Chapter 114: A Difficult Choice

As the strongest reserve force in this battle, we hid our only fifteen thousand regular soldiers behind the hillside, never exposing them to the Cretans’ sight. We were waiting for an opportunity—the moment when the Cretan army launched a full-scale counterattack. Only then would our surprise charge mean anything.

Before that, what we waited for first was the High Priest’s anger.

“Chieftain Eckdin, guardian of the Soul of the Giant Bull, what are you doing?” While all our attention was focused on the battlefield, a voice came from far away. Following the direction of the voice, I saw an indigenous warrior holding a spear, short in stature but quick in movement, racing toward us while shouting loudly.

“Chieftain Eckdin, the High Priest wishes to know why the bravest warriors of the Lumburi Tribe have not appeared on the battlefield. Could it be that fear of battle has made our greatest heroes do something cowardly?”

His words were like pouring a bowl of cold water into a pot of sizzling hot oil. The warriors of the Giant Bull Tribe all cried out in protest for their chieftain. If there had not been a few who understood discipline and held their friends back, many impulsive men would have charged down the hillside already, eager to prove their bravery with their own hot blood. But a small number of warriors also lowered their heads in shame, or looked at their leaders with resentment, believing that it was their leaders’ incompetence and cowardice that had brought them disgrace.

The messenger warrior ran to us and, with a slightly contemptuous look, continued to deliver the High Priest’s displeasure: “And the Flying Eagle Tribe, the Black Panther Tribe, the Golden-Tongued Sparrow Tribe… you watch the enemies of God Lumburi make your brothers bleed, yet you remain unmoved. You have defiled the glory of the God and the honor of your brave ancestors. The High Priest says that if you still have the same blood flowing in you as we do, you should wash away this shame with action, fight like men, instead of cowering and hiding aside.”

His words caused a great uproar among the tens of thousands of warriors. I believed that if these words had come from the messenger’s own will, he would have been torn to pieces in an instant by the tribesmen who respected their chieftains. But there was no doubt that these words came from the mouth of their god’s most noble representative—the High Priest whom they all respected and loved. To them, this was almost a condemnation carrying divine will. It made them seem flustered and at a loss. The warriors all looked toward their chieftains, hoping to find answers on their faces.

The chieftains themselves were caught in deep conflict. They looked at one another, glanced at Fred, who was not far away, staring intently at the enemy ranks, and then looked toward where the High Priest stood, not knowing what response they should give.

Eckdin looked at Fred as if asking for help, as if counting on this young man, who was barely half his age, to help him make up his mind. But Fred simply patted him on the shoulder and said:

“This is your decision, my friend. No matter what you decide, I will not blame you. I promise that even without your strong support, even if it is only my soldiers, we will still throw ourselves into battle when the time comes. Perhaps without you we cannot win, but we will never abandon our brothers.”

Fred’s words were like a small, light weight on a balance. Though not as forceful as the bloody battle raging on, they quietly pressed down the scale in Eckdin’s heart, tilting his hard-to-make choice toward the right side.

“We will fight, together with our brothers from Delanmaya, at the right time. Tell the High Priest, you warrior of the Running Wolf Tribe, that the Soul of the Giant Bull has never left the side of the great God Lumburi, and that the warriors standing with us have never for a moment forgotten their own bloodline. Give us a little time, and we will let the High Priest and God Lumburi witness our loyalty with their own eyes.” After thinking for a moment, Eckdin turned to the indigenous warrior delivering the message and said.

“The High Priest says you must attack immediately!” Facing this man who was far taller and more honored than himself, the indigenous warrior showed no sign of backing down. He emphasized the words “the High Priest says.” These words caused a stir among our indigenous allies: defying the High Priest’s command was an unforgivable sin, even for a chieftain.

“The Giant Bull Tribe will fight together with the brothers from Delanmaya. This is my decision. If God Lumburi thinks I am wrong, then after this war I am willing to accept any punishment.”

As soon as Eckdin’s words left his mouth, a sudden silence fell around him. Not a single indigenous warrior dared to speak; they were too shocked to think. We knew what these words meant. They meant that Eckdin was, at this moment, denying the High Priest’s supreme authority. To a people who regarded the will of their god as supremely sacred, this was almost equal to turning their back on God. There was no sin more serious than this.

Eckdin now looked extremely determined and tragic, standing there like a doomed prisoner. No one touched him, no one even came near him, but the conflict inside was burning his heart, making him look as though he were being tortured. He had once been one of the most respected people in the tribe, and he had gained more honors than anyone else. Yet, with just these few words, he might have to give all of that up and become the most despised person among his tribe. For a brave man, I did not know of any disgrace stronger than this.

“I firmly believe my choice is right, and I trust my friend’s wisdom!” Suddenly, Eckdin said loudly, not to the warrior of the Running Wolf Tribe, nor to us, but to the flustered, conflicted, and at-a-loss warriors behind him.

