Over a decade ago.
In the south-central part of the continent, near the Great Forest, within the woods of the Empire.
Thwack! Thud-!
Kureha’s lightning-fast punch from the tree above found its mark on an imperial soldier’s armor.
"Gah!"
"Ah!"
The dents in the armor made the soldiers cry out in pain, throwing them backward.
With his red ponytail spinning as he landed gracefully, Kureha swiftly hopped onto a branch and sprinted up the tree.
The imperial soldiers, in desperation, aimed their spears toward the tree, but Kureha was already out of sight.
"Why are you just standing there taking hits? Aren’t you on guard?"
"But he’s so fast, and there are so many of them–"
Crash! Bang!
It wasn’t just Kureha. Other warriors from the beastmen tribe were launching surprise attacks from the trees.
Caught off guard by the sudden assault of these unknown beastmen warriors, the imperial soldiers began to fall one by one.
Eventually,
"Retreat! Fall back!"
Unable to hold their ground, the imperial commander shouted, and the soldiers turned tail and ran as if they had been waiting for the order.
Watching the retreating imperial soldiers, the beastmen warriors began to descend from the trees.
Catching their ragged breaths, the warriors exchanged high-fives soon after.
"We won!"
"We repelled them again!"
Despite their victory, the warriors’ expressions were far from jubilant.
The imperial army, with their overwhelming numbers, relentlessly advanced, undeterred by their losses.
In contrast, the beastmen warriors were limited in number, and their ranks were slowly being whittled down.
Though they had a favorable kill ratio in these forest battles, their frontlines were steadily being pushed back. They were close to fighting with their tribe’s village as the backdrop.
"You all fought hard! We won today!"
Commander Kureha announced in a deliberately cheerful voice.
"Check for the injured and fallen! Let’s head back to the village."
Upon their return to the village, the beastmen residents greeted the warriors with cheers and applause.
Commander Kureha, in particular, was extremely popular. The villagers chanted his name in unison.
"Kureha! Kureha!"
"The miraculous Kureha! The undefeated warrior!"
"The imperial army is no match for our warriors!"
Kureha, with a tired face, waved appreciatively to the cheering crowd.
Since his first battle at eighteen, Kureha had never tasted defeat.
He either won or at the very least achieved a stalemate, always bringing his comrades back alive.
Hence, he earned his nickname.
The miraculous Kureha.
The undefeated warrior protecting the tribe.
"You’re still quite the celebrity, Kureha. But given your record, it’s almost legendary."
Among the villagers, his mother greeted him with a proud and warm smile.
After a light embrace with his mother, Kureha chuckled.
"It’s all luck."
"Oh, my dear, it’s not luck. It’s your skill."
"It’s not a joke. I really am lucky. I have this incredible talisman."
Kureha glanced at the crude necklace around his neck. It was a necklace made from a coin of an ancient kingdom, no longer in circulation.
"My younger brother, Kuilan, is watching over me."
Kuilan was the name of his younger brother who had tragically passed away in an accident during their childhood.
The necklace had once belonged to Kuilan, a cherished memento their mother had draped around Kureha’s neck.
His mother always reminded Kureha, "Kuilan watches over you. Never forget the name of the brother who protects you."
Kureha couldn’t even remember Kuilan’s face, but every time fortune favored him on the battlefield, he believed it was due to the luck bestowed upon him by his brother.
"...”
Watching her son with a silent gaze, his mother cracked a gentle smile.
"You’ve been through a lot. Let’s go home now. Your his father has been looking for you."
The village chief, the martial arts master for the village warriors, and the village’s primary shaman - that was his father. He waited for his son at the chief’s mansion.
"I’m back, his father."
"Hmm."
Despite his son’s safe return, the his father didn’t offer a smile.
However, the softness in his usually stern eyes conveyed everything. He was proud of his son’s victory.
"Any injuries?"
"None. I’m as usual, perfectly fine."
"And the other warriors?"
"Eight are injured, and five are dead."
"How far did they advance?"
"They set up camp next to the oak tree in the middle of the forest."
Kureha urgently interjected, "We can’t hold out much longer, his father."
"..."
"Like I mentioned before, why not propose a truce? We’ve proven our military strength, so the Empire will surely negotiate..."
"Ridiculous!"
His father shouted vehemently.
"If we do that, we’re just paving the way to become their slaves. Haven’t you seen how other tribes fell?"
"But, father... the warriors are exhausted, and we have no frontlines left. At this rate, within weeks, we’ll be battling with the tribe’s stakes on the line."
As the field commander, Kureha was aware, but so was his father, who, as the village chief, had an overview of the entire situation. The villagers were growing tired, and the village resources were depleting. Defeat seemed imminent.
"...There’s still a way."
Yet, his father wasn’t ready to give up.
"Kureha, come to the leaf altar tonight."
"Excuse me?"
"I will pass on to you the final technique of our lineage... the Secret Art of the Leaf Fist."
Hearing this, Kureha’s eyes widened in shock.
The Leaf Fist was a martial art technique passed down through generations in their tribe.
While his father had taught him its intricacies, he had withheld the ultimate technique, deeming it too dangerous.
But now, he was promising to reveal it tonight.
Kureha felt a mix of sorrow for their tribe’s desperate situation and excitement.
The next step in the martial art that he had dedicated his life to mastering was within reach. And now, he could finally grasp it.
***
At the heart of the tribe’s land stood a majestic Chinese Maple Tree.
It was a magnificent specimen, easily centuries old.
With autumn approaching, its leaves began to take on a reddish hue from the tips.
Just looking up at the grandeur of this tree, which symbolized their tribe, evoked a sense of awe.
The name of the tribe, the ’Leaf Wolf’ (丹楊狼), and the name of the martial art used by the tribe, the ’Leaf Fist’ (丹楊拳), both derived from this tree. (TL Note: So, this is a bit complicated. The tree he’s refering to is the Chinese Maple Tree. They are iconic, especially in Wuxia’s type novels. I considered naming it the Maple Leaf Wolf, but decided against it since the Maple Leaf is the symbol of Canada, so it sounded weird. As such, it will be just the Leaf Tribe.)
Kureha slowly approached the altar before that tree.
The full moon soared in the pitch-black night sky, illuminating the surroundings as if it were daytime due to its intense brightness.
His father was waiting for Kureha in front of the altar, accompanied by warriors from other tribes.
While the warriors waited beside the altar, his father led Kureha to the front of the tree.
"...Kureha."
"Yes, father."
"You’re aware that our tribe belongs to the beastmen, carrying the bloodline of the wolf clan?"
"Yes. But unlike other tribes, our lineage is heavily mixed with human blood... You said that most of our beastly traits have faded."
Other beastmen might have fur, fangs and claws like wild beasts, or ears perked up like animals. But the ’Leaf Wolf’ tribe was almost indistinguishable from regular humans.
Aside from a slightly enhanced physical ability and their distinctive red hair, they hardly had any traits to suggest they were descendants of the beastmen.
His father, standing in front of the massive trunk of the Maple Leaf Tree, let out a soft sigh.
"The truth is, it isn’t so."
"Pardon?"
"Our tribe carried the bloodline of our ancestors more potently than any other beastman tribe."
His father’s large fist clenched tightly, like a hammer.
"The blood of the wolf. A tribe obsessed with warfare and bloodshed, a belligerent clan."
"..."
"In an attempt to mitigate this wild nature, our ancestors intermingled with humans to dilute the wolf’s blood. But it was futile. No, it intensified... The urge for battle became nearly pathological."
His father slowly looked up at the sky, where the luminous full moon shone.
"By the time of your great-grandfather, on nights as brightly moonlit as this, their blood would boil... They’d become so frenzied that they’d kill each other. It wasn’t the blood of our ancestors anymore; it was a curse."
Kureha held his breath, hearing this story for the first time. His father continued.
"The most esteemed shaman in our tribe’s history, your great-grandfather, pondered a solution. And he found one."
"What was the solution?"
"A sacrificial lamb."
Kureha’s shoulders jolted at the unexpected revelation. His father continued.
"From the tribe, they’d select one innocent child, channeling the tribe’s entire curse... the latent wild nature in the blood of the ancestors, into that child."
"Just a moment..."
"As the wild nature was suppressed, we finally lived as full humans. No longer driven mad by the moonlight, no longer killing each other."
"Wait, father!"
Kureha asked desperately,
"What happened to that child? What became of that child?"
"...Carrying the tribe’s entire wild nature, the curse, they would live their entire life as a monster."
With his usual emotionless, rigid tone, his father reached forward.
"Upon their death, the next child is chosen. One per generation, a vessel to carry on the curse..."
His father’s hand felt around the trunk of the Maple Tree, finding a groove and sliding it to the side.
With a resonant thud.
Then, a small door leading into the massive tree opened.
At the sight, one he had never witnessed before, Kureha’s mouth dropped open in amazement.
Leading the way, his father stepped inside the Maple Leaf Tree.
“And, the child who turned into a monster... will remain here until he dies, unseen by any tribe member and under the supervision of the village’s head shaman."
Inside the hollow trunk of the Maple Leaf Tree, there was just enough space for a single person.
And within that space,
’Hah... Hah...’
A young boy was bound by chains around his neck, arms, and legs.
With wild, scattered red hair, his body was emaciated, resembling a mummy.
Barely skin and bones. And, sprouting all over his body, were tufts of hair resembling that of a wolf.
The boy, collapsed on the floor, paid no attention to anyone, his hazy eyes just staring blankly into space.
"This child is the cursed one."
His father said to Kureha, who was staring at the boy in horror.
“It’s Kuilan."
"Excuse me? Kuilan...?"
Kureha’s hands trembled uncontrollably.
“This child is... my brother?"
“Yes."
"But I was told Kuilan died!"
"We had to let others believe so."
His father’s voice was, as always, even-tempered.
“The ritual of transferring the curse from one vessel to another had to be conducted in secret. We couldn’t use another’s child, so I had to choose between my two sons for the next vessel."
"...Then why was Kuilan chosen over me?"
Kureha, gazing down at his younger brother’s parched lips that resembled drought-ridden soil, asked roughly.
"Why not me? Was there a reason?"
"You always say it yourself,"
His father pointed to Kureha’s chest.
"You have good luck."
Kureha, taken aback, looked down.
Hanging from his neck was an ancient coin from the old kingdom. Kureha’s eyes widened in shock.
"You can’t mean..."
“Yes."
His father nodded slowly.
“I flipped the coin. It landed tails, and your brother was chosen as the vessel... That’s all there is to it."
"...!"
Kureha gritted his teeth.
A coin toss.
Such a trivial gamble had determined the fates of two brothers.
Due to good luck, Kureha lived, and due to bad luck, Kuilan died.
One became the tribe’s greatest warrior and a hero, and the other became a monster, his very existence erased.
“How could you, how could you do this..."
Kneeling before the withered Kuilan, Kureha trembled violently.
“How could you commit such a heinous act, father...!"
“It was so that we could live as humans.”
His father murmured, eyes on his two sons.
"If only one person becomes a monster in the tribe, then everyone else can live as humans."
Kureha clenched his teeth, turning around.
In the cold moonlight filtering into the wooden chamber, his father stood, as unyielding as ever.
On the face of a man who had willingly borne the weight of centuries of tribal history and the lives of thousands of tribe members,
"If only one person suffers, everyone else can find happiness."
There was not a hint of guilt.
"That’s all there is to it."
--TL Notes--
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