasks.”
“No, really—I don’t know a single thing. I can’t even read.”
Thanks to Popcorn I could speak the language, but I couldn’t read the letters. I’d needed the captain to read the contract for me.
“None of us can read either.”
“There’s probably no one in the village who can.”
Was that true? Not a single person in the entire village knew how to read?
When I asked again in disbelief, they looked at one another and nodded.
“People like us rarely have any reason to write.”
“And learning costs money.”
The man in front of me bowed even lower.
“We really are ignorant fools. If someone tried to trick us, we wouldn’t even realize what was happening. Please—think of it as saving us and become our chief.”
From what I understood, a village chief was normally a semi-official position appointed by the lord. But the captain had told me that in the frontier, the villagers could simply elect one themselves and report it.
It seemed they had been worrying about who should take the role ever since we arrived. With everyone pleading in unison, I finally nodded.
“All right. I’ll do it for the time being.”
The children immediately began murmuring.
“A wizard chief? That’s so cool.”
“Our village has a wizard for a chief.”
“Awesome.”
“Now even if a bear shows up, we’ll be fine.”
A chief had nothing to do with bears, but the children’s logic made me laugh. Strangely, many of the adults seemed to agree. Several of them were nodding seriously.