In the village shrouded by night, the uninjured Wildlings of the Burned Men sat gathered in the village granary.
The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, utterly unlike the Flatlanders' camp, where the air was charged with the excitement of victory.
Beside the burning bonfire, the uninjured Wildlings of the Burned Men sat together, anger and frustration plain on their faces.
They had thought they could put their brute strength to use and give the weak Flatlanders a crushing blow. They had never expected things to turn out like this!
Walker, Son of Nego sat above the bonfire, his face even darker with gloom.
The defeat that day was a failure and humiliation unlike anything he had suffered since Descending the mountains from the Mountains of the Moon.
Those weak, shameless Flatlanders had used nothing but a pile of logs and a ditch to nullify the fierce charge the Burned Men's warriors were proudest of.
"Those Flatlanders! Weak cowards! They didn't even come out after us!" A burly Wildling of the Burned Men slammed his fist into the ground again and again, venting his fury.
Another Wildling of the Burned Men chimed in:
"The Flatlanders hide behind logs! They hide behind ditches! They've got spears! Bows and arrows! They're like rats! Flatlanders aren't warriors at all!"
The other Wildlings chimed in, too, letting out angry roars and waving their weapons as if the cowards from the Flatlanders were standing right there in the air before them!
Their pride had been badly wounded.
They were used to chasing prey through the mountain forests and ambushing unwary Flatlanders.
They had never imagined being trapped so helplessly before the enemy's crude defenses, jabbed at like animals with spears and shot at like targets.
What they found even harder to understand was why those Flatlanders weren't like the others they had encountered before.
To the Flatlanders, this tactic of staying put was the height of cowardice and shame!
Even after the tribe retreated, these Flatlanders had continued strengthening their defenses! They showed no intention of attacking at all!
Walker, Son of Nego said nothing. He realized how foolish the decision he had made in anger had been.
He simply listened in silence to the warriors' complaints.
Their anger was only natural. He, too, was filled with rage and humiliation.
But he had to think clearly. He had to consider what to do; he was responsible for these people.
Because of his anger, he had foolishly sent his warriors to attack the defenses the weak Flatlanders had already built.
One clansman had been ambushed by the shameless Flatlanders, and four had been shot in the eyes by the weak Flatlanders.
They had fallen in this foreign land! They would never return to the High Mountains!
More than thirty other warriors had been injured.
He stood up and picked up his battle-axe, beginning to consider what to do next.
Should he organize another charge? But everyone was wounded, and the warriors' morale had fallen to rock bottom.
Besides, even if they charged again, all they would do was relive what had happened that day.
These weak Flatlanders hadn't let their guard down after winning. They were even strengthening those damned defenses!
Just as Walker, Son of Nego was thinking about what to do, a voice suddenly jolted him from his thoughts.
Val, Son of Nango, a Burned Men warrior, rushed out, weeping with fury. "Walker, Son of Nego! You have to come and see!"
Walker, Son of Nego rushed inside. A horrifying sight met his eyes.
The wounds of the clansmen who had been injured that day were beginning to fester!
It wasn't just the deep wounds. Even scrapes were turning red and swollen, filling with pus and giving off a foul smell!
The clansmen who had been hit by arrows were in even worse shape!
One wounded warrior after another began to moan and wail.
Their bodies burned with fever, their minds grew muddled, and they babbled incoherently.
This feverish heat was unlike ordinary wound inflammation. It was more violent, and it came on faster.
Their pain and despair spread among the Wildlings of the Burned Men. Everyone could feel it; everyone was gripped by dread.
Walker, Son of Nego went to a Wildling who had been shot by an arrow and looked at the wound on his arm.
It had originally been only a minor wound. After the arrow was pulled out, they had pressed a red-hot iron sword against it, cauterizing it shut.
That was how the Burned Men treated wounds.
But now it had swollen as big and hard as a stone, its color turning purplish-black.
He could even smell a stench of decay in the air.
Walker, Son of Nego suddenly froze in place, as if struck by lightning.
He remembered that day: the arrows that had flown at them, the spearpoints that had thrust toward them.
Those Flatlanders! Their weapons!
Shameless cowards! Worse than beasts!
But there was nothing he could do! Icy despair seized his heart in an instant!
This wasn't a simple wound infection! Those Flatlanders had smeared something on their weapons!
The thought filled him with fury.
The warriors of the Mountain Clans feared neither bloodshed nor death!
But they should never have to die like this!
Warriors should die by the blade, not suffer the disgrace of dying from poison!
It was as if the entire Burned Men camp had been shrouded by the Grim Reaper.
The warriors watched their companions groan in pain, their eyes filled with nothing but despair.
Their renowned courage and strength seemed utterly powerless against such underhanded, vicious tactics.
Walker, Son of Nego's heart sank to the bottom.
Now he knew what those shameless beastly Flatlanders were waiting for! They were waiting for disease to wear down his raiding party until it collapsed completely!
Then they would attack!
Walker, Son of Nego knew he couldn't wait any longer. Time would tear his raiding party apart!
"Gather every warrior who can still fight!"
He gathered every warrior who could still stand and had them crowd around the bonfire.
The firelight fell across their exhausted, despairing faces, yet there was no panic in them!
Walker, Son of Nego stood before them, but for a moment, he didn't know what to say.
Any words meant to raise their spirits seemed hollow in the face of the brutal reality before them.
Unexpectedly, it was the wounded Burned Men warriors who could still stand who spoke first.
Though pain showed on their faces, a frenzied resolve burned in their eyes.
A warrior with a swollen, blackened arm who could still grip his axe rasped loudly:
"Walker, Son of Nego!"
"What are you waiting for!"
"Why aren't you saying anything!"
"We can still pick up our weapons!"
Then the warrior looked around at his wounded companions. Their eyes were all equally calm, yet resolute in the face of death.
They looked at one another, then all turned toward Walker, Son of Nego and smiled!
"Wait for the weak, shameless Flatlanders to attack! We'll stay here and hold them off, drawing their attention!"
"We'll kill every last one of those shameless Flatlanders!"
"And you!" another warrior continued, his voice tragic and resolute!
"Take the healthy clansmen and find a chance to escape! Go back to the High Mountains! Go back to our homeland!"
Another warrior looked toward Val, Son of Nango, one of the uninjured warriors in the crowd, and smiled apologetically at him:
"Val, Son of Nango! Go back to the High Mountains! Don't come down again! Fighting isn't for you!"
"You're suited to hunting! Your skill at ambushing prey is among the best in the tribe!"
"Without you, the clansmen would have gone hungry so many times!"
He didn't mention how Val, Son of Nango had hidden behind the others during the battle.
But his gaze made Val, Son of Nango feel so ashamed that he lowered his head and remained silent.
Walker, Son of Nego was silent, too, looking at the seven warriors who were still unharmed.
Then he looked at the wounded warriors. Their eyes were filled with anger and resolve!
"Good!" Walker, Son of Nego's voice was low and powerful!
He said nothing more! His clansmen had already made their decision!
He looked at the seven warriors who were still unharmed.
Their eyes were filled with anger and sorrow, but not despair!
"You seven! Come with me!"
There were no unnecessary words.