Spreading the Good Word
The morning in Sinju on the Eastern Continent was peaceful. Birds chirped, and somewhere a horse snorted and stamped. Smoke curled from the chimney of a small wooden house — the home of an Apache family, breakfast already underway inside.
"High Wind! Are you still not up?! You said you had to travel far today — what are you still doing under the covers?"
Drunk on the warmth of his blanket, the young warrior of the Apache tribe was once again lounging in late — and had finally earned himself a proper earful from his mother.
"Ah... just one more hour..."
SMACK! CRACK!
"Yeeowch! Oww, ow, OW!"
Unable to withstand his mother's escalating backside-smashing, he had no choice but to drag himself out of bed. The red handprint rising gently on his rear was a wound of honor.
"Go wash your face and get moving, understand?"
His mother's mouth strained itself into something resembling a smile, while the veins on her forehead looked ready to pop.
"Yes, ma'am!"
High Wind had a nagging feeling that dragging his feet any longer might genuinely cost him his life, and his body — quicker on the uptake than his brain — had bolted upright all on its own.
Splash, splash.
The hand pump in the yard. Life here was truly comfortable. The crops grew well, and no one had to risk their neck heading out on dangerous hunts anymore. A peaceful place.
Of course, it hadn't always been pure peace. Raiders had come often enough. But almost none of them ever made it home alive.
At a single gesture from the ones who had carried the will of God from that far-off land called the Original Continent, every last one of them had been driven into the dirt.
"Mother, I'm off. It's quite far this time — probably a few days."
"All right. Take care of yourself."
He'd been wandering since he was a child, never one to stay home — hence the name High Wind, given to him precisely because of it. And now he roamed in every direction, spreading the good word.
The countless tribal lives he'd witnessed on his travels were filthy and desperate beyond description. His mission was to lead them here — just as his ancestors had done two hundred years ago, arriving with bow and iron axe in hand.
Whiiiir! Chug-chug-CHUG, chug-chug-CHUG!
The great iron beast brought over from the Original Continent rolled powerfully along the rails.
"Truly. They must be the race of angels."
One glance at that tree receding in the distance was proof enough. According to the writings passed down in the tribal tongue, it had appeared in a single night, blazing with light — visible even from the edge of their old lands, and the tribes had gathered to it.
The thousands who gathered back then still dwelt in Sinju to this day.
They never forced anything on anyone. If they wanted something, they offered what was theirs and simply asked. It was that which moved people's hearts.
"And the grace of Haneul."
A mysterious water scented like flowers. His own mother had once fallen deathly ill, and it was the water given by the Temple that saved her life.
That was why they were called angels — or messengers of God.
His destination was far enough to require a full day's ride by train.
Taepyeong.
"A whole day. That's far, all right. They say it means 'vast plains' or something? The Daehan language is easy enough, but the hanja is just impossible."
So grumbled High Wind. He was not fond of using his head. It seemed to be a chronic affliction that struck only the people of Daehan.
Stepping off the train, he headed for the building across the way.
Church of Haneul — Taepyeong Mission Post.
"I wonder where they'll send me today!"
He walked toward the sign-hung building — it would be a workday, most likely. Waking up their still-primitive kin by spreading the good word. That was his job.
"Ah, High Wind. Welcome."
"Oh! Miss Mira!"
Long black hair pinned up neatly with a binyeo, fair skin, a gentle and radiant smile — and a bosom as benevolent as that smile, matched with a waist cinched deliciously slim. The greatest beauty of this whole region.
High Wind had fallen head over heels the day he saw her binyeo slip loose, her hair swaying as it tumbled down around her shoulders.
"Heading somewhere far today, I see?"
"Yes! I think I've covered most of the nearby places already."
"My, my~ aren't you the diligent one!"
High Wind, warrior of the Apache tribe, famous for his valor. His face flushed crimson, and a heroic wind was swelling in his chest.
"W-would you happen to have a mome—"
Just as he fumbled his way toward the words, Mira spoke first.
