༺ 𓆩 Chapter 1 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃
“Go, Hun! All the way! Don’t give up!”
South of the village, beyond its main gate, stretched a vast open field where a group of not-quite-adult youths had gathered, shouting at the top of their lungs.
Their voices rang loud and clear with encouragement, but their faces were full of mischief, some bordering on open mockery.
At the end of their jeering stares rode a lone youth on horseback, galloping across the field.
He moved with a kind of weary familiarity, ignoring their shouts with practiced indifference as he focused on his ride.
His name was Uhule Hunbish.
Seventeen years old, he was just one year shy of adulthood.
His eyes, however, bore the desperate weight of someone who had already failed the coming-of-age ceremony.
Hunbish set up a straw effigy in the center of the field, then circled around it for a long time on horseback. It was a field he had grown up riding across since the age of three — so familiar that it bordered on tedious.
There was nothing new about it now.
And yet, he could not bring himself to move on to the next step.
“How long are you going to just ride in circles and wear your horse out?! The damn scarecrow’s gonna get up and run away!”
“Don’t you know missing your mark is a grave sin?!”
They didn’t understand.
They had no clue what was going through his mind. They just laughed among themselves, snickering cruelly from the sidelines.
Hunbish gritted his teeth, forcing down the rising anger, and spurred his horse forward.
First, he calmed his breath and steadied his focus.
He drew the curved saber, its blade sleek, wickedly sharp, the weapon of a practiced horseman, from the scabbard at his hip.
From atop the galloping horse, he fixed his gaze on the straw effigy.
Balancing on the shifting saddle, he raised the saber to chest height, hand trembling as it gripped the hilt.
He nudged the horse’s sides with the heels of his boots, urging it faster.
The thunder of hooves beneath him, the raw strength of the animal — he felt it surge through him like a wave, heightening every sense.
Man and steed became one.
Hunbish bore down on the effigy.
“Haaah!”
As he shot past, the curved edge of the saber sliced through one arm of the straw figure with perfect precision, cutting it clean off.
‘That’s it.’
He sheathed the saber and drew a short spear next.
Pulling the reins, he turned his horse and galloped at the effigy again.
Drawing his arm back as far as it would go, he hurled the spear toward the target.
It soared cleanly through the air—
—but missed.
With a limp-sounding thunk, the spear struck the straw figure off-center and bounced off uselessly.
His lower body hadn’t been properly braced, and the faulty posture had thrown off his aim.
“So close!”
“He could’ve hit it!”
The young men who had gathered to mock him now found themselves drawn in, silently watching Hunbish’s martial display.
After all, they too were warriors of Olus — spirited youths who had spent their lives riding horses and mastering blades and bows.
Hunbish frowned as he prepared for the next stage.
He drew the short bow from his back and nocked an arrow onto the string.
But his fingers trembled. The arrow wavered.
He was nervous.
Archery was an entirely different beast compared to wielding a saber or spear.
To draw a bow, both hands were needed. Which meant letting go of the reins.
And for someone like him, whose leg was crippled, staying balanced atop a galloping horse with just his legs was a daunting feat.
‘I can do this.’
He repeated it to himself, again and again.
For the past three years, this had been his constant challenge.
Even if his body couldn’t keep up with others, he would overcome it with resolve. If he didn’t give up, it was possible. Just a bit more effort than the rest — that’s all it would take.
He had to believe that. If not, there would be nothing left to cling to.
As he tried to draw the bowstring, his upper body wobbled and his balance faltered.
He threw himself flat against the horse to avoid falling.
The horse shuddered in surprise but kept galloping — almost as if it understood its rider, as if it had seen this before.
He remained slumped across the saddle, drenched in cold sweat, but relieved.
If the horse had panicked, he could’ve been thrown off and injured.
Then today’s training would have been wasted, and he’d have to start again tomorrow.
“You got this, Hun! Don’t give up!”
This time, a genuine cheer reached him from the depths of his heart, truly wishing for Hunbish's success.
It was his friend Jab, shouting from the edge of the field.
The sound of Jab’s voice grounded him.
His eyes burned again, not with despair, but with fire.
He caught his breath and straightened up.
Holding the bow in one hand, he pulled the reins with the other and turned his mount around.
It was time to challenge that straw effigy again.
‘I am a proud warrior of Olus too!’
Hunbish steeled his resolve.
He centered his weight with his lower body, straightened his upper body, and braced his entire frame firmly.
He nocked another arrow, drew the string tight, holding it with just the right tension.
His gaze locked onto the effigy.
And then — he loosed the arrow.
Whoosh—!!! Thunk—!!!
The arrow flew straight and struck the effigy square in the chest.
“My god, that cripple just shot a bow from a galloping horse!”
The young men around the field cried out, astonished.
Barely half a year ago, Hunbish had struggled even to stay on a horse. Now he had pulled off a flawless display of mounted archery.
For just this one moment, no one dared mock him.
“Tch.”
Yet not everyone was pleased to see him at the center of attention.
