Chapter 12 - 2-2
A turning point arrived for Geraha, just as it does for most people. It was when he was fourteen, having experienced war.
Astai, who was twenty-five and his brother-in-law, watched the situation closely.
The friction between the Kutai tribe, with whom the Wolf clan was allied, and their natural enemy, the Ishma tribe, had lasted for several years without either side being able to deal a decisive blow.
That year, as usual, there was a small conflict over grazing lands. By autumn, it had become a situation where war was unavoidable in order to strike the Ishma tribe, who were illegally occupying Kutai land.
For that war, Geraha was selected as the commander to lead five hundred cavalry.
It was blatant favoritism by his older brother, Tenge Wolf. Tenge's skill in war had resonated among the Kutai tribe, and at this time, he had achieved the extraordinary promotion of commanding three thousand households.
He decided to set aside five hundred of them and entrust them to his younger brother. Of course, commanding was impossible for a boy in his first battle.
Astai was called.
Among the Kosa people, who placed absolute value on martial prowess, Astai was unusually compassionate.
"I want you to take command in Geraha's stead, and when there are achievements, I want you to make them his."
He readily accepted Tenge's selfish request.
From Astai's perspective, the brothers Tenge and Geraha were terribly pitiful. When it came to his younger brother, Tenge would lose himself. He was completely infatuated with his brother.
"I will make Geraha the clan chief."
Tenge would say, but it was impossible.
There were no clear rules for the succession of the Kosa chiefs. Ability was everything. The current clan chief of the Wolf clan, Zuft, had seventeen sons, and Geraha was the most dull-witted of them all. He had virtually no chance.
Despite that, Tenge fought hard.
The reason Tenge raced across the battlefield and vigorously demonstrated his bravery was not solely for his own sake. It was because he wanted to restrain the other brothers and steer the succession of the clan chiefship toward his younger brother, Geraha, in a favorable direction.
"Why go that far?" Astai had once asked.
"I don't know," Tenge had said, scratching his head bashfully. "I have a dream. He is my dream... I can't explain it well."
Tenge possessed a purity like a clear stream. When gazed upon by those cool eyes of a comrade, Astai found himself unable to say anything.
But the tragedy was that, no matter how one looked at him, Geraha lacked the capacity to meet his brother's expectations. Geraha himself seemed to understand this better than anyone.
In fact, when told about the war, Geraha trembled with fear.
"Big Brother Astai, it's impossible for me."
"It's fine. I'll handle all the details, like the organization and the procurement of weapons. You just have to stand on the battlefield."
"Big Brother Astai."
Geraha Wolf's physique already exceeded Astai's. Shrinking his whale-like body, Geraha squeezed his face tight. Tears fell.
"I feel sorry for my older brother, but I cannot do it."
To Astai, this unsuccessful giant was pitiful. He thought that Geraha was a victim of his brother's excessive expectations.
However, for a fourteen-year-old Kosa, it was an age where one had to be a warrior. Astai encouraged Geraha and proceeded with the preparations for war. He had chainmail woven to fit Geraha's massive frame, had a rugged, bowl-like helmet made, and prepared a long sword. The day of departure drew near.
"Geraha, war is a simple thing," Astai explained, intentionally sounding cheerful. "Basically, if you don't run, you win. First, you'll face the enemy forces, right? You'll shoot arrows at each other. You mustn't run then. If you endure and hold your ground, the other side will give up and their formation will break. That's the right moment. You swing your barbarian sword and charge. You'll definitely win."
"Yeah."
Geraha's words were decreasing day by day.
Astai guessed at the heart of the fourteen-year-old giant and saw something dark.
Was he intending to die?
It was the custom of the Kosa to face war prepared for death. However, the way Geraha had steeled himself was dark. There was no bounce to it. There was a backward resignation, a desire to throw everything away.
"Geraha, in war, you have to win," Astai emphasized.
"Yeah," Geraha muttered. "I'll win. I'd feel sorry for Big Brother Tenge otherwise."
There was an anxiety of whether he would be alright, but the day of departure arrived. Because of his large size, Geraha looked magnificent in his warrior attire. A helmet with a plume, chainmail armoring the shoulders and chest, and leather boots with green embroidery.
"It suits you,"
Astai called out, but there was no answer. He had finally stopped talking.
Five hundred cavalry advanced in two lines to the point where the borders of the Ishma and Kutai sections met. The Geraha unit's assignment was the far right wing of the front line, with the role of cutting down enemy soldiers who strayed from the main body. They were to prevent the enemy from circling around behind their allies.
It was an important position, but it was possible they might avoid encountering the enemy.
However, on the fourth day of the war, a report came from the scouts. Approximately eight hundred enemy cavalry were approaching.
It seemed they intended to break through here by force.
Astai sent a messenger to Tenge's main body requesting support and had the soldiers take their positions. The time was dawn. The sky was pale, the wind was strong, and the grasslands were undulating like a choppy sea.
As the sun shone, the enemy appeared like billowing cumulus clouds. Astai looked up at Geraha.
Geraha was desolate.
He was unnervingly calm.