"You've put in quite a large order this time? Lots of axes and daggers here."
The strategy was simple: tell the neighboring tribes about this place, hand out gifts one by one, and most of them would take the bait and come pay a visit. After that, it was over.
Tell them not to come and they'd come anyway, and once you put them to work, they settled down for good.
And Taepyeong was full of people like Mira. The people of Daehan were all beautiful — the men handsome, the women gorgeous. So many of the locals, men and women alike, just liked to hang around the settlement to catch a glimpse of them.
"Yes. I'm planning to visit several places."
"I'm counting on you!"
At her beaming smile as she handed over his pack, High Wind forgot every word he'd meant to say and shuffled out of the mission post with a slack-jawed grin.
Lost in happy fantasies, High Wind set out eastward.
Three full days of walking brought him to the eastern boundary of Jeungpyeong — by their account, a district marked out where the farming was exceptionally good.
"Every time I come here, it amazes me."
The stone walls weren't tall yet, but they were steadily rising, section by section. Most of the people working in Jeungpyeong were conscripted for wall-building duty too.
After they stacked a certain amount of stone, they smeared something over it that hardened rock-solid. It was genuinely astonishing. Then more stones went up, more of that stuff got smeared on, and the cycle continued.
"Higher and wider with every passing day."
Passing through the great gate and stepping outside, High Wind's face now carried a measure of tension.
From here on, he had to be careful. There were wild animals, for one — and the tribes he met might well turn hostile.
Five days of heading east, and then—
"Sniff, sniff. Smoke?"
Someone had camped nearby at the very least — or there was a village farther off.
Should I fall back? No — my mission is to bring word of a new world to the tribes of these plains. A warrior of the valiant Apache cannot retreat here.
He pressed forward, carefully scanning his surroundings. If they were enemies, they'd be lying in ambush, and he'd be at a disadvantage — but so long as no arrow found a vital spot, he'd be fine.
Besides, the pack Mira had packed for him carried a little grace of its own.
Rustle, rustle.
"Halt! This is our territory!"
Sure enough, the moment he drew closer to the forest, a band of warriors emerged, bows drawn. The arrows were nocked, but they weren't actually aiming at High Wind — which suggested there was room for conversation.
They had been out hunting and resting when they noticed his approach, doused their fire, and hidden, it seemed.
Relative to the sheer size of the continent, the population was sparse, so the tribes rarely crossed into one another's territory. Just recently, they had suffered an incursion from a neighboring tribe, and they were on edge because of it.
"I know. I am High Wind, son of Big Stone of the Apache tribe, from the direction where the sun sets."
"I am Gray Wolf of the Navajo. What is your business?"
The Navajo did not lower their guard. From the name, he was likely a warrior — their people named themselves after their deeds, so a name told you plenty.
"I've come to share the good word."
High Wind smiled, somehow warm and kindly. From the stories of the ancestors, he knew all too well how hard their own lives had once been.
So he wished for these people, too, to share in a life of comfort and safety. And if he could win a bit of Mira's favor in the process, so much the better.
"And what good word might that be?"
Rustle, rustle.
"Stay where you are!"
High Wind quietly set his pack and weapons down on the ground.
"There. I've thrown down every weapon I carry. Are you really going to keep holding yours?"
"What do you want!"
"To talk."
At those words, the atmosphere among the Navajo loosened considerably. Still, they did not fully stand down.
"We are gathering tribal members. I came because I hoped you would join us."
"What nonsense is this!"
"Back where the sun sets, everyone lives in plenty, without a worry for food. Does that mean nothing to you?"
"What kind of impossible talk is that?"
The plenty High Wind spoke of was the kind where a man grew fat. The thing every tribe dreamed of.
The Navajo lived reasonably well by their own standards, but a truly full belly came only a few times a year. Naturally, they couldn't believe it.
"Here — I'll give you one of these axes. Care to take a look?"
Thock.
High Wind tossed the axe gently down at their feet. Warriors picked it up and turned it over in their hands.
"What is this thing?"