Tamir, the Lord’s son, was one of them.
To him, Hunbish should have remained quiet, unseen — someone who would eventually vanish without anyone noticing.
He had always been a thorn in Tamir’s side.
Tamir had enjoyed nothing but success, born with a natural physique and groomed by a fine education. He had risen quickly and confidently.
But it was Hunbish who had delivered him his first taste of humiliation.
At some point, Hunbish had begun to surpass him — in stamina, in skill — and had shaken the very foundation of Tamir’s place as the Lord’s heir.
Truthfully, there was no real risk of Tamir losing his inheritance.
Still, his father, the lord of Olus, had always wanted his son to stand unrivaled among his peers. And yet, not once —not even on the day of the coming-of-age ceremony — had Tamir ever outperformed Hunbish.
That fact gnawed at him.
Even now.
‘The son of a disgraced man…’
Hunbish's father had suffered a great defeat in war yet survived to continue a disgraced existence.
Which made Hunbish the son of a criminal.
And yet here he was, clawing his way upward without a hint of shame.
If left alone, Hunbish would eventually rise above him, until he looked down from atop Tamir’s head.
But why? What could he possibly hope to gain?
Tamir couldn’t understand it.
If only Hunbish had stayed down that day, had never stood up again, then perhaps Tamir could have offered him pity.
“Wait — something’s wrong! Look at that!”
Just as everyone’s eyes were fixed on the arrow lodged in the straw effigy, someone shouted.
They were pointing not at the target, but at Hunbish and his horse as they galloped across the field.
The horse was still running straight and true.
The problem was that its rider was gone.
Looking closely, one could see Hunbish hanging off the side of the horse, clinging to its neck, half out of the saddle.
“What are you doing, Hun?! Get a grip!”
“Leave him. He’ll figure it out.”
The young men burst into clamor.
Some yelled that someone should help before he fell. Others insisted he’d be fine. Still others couldn’t care less if he hit the ground.
“That’s a cliff up ahead!”
Someone screamed, eyes wide, and spurred their horse forward.
Meanwhile, Hunbish’s entire body had frozen up.
Everything had gone perfectly until he loosed the arrow.
But before the satisfaction could even settle in, his right leg, his bad leg, had given out beneath him. He’d only just managed to catch hold of the horse’s mane as his body slipped sideways.
Now, he was holding on. But only just.
And once balance was lost atop a galloping horse, regaining it was nearly impossible.
Watching the ground streak past at high speed before his eyes, he felt goosebumps rise all over his body.
The rhythm of hooves pounding the earth; the thunder of his own heart beating out of control.
The sound of wind brushed past his ears.
The harsh, rhythmic breathing of the horse echoed close by.
Amid the panicked cries and frantic shouting, he felt like he might lose himself entirely.
He bit down on his lower lip, forcing his mind to stay present.
When he raised his head and looked around, he saw it, just ahead, the edge of a cliff, closer than he’d feared. If he kept going like this, he’d go over. There was no guarantee he'd be lucky enough to survive again.
And even if he did, he couldn’t afford to lie still like a corpse ever again.
He had to rise.
Somehow, he had to get up.
He needed to pull the reins, turn the horse, make it stop.
If he didn’t, he would die. It was as simple as that.
Part of him whispered — maybe it’s easier to just fall.
No. At this speed, if he fell wrong, his neck could snap before he even hit the ground.
Hunbish gritted his teeth and fought to pull himself back up into the saddle.
But his right leg wouldn’t hook properly over the saddle, and time and again, he slipped.
The cliff loomed near.
“Please!”
His voice was desperate.
But the horse didn’t stop, and the closer death loomed, the harder it became to stabilize himself.
Then, just as he was about to give up, something changed.
The horse began to veer right.
Hunbish, still dangling from the left side, couldn’t understand it at first.
How could a horse turn to the right when its rider’s weight was pulling left?
But he didn’t have time to wonder.
As the horse pivoted, dirt and dust kicked up and scattered into the abyss. One glance at the sheer drop beyond short-circuited his thoughts.
The speed began to slow. And then, finally, the horse stopped.
He felt like he’d died and been reborn.
At the same time, the tension holding his body stiff suddenly gave out, and he dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Thud—!!!
He managed to twist in midair and break the fall — his body moving instinctively.
The startled horse neighed and stomped the ground in agitation.
Its hooves tore into the field, sending clumps of grass and dirt flying in every direction, pelting Hunbish as he lay sprawled out.
Sand grated in his mouth.
The sharp smell of grass mixed with dust stung his throat, and he hacked and coughed uncontrollably.
“You okay?”
A hand reached out to him — solid, firm, dependable.
He grabbed it without thinking and was pulled up in one swift motion.
A tall, broad-shouldered youth loomed above him, smiling down.
It was Jab.
His closest friend. The one who had always, always stood at his side.
Only then did Hunbish’s frozen expression soften.
"Do I look alright?"
He only responded with a grin, playfully defiant.
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