The Hero in Hibernation

Kazhan, the young chief of the Redstone Tribe, touched the amulet hanging from his chest before striding into the stone hall built from mud.

At that moment, a crowd of former kings, former city lords, and khans—most of them more than twice his age—were enthusiastically lolling their long tongues.

The Sandfolk seemed to have evolved directly from reptiles (though they were actually mammals) into intelligent, upright-walking creatures. Their bodies were covered in scales, so they had no sweat glands and could only cool themselves by lolling their long tongues. They truly could not end up drenched in sweat. But if the Grand Elder had not been sitting quietly at the highest seat, they probably would have been drenched in something else by now.

Yes, the Sandfolk, whose civilization had only just evolved into the era of classical city-states, were indeed in an irritable state brimming with martial spirit. Some of them had once been leaders of nomadic tribes, while others ruled city-states and called themselves kings. None of them would submit to another. Since they could not see eye to eye, they might as well draw their knives and settle it.

However, the aged Grand Elder was not only the spiritual and religious leader of the ordinary Sandfolk; he was also the strongest Sandfolk warrior in existence. Despite his kindly, benevolent appearance, this old man had crushed chiefs and "kings" to death in fits of temper more than once.

As one of the younger chiefs, Kazhan gave the Grand Elder at the head of the hall a slight bow, then found a corner to sit in. Before he had even settled down, a booming, heroic voice rang out: "Wait, too long, want fight, fight, fight!"

The speaker was Moduo, the great chief of the Red Lake Tribe. The chief who controlled the most powerful nomadic tribe among all the Sandfolk was getting on in years. Though he remained brave and valiant, his mind had begun to slow, and he was still not very proficient in the "Sandfolk common tongue."

Oh, and incidentally, the Sandfolk common tongue had been compiled by their spiritual leader, Grand Elder Hesen, after he spent ten years combining various Sandfolk languages. He had always believed that a unified language could unify the race and also help them better connect with the advanced civilizations of the universe.

It had to be admitted that the Grand Elder was quite far-sighted.

Sadly, however, the Sandfolk's simple early pictographic script could not bear the amount of information required in the age of the greater universe. Their so-called "common tongue" was already mixed with a large number of transliterations and written variants from the Empire, the Alliance, and even Earth.

Tragic, but that was not the point.

"It isn't time yet. Our goal has always been to force the Earthlings to negotiate with us!" The speaker was Hanrat, king of the Black Mountain city-state. He had a city, territory, and a throne, and had always maintained an obscure, complicated relationship with the Governor's Office. With so many pots and pans to worry about, he naturally had little appetite for a fight.

"Even if we're going to fight, we should wait until those cannons are set up. Then they can blast through Tulong's shield. They'll definitely surrender." Another city lord spoke.

"Yes, we demand a share of the profits from selling spices and ores. They can't keep setting the prices themselves! Oh, right—we also have to allow Sandfolk to travel to Tulong—no, to the Galactic mainland—and live there!" said a mature and steady lord. His words immediately drew approving nods from everyone.

But wasn't this our homeland? Why had so many of us gathered here just for this? Is there really any difference between begging for food while lying on the ground and begging for food while sitting on it? Kazhan could not help thinking this.

In reality, most of the "kings" and "city lords" of the city-states were like this. The Governor's Office and the merchants "hired" cheap labor through them and acquired inexpensive spices and ores, so their little lives were still quite comfortable. The city-state lords had already moved into dome villas equipped with climate control and greenhouse gardens. They drank fine liquor produced by the Empire, watched popular Alliance dramas, and lived the happy lives of wealthy modern shut-ins. The slaves, meanwhile, could only toil in mines too cramped to stand upright in and plantations hot enough to strip the scales from their bodies. They worked an average of more than fifteen hours a day, yet still struggled to guarantee enough food and clothing for their families.

"Cowards!" one chief leaped up and roared.

"Lizards in a pile of sand!" another chief slammed the table and cursed.

"Bloodsuckers in caves!" An ancient Sandfolk chief suddenly seemed twenty years younger as he shrieked hysterically. His voice was the loudest it had been since the argument began, startling Kazhan beside him into a tremble.

"We have a million warriors at our command. Why should we look at other people's faces? When will those things finally be set up?" said a somewhat younger chief. His "common tongue" was much more fluent.

"Grand Elder, let's fight!" he earnestly urged Grand Elder Hesen, his face full of passion and valor. He looked ready at any moment to tear out his own heart and gut himself to prove his sincerity, spraying a faceful of hot, loyal blood all over you.

"But it isn't time yet... Our forces haven't fully deployed. We don't have a complete offensive plan, and we have no heavy-weapon support! Why not wait until the heavy artillery positions are finished as agreed, until all the weapons and troops are in place?" Kazhan thought this fellow looked exactly like a frilled lizard spreading its skin flaps to await mating. He wanted to stand up and argue a few points, but at that moment, the Grand Elder, who had remained silent all this time, nodded expressionlessly and said in an even tone, "Does everyone want to fight?"