“Today, we have seen an enemy more powerful than ever before, and at the same time, we have met a great friend we have never had before. I deeply believe this is not a coincidence. This is a test from the great God Lumburi—a test to make us change and make us stronger. Maybe my guess is wrong, then let our great god punish only me. But right now, I want you—the men who guard the Soul of the Giant Bull—to follow me, to stand with me as before, and fight for victory, not for sacrifice. I do not want your blood to be shed for nothing. If we are destined to shed blood, then let our enemies know that our blood will not be shed in vain. The bloodline passed down by God Lumburi can burn!”

Maybe these few short words could not completely remove the doubts in the warriors’ hearts, but they did stabilize the wavering morale in time. The authority Eckdin had built up in his tribe over many years made his people temporarily forget the terror of the god’s anger. Everyone gathered around his troubled but proud figure. Still no one made a sound, but a line that could almost be seen with the naked eye was being passed among the people, connecting their hearts and making them beat in the same rhythm.

“I, Hondos, Chieftain of the Flying Eagle Tribe, am willing to fight together with the friends of Delanmaya and the brothers of the Giant Bull Tribe. If this brings the anger of Lumburi upon us, I am willing to bear it together with Brother Eckdin!” At this moment, the sturdy, scar-faced big man beside Eckdin said loudly. He and Eckdin exchanged a look full of passion. I knew that look—it was the kind of generous look that only warriors who had faced death together shared, a look of willingness to live and die together.

There was another silence, and then another chieftain made the same declaration, then the third, the fourth… At this moment, a strange brilliance burst from the eyes of these middle-aged men who were already in their forties, a brilliance that made them look so young, like a group of stubborn youths barely in their early twenties. I did not know what legendary experiences they had had in their youth, but I believed they must have been one stirring and wonderful story after another. Now, between saving their clansmen and preserving their own honor, they once again made a difficult choice together. Before each one spoke, his face was full of pain, but when they said their decisions and placed their hands in their friends’ hands, the conflict struggling inside them vanished in an instant, because they were not alone in facing this pain—there were also the friends who had once fought side by side with them and were connected to them in blood.

“I…” When everyone’s eyes turned to the chieftain of the Wild Horse Tribe, he hesitated and could not speak. Beads of sweat as large as beans rolled down his cheeks to his chest. His lips twitched from nervousness, and his fists were clenched tightly. For a moment he looked at the old comrades standing beside Fred, and then at the direction of the High Priest, unable to make up his mind.

“Horst, do what you want to do. No one will blame you!” Eckdin saw his friend’s difficulty and said in a soft voice.

“I…” Horst opened his mouth, seeming as if he wanted to step toward his friends, but suddenly he stopped. In the end, he hung his head heavily and said to the messenger warrior in a strange tone: “Please tell the High Priest that the warriors of the Wild Horse Tribe will launch an attack immediately. We will prove our loyalty to God Lumburi with our bravery…”

Soon, the messenger who had been sent with the message turned and left with news that would not satisfy the High Priest. The contempt on his face from when he had first arrived had disappeared without a trace, replaced by an unbelievable fluster: he could not accept for a moment that so many tribal chieftains famous for bravery would choose at this moment to turn away from the High Priest and betray the Deities they believed in. This news shocked him.

After Horst said those words, I discovered an interesting phenomenon. At first, the warriors behind each tribal leader were eager to charge into the battle, and they did not fully support their leaders’ decisions. Some even complained secretly, feeling that their leaders had deprived them of the chance to win honor. But when one leader after another said they were willing to risk losing their reputation and standing to stand with their friends, the warriors stopped complaining. Even though they were shocked, even though they still feared their god, at that moment their eyes toward their leaders were filled with reverence and respect. The warriors of those chieftains who had not yet declared themselves even showed obvious conflicted expressions—they hoped to join the battle as soon as possible, but they also did not want to see their leaders become people who abandoned their friends.

Horst had yielded to the High Priest’s authority, but his warriors did not show relief or joy. On the contrary, they seemed to feel shame. Even though they still prepared for battle as Horst commanded, I felt that Horst was gradually losing their respect. Strange, wasn’t it? That was originally the glorious thing they had wanted to do, but under the influence of Eckdin and his close comrades, they now felt that doing it was actually a disgrace.

Horst kept his head lowered the whole time, even when he gave orders in a loud voice. He did not dare to look in our direction, let alone say a word of farewell to his old comrades from his younger days. Seeing his strong and handsome build that was no less impressive than Eckdin’s, and the thick calluses on his right hand that gripped his spear, I did not doubt at all that the Chieftain of the Wild Horse Tribe had once been an outstanding warrior. But at this moment, he looked much older, with his back hunched and his brows furrowed. Even his loud shouts seemed weak and lifeless.