"That's called an axe. You can fell trees with it — chop right through animal bone, too."
"May we try it?"
"Of course."
It was only a small hand axe, but there were plenty of small trees around to test it on.
CHACK. CHACK.
"Gah!"
The Navajo recoiled in astonishment as the tree came apart almost the instant the blade touched it. If the man had come at them as an enemy, wouldn't the three of them have struggled just to come out ahead?
"What do you think? Everyone gets one of these — and there's a separate tool for farming altogether."
"You're lying!"
Impossible. If you could work the earth with a thing like this, how much easier would farming become? It was beyond imagining — the Navajo could not bring themselves to believe it.
"Don't lie to us!"
"I'm not telling you to settle down, not by force. We're hiring workers, too. You come, you work, you get paid."
"Paid?"
Rustle, rustle.
High Wind dug through his pack and pulled out a leather pouch. Inside was a powder, white tinged with pale yellow.
"What is that?"
"Potato flour."
"You mean to say you'll give us food?"
"And if you want one, I imagine you'll get an axe as well."
Taking the pouch, a Navajo warrior tasted the potato flour.
"Mm? This is even better than what we eat?"
"Ah, I'm not entirely sure myself, but according to the ancestors' records, it's apparently something different from the potatoes we used to eat."
"What are you talking about?"
This was news to the Navajo. A potato that was different from a potato? If such a thing existed, surely they would have been eating it first?
"About two hundred years ago, give or take? Our tribe lived around these parts. Ah — of course, this is all a story handed down through the tribal traditions. I stake the honor of my tribe on its truth, so believe me."
"...All right."
So many tribes refused to believe his stories that he'd taken to swearing oaths.
"Long ago, our ancestors saw a great light descend from the heavens, and they went toward it. There they came upon a tree so tall it seemed to touch the sky, and angels riding upon steel moved among its boughs. The angels told them to remain there and farm the land — and the story goes that the crops grew so abundantly it was almost unreal. So they settled there, serving the angels."
"Angels and steel?! What nonsense—!"
"Ah! Right, and the ones riding the steel still ride it today. You can see it for yourself if you go there."
Frankly, even an iron axe was close to a miracle for people who used stone ones. Riding upon iron? How could that possibly be real?
"Won't you come and see for yourselves?"
"How are we to trust you?"
"You could carry off everything I own, couldn't you? Come along, and I'll feed you until your bellies ache. Yes — think of it as visiting a friend's house. How does that sound?"
Somehow, the more he talked, the more it sounded like sweet-talking them out of their homes. High Wind figured that once again, he'd be returning with a wagonload of natives.
"How long would it take?"
"Hmm, about ten days on foot."
"Whew... that's far."
"If you go, you'll find plenty of people just like you."
Jeungpyeong was in the full swing of recruiting settlers. High Wind was hardly the only one working the mission post — hundreds of them were at it.
You could often spot tribesmen clutching stone axes, gaping at a passing train. Usually with their jaws hanging all the way to the ground.
And then the city folk passing by would see them and say things like—
"Ugh, more hicks."
"What mudhole did these ones crawl out of?"
Every single person High Wind brought in got the same reception. But one trip into the city, and they had no choice but to emigrate. It was a certainty.
He didn't fully understand what the trick was himself, but they could draw water straight out of the ground — nowhere near a well, nowhere near a river.
Truly, no one could imagine how much easier life became with nothing more than one of those hand pumps.
"What would I even gain by deceiving you?"
"Suppose your scheme is to capture us and work us as slaves?"
"You've seen the axe, haven't you? If I meant you harm, I'd have come with an army and weapons, wouldn't I?"
The young Navajo men clung to their suspicion right up to the end.
"Let us talk this over."
"Of course. Think it through."
The Navajo youths withdrew to one side and huddled together, heads bent in conference.
"I've decided. I'll go as our representative."
"Good thinking! Go, and you won't regret it."
And so High Wind succeeded in spreading the good word once again. Bring back just one man, show him the conveniences of the city — and it would take no time at all for the entire tribe to follow.