Chapter 27
Chapter 27
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Emulate the Mountain and the Sky
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Be like the mountain and like the sky. Those were the words of the valiant warrior who bore the tribe's red feather, his brother.
Tacha had clung to those words and lived by them all this time. And not just him—every man in the tribe was the same. The words of a red-feathered warrior were worth carrying in one's heart.
"You might return without ever knowing defeat."
Those were the words the chieftain had spoken before he set out on his journey. There could be no greater praise.
He had descended the mountain with the blue feather the chieftain had given him tied to his spear shaft. He wandered aimlessly across the flat plains.
He encountered warriors of all kinds in various places. Some were formidable opponents, but in the end, it was always he who emerged victorious.
He won and won again. From the empire's borders, gradually making his way toward its heart, he never once tasted defeat.
There were those who came seeking duels after watching his fights. It was something Tarin pilgrims often experienced. He gladly accepted their challenges. Orcs, Kalangs, Barraras. They were all strong foes.
If his condition had been even slightly off, if the sunlight had been a bit harsher, if the wind had shifted just a little, he might have known defeat.
But the challengers who came from afar could not hand him defeat either. After fierce bouts, it was always Tacha who claimed victory.
The experiences and wounds from those brutal fights, and the conversations with his challengers, spurred his growth once more.
But the growth he could perceive himself had ended with a battle several months ago. The great warriors and challengers he met after that failed to quench his hunger, his thirst for battle even a little.
His pilgrimage had stagnated. There were no fights that made his heart pound wildly, no clashes that constricted his lungs to the limit.
He felt the time had come. The time to knock on the gates of Schola, in the heart of the empire.
He set his course for that place, the final destination of every great red-feathered warrior, a must-visit for any Tarin on pilgrimage.
It was around then that he began focusing more on mental battles than physical ones. Low-quality fights no longer served as stepping stones for growth.
Today too, spotting a merchant caravan approaching from afar, he thought he'd just receive a meal as hospitality.
But as the caravan drew nearer, he sensed an indescribable danger within it. It wasn't intuition born of experience—it was the primal instinct every Tarin possessed.
There is a mountain there, and a sky. His instincts whispered as much.
He blocked the caravan's path and demanded a great warrior. The thought of a bloody, sweaty clash thrilled him to his core.
He scrutinized each human up close. And he found him. A human cloaked in a mantle. Though he had concealed his immense presence and blended into the group, he couldn't fool Tacha's instincts.
The battle lust he had forgotten for so long surged forth. It was while he ate the offered food, imagining the fight to come.
His eyes met the cloaked human's. The man smiled lightly as if to say enjoy your meal, then turned away.
In that brief moment—not even worthy of being called a staring contest—he knew. It was a mountain he could not climb, a sky he could not gaze upon.
A giant. The very thought that he could match him in battle, that he could wage a fierce fight—it was all a delusion.
Tacha closed his eyes and summoned the great warrior in his mind. He wanted to gauge the outcome through a mental battle.
But even that was impossible. He couldn't even visualize the being who transcended perception.
It was unbelievable. Even the great warrior of his tribe, his brother, could take form in his mental realm. He always lost when they fought, but he could at least confine the fight within that framework.
Overwhelming defeat. That was the only thing granted to him. The blood rushing to his eyes dispersed, and the muscles twitching with fighting spirit went limp, bereft of will.
The soul of a Tarin who revered battle, who loved to fight, crumbled pathetically. It was humiliating.
He had never learned how to face the unfaceable. What could he gain from one with whom battle itself was impossible?
A thick sense of defeat coursed through his veins. So this is what losing feels like—utterly horrific. At the same time, he realized. What he loved was not battle, but victory.
It was time to pull himself together. He recalled once more the cry of the great warrior and the call of the mountain.
Losing was inevitable. He would learn nothing from the fight. All he'd gain was powerlessness. And yet, he had to face the great warrior.
Because that was the way of the Tarin warrior.
"To the nameless human, Tacha of the black heart seeks to learn."
He said to the human sitting by the campfire. The young Rappa had said his name was Lander.
"I hear Tarin requests cannot be refused."
The human replied.
"Indeed. We know courtesy, and we accept refusal as well."
"If I refuse, what happens after?"
"I will seek to learn again."
"If I keep refusing… "
"I will keep demanding."
"I suppose you will."
The human exhaled slowly, as if he knew full well.
"May I ask your name?"
Tacha asked cautiously. Directly asking for a name meant entangling souls.
Humans revealed their names freely, but as a Tarin, he always asked with utmost propriety.
"Lander. Lander Musc Ans."
"May I call you by that name?"
"Do so."