When Horst made his statement, Eckdin’s eyes instantly dimmed. From the very beginning, we had all known this result was possible, but when it actually happened, Eckdin still felt hurt. His friends felt the same way. Almost everyone felt that Horst had betrayed them and betrayed a friendship worth cherishing.

But just as Horst was about to give the order and prepare the whole tribe to charge, Eckdin suddenly raised his head and asked in a loud voice: “Who was the first among us to kill a fierce wolf with his bare hands when he was fifteen, and save Lorraine, the wife of Hondos of the Flying Eagle Tribe and my sister? Tell me, what is the name of that warrior? Who is he?”

Around him, his friends suddenly became excited. These sturdy men, already past middle age and married with children, had hazy eyes, as if passing through a silent tunnel of time to their younger days. Following Eckdin’s voice, they shouted: “Horst, it’s Horst!” Hondos, with his red beard, was especially excited. As he shouted, he pulled his beard to both sides, as if wiping away tears from it.

“Who was it that, in our battle against the Gelin tribe, was severely wounded and killed seven enemies all by himself, covering our retreat and protecting our safety? Who can tell me the name of this invincible warrior? Who is he?”

“Horst, he is Horst!” Those honored elders shouted. At this moment they were not respected chieftains, but a group of warriors—warriors whose lives were tied together.

“Who was it that had a drinking contest with me in front of the altar of God Lumburi and was the only one who ever got me drunk, leaving me unable to get up for half a month and almost buried alive by you all? Who is this man blessed by the great God Lumburi? Tell me his name—this remarkable name, our friend, the hero among heroes, the warrior among warriors. Tell me his shining name. Who is he?” By this point, Eckdin could no longer hold back the excitement inside him, and tears covered his face. His friends behaved just as emotionally, shouting the name “Horst” hoarsely like madmen, letting nostalgic tears run freely across their faces. Those days of the past, those truly memorable days, were the youthful memories this group of warriors would never forget.

Unable to bear it any longer, unable to stay still, Horst strode over to Eckdin and gave him an embrace full of infinite loyalty and warmth. Four burly, powerful arms were tightly tangled together, like the interlocked branches of two big trees growing side by side, impossible to tell apart.

Moments later, more people crowded into this tightly embracing group. A dozen or so chieftains had smiles and tears on their faces at the same time, slapping and shouting at one another like a group of children playing wild. There was no act of betraying friends, no coward to be despised, no distinction between devout and not devout, brave and not brave. I only saw a group of real men gathered together. What they grabbed were arms they could rely on; what they embraced were the people truly close to them. Nothing could separate them, not even if God Lumburi himself came—of this I was deeply convinced.

“Horst, go do it well. Let those Cretan dogs know that we Lumburi people are the true masters of this land!” Hondos shouted. “After we win this battle, I’ll have Lorraine roast a whole deer for us.”

His words caused everyone to burst into laughter. Horst wiped the tear traces from the corners of his eyes and answered loudly: “One is not enough. At least three. Do you still think we are the little kids from back then who were not as tall as a spear?”

“That’s right, three!” everyone clamored and shouted.

“Don’t come crawling back after being beaten into a mess, needing us to save you!” A voice came from the crowd, and I could not tell who had spoken.

“Eagle, when did I ever need you to save me? The scratch marks from when I saved you from a leopard’s mouth last time are still there!” Horst answered with a loud laugh.

This commotion among the warriors lasted only a short time, but it changed many things. The warriors of the Wild Horse Tribe looked at their chieftain once again with respect and affection, and even a bit of curiosity—maybe they had not known their leader had done so many legendary deeds. The warriors of other tribes were also full of respect for their own chieftains. They had known for a long time what remarkable warriors these men were, but today, when their deeds were brought up one by one again, the god of time seemed to have used some special magic, making these dusty old memories shine again with brilliance, filling people with admiration.

Back in his formation again, Horst had already regained the awareness of a warrior. He bent over, looked straight ahead, held the most comfortable part of his spear firmly with both hands, and the muscles in his legs were tense and springy, like a fierce tiger about to pounce on its prey.

“Eckdin, I’m sorry. You will always be the best among us.” He turned his head one last time and said this to the Chieftain of the Giant Bull Tribe. Then he turned his proud head forward.

“Kill them all, for the glory of God Lumburi!” With that shout, more than a thousand brave warriors of the Wild Horse Tribe poured into the battlefield. For a battlefield that already held more than a hundred thousand people, this thousand could not change anything. But something truly was changing—in a place we could not see on this battlefield, in the hearts of those true warriors who wore simple armor but had firm resolve. For the first time, I felt full confidence in winning this battle, because of this change. Perhaps it had changed not only the hearts of the indigenous warriors who stood by us, but also our own hearts, which were quietly changing along with them.