Torun

“This volcano is getting scarier and scarier. A few days ago, the crack on the eastern side suddenly burst. Hey, watch it! That's my right foot!”

“Get your dirty hoof off me. You just got splashed with some hot soup, nothing to squeal like a calf about.”

Torun watched expressionlessly as the Minotaur barbarians tackled each other after just two sentences. He shifted slightly to the side and readjusted his position, tightening his grip around his huge iron axe. If he didn't need to occasionally lift his feet for respite from the burning heat, he would have looked like a statue standing guard.

“The volcano will swallow up our tribe sooner or later,” Torun said, looking at the erupting magma not far away, “but we'll probably get trampled by the other tribes first.” When they heard that a fight had broken out in front of the chieftain's precious cave, a crowd of Minotaurs ran over to watch and cheer—another one of their traditions.

The Minotaur tribe lives in the most inhospitable part of Kotchiwi, where the Crickert twin volcanoes are located. Life has largely remained unchanged there for tens of thousands of years. Various groups were drawn to the abundant mineral resources and vied for control of them, until eventually, the Minotaurs and the Centaurs settled and divided the area.

However, after an earthquake, the long-dormant volcanoes gradually began stirring again. Food grew scarce, and conflicts between the two groups of bulk feeders escalated.

The new Minotaur chieftain was hot-headed and would resort to violence whenever there was a shortage of food. When the food stores were almost empty, he would summon his barbarian army to search the surrounding area. Torun couldn't say for sure if there was a better way, but he knew that it was definitely not a long-term solution.

During a mountain patrol, Torun spotted Centaurs in the distance trading precious stones endemic to the volcano for goods from other tribes. When Torun returned to the army camp in the middle of the night