Tacha nodded. He didn't care about other humans' names. But the one before him had to be etched into his memory, deep into his soul.
"Did you choose him as your great warrior?"
Another human approached. One of the humans the young Rappa had pointed out. Excluding Lander, he had the strongest aura.
"Yes."
Tacha stared straight at the human. He smelled like a male primed for battle. Rivalry? Or challenge? The human didn't hide his desire to fight.
"I've heard much about Tarin pilgrimages. You challenge the strong to learn defeat—is that right?"
"Yes."
"Then how about naming me as your great warrior? I'd love to learn a thing or two from a Tarin warrior."
The human said, lifting his battle axe. The well-honed blade gleamed on a handle worn from use.
His body, forged through hard labor, wasn't bad either. If it were the early days of his pilgrimage, he would have made a fine opponent.
"You fall short as a great warrior. The only human here who can bring me despair is Lander alone."
The axe-wielding human didn't hide his disappointment. He understood fighting spirit.
Through many pilgrimages, Tacha knew human warriors were mad about proving themselves too.
"You won't know until we clash once, right?"
The human gripped his axe tighter. A very rational provocation. He was in charge of the caravan's security. He could restrain personal desires. This was his last shot, a final taunt.
Tacha waited without answering. The human spoke again.
"Would it be so hard?"
He asked, lowering the raised axe. The longing in his eyes was slowly subsiding.
A warrior who knew how to control himself. Tacha snorted and stuck out his tongue. Glancing at Lander, a flicker of fire reignited his cooled instincts.
"Not enough for great warrior, but sufficient as challenger. What say you?"
"Fine by me if I get to spar with a Tarin warrior. Got time?"
"If this side's great warrior yields."
He asked while looking at Lander. The human also fixed his gaze on Lander intently.
"Makes no difference to me."
The great warrior's permission was granted. Tacha thrust the glaive's blade toward the human and asked.
"State the challenger's name."
"Kolnep. Origin and house don't matter, I suppose."
The surrounding humans cleared space. Tacha planted his glaive's blade in the ground and faced the human bare-handed.
"No weapon?"
The human asked, raising his axe.
"This is enough."
He showed his clenched fist. Kolnep, as he called himself, assumed a stance as if acknowledging it.
The human moved slowly in short steps, measuring distance. Even the probing phase was cautious.
Indeed, an excellent warrior. Few gaps to exploit. His 'stance' was solid.
He even sensed a faint 'domain'. In the early days of his pilgrimage, he might have pondered long before attacking. If it were the early days.
He stomped hard. Charging straight at the human, who was shifting left. The human's eyes flashed as he leveled his axe horizontally. Clear intent to block and counter.
Good judgment. Quickly readjusting his grip on the axe haft to close distance, preparing a counter while in defense—brilliant setup. If their strength and skill were equal, it might have worked.
He was probably two steps faster than expected. Seeing the bewilderment in the human's eyes, who braced for impact, maybe even more.
Perfectly closing the gap, he seized the human's axe haft. The human, who had set his stance to block, grimaced and tried to wrench it free—but too late.
A Tarin's raw strength was beyond human limits. Without mana assistance, the racial gap was insurmountable.
The human warrior reacted swiftly. He released the axe. Committing to fisticuffs, he thrust his gloved fist forward.
Tacha didn't dodge. He took the punch on the jaw. A thud, his head snapped slightly—but that was it. Pain he could endure only heightened his fervor.
"Endure it."
Tacha gritted his teeth until his inner fangs ground together, then smashed his right fist into the human warrior's gut. A tank-like thud, the sensation of metal crumpling, and the human flew back.
The human rolled several times amid dust, gasping raggedly as he tried to rise, but collapsed face-down.
Tacha saw other humans approaching in alarm. He raised a hand to stop them.
"Wait. Do not aid the challenger or disrespect his duel until he declares it over."
He waited. Until the human caught his breath and stood.
"That'll cost a pretty penny to fix."
The risen human chuckled through coughs, eyeing his armor.
"Learned a good lesson. A Tarin warrior on pilgrimage is the real deal."
"You weren't bad either. Just that my learning runs a bit deeper."
"Did my fist pack a punch?"
"There was pain."
"Most go down from one hit…"
Grinning wryly, the human warrior approached and extended a hand. Tacha knew this was a human gesture of goodwill. He grasped and shook it.
"Still, landing one on a Tarin warrior gives me a drinking story. Thanks for humoring me. Now, see to your business."
The human picked up his fallen axe and stepped back. Tacha approached Lander, who had watched.
"May I seek to learn?"
He asked the great warrior with reverence.
(To be continued next time)