"Fight! Fight!" Moduo hopped from foot to foot, almost performing an awkward war dance.

"Then let's fight." The Grand Elder nodded.

"Grand Elder, we can't attack..." The lords leaped up to dissuade him, only to be silenced by a single retort from the Grand Elder: "Or do you intend to personally persuade those starving, parched warriors?"

The lords had nothing to say and could only disperse dejectedly, while the chiefs left excitedly after receiving the answer they wanted. Kazhan was the only one who was not happy. When he left the stone hall, his steps were heavy. He could already see the warriors' fate and nearly burst into tears... Well, the Sandfolk actually had no tear glands either. Their way of expressing extreme grief was to vibrate their eardrums and produce a long, heartrending sound. It sounded like whale song, though it was actually quite beautiful.

Kazhan was disappointed—disappointed in everything. He was disappointed in the lords, disappointed in the chiefs, and even more disappointed in the Grand Elder, their spiritual leader. He was about to lead his followers away when someone discreetly called out to him.

"Teacher wishes to see you, Chief Kazhan."

The person who came to lead him was one of the Grand Elder's favored disciples, a psyker known as "Wind Fist."

The young Kazhan was led into the stone hall through the back door by the young Wind Fist. This was also the Grand Elder's private residence. But the moment he entered, the overpowering medicinal smell made him want to flee on the spot.

In one corner of the stone hall, a female Sandfolk with beautiful azure scales was preparing medicine. When she saw Kazhan enter, she bared her blade-like teeth and tongue at him, revealing what, to a Sandfolk, was a sweet smile.

Her name was Mi Xun, and she was another of the Grand Elder's favored disciples who had awakened psychic powers.

Kazhan was about to return a polite smile to the famous beauty among the Sandfolk, but the Grand Elder had already spoken bluntly: "You may leave with your people, but remember to pack your belongings when you return, say your farewells to your clansmen, and make arrangements for what comes next."

Kazhan froze on the spot.

"I've already spoken with our allies. We're going to select a group of promising young people to study abroad. Any university—even a military academy—is possible, but you'll have to pass the entrance examinations yourselves, so you'll have to start at a preparatory school. From now on, you must study the Alliance common tongue seriously." The Grand Elder thought for a moment, then took out a bracelet-shaped information terminal and handed it over. "It contains an Alliance-language dictionary and a set of introductory academy textbooks. Start studying in your spare time."

Kazhan accepted the piece of technology, completely out of place in these surroundings, with a blank expression. He mechanically listened to the Elder's earnest instructions. "Yes, the Empire's restrictions in this area remain very strict, so you can only study in the Alliance. However, remember to keep your scales tucked in and conduct yourselves properly. Many of your people hate humanity... I have no way to make you distinguish between Earthlings and Gaians, but in the Alliance, every move you make reflects on the Sandfolk. You must lead those young people by example and keep them under control!"

The young chief finally came to his senses. "But, Elder, I..."

"Whether we win or lose, this place is destined to become a grinder of flesh and blood. Talented young people should never have been allowed to waste their lives here." The Grand Elder shook his head and interrupted the young chief.

Kazhan was deeply moved, but he still voiced his confusion. "But why did you agree to Great Khan Moduo and the others' proposal? You know how utterly lacking in strategy it is..."

"Even if I disagreed, would they not act on their own? I am only a Grand Elder, not their king. They are chiefs of nomadic tribes and have never had much to do with the human Governor's Office. In joining this battle, are they truly fighting to liberate their fellow Sandfolk and win them honor? Or are they planning to storm that city and burn, kill, and plunder? If slaughter and plunder are their real goals, how could they possibly wait for the city-state lords to prepare everything? Kazhan, you are a nomadic chief as well. You should understand, shouldn't you?"

The young chief was rendered speechless.

"That being the case, we might as well let them probe the Earthlings' strength. At the very least, when the heavy artillery positions are completed and we launch a true full-scale attack, we'll be able to prepare accordingly."

Kazhan had to admit that the Grand Elder was right. But precisely because he was right, Kazhan felt even more burdened and sorrowful.

"I am old. If this great battle can make the Earthlings yield, I will be satisfied. Yes, Kazhan, Hanrat is right. We truly lack the strength to drive the Earthlings away completely... But you are different, Kazhan. You are young, strong, passionate, sincere, and far calmer and more composed than most people your age. You possess endless possibilities. You have a future, and therefore you must shoulder greater responsibilities!"

"We cannot simply go extinct, young man. That is precisely why I have used all my influence to summon so many warriors willing to die. Let this battle become the first cry of the Sandfolk in this universe! As for what comes afterward, that will be left to you."

Kazhan gazed at the aging Sandfolk leader. His heart was filled with a thousand words, yet he could not utter a single one.

The Grand Elder's body was no longer straight, his scales had begun to turn gray, and his vision had grown blurry. He even needed year-round medication and treatment. Yet he was still stronger than at any moment in the past—even stronger than when he had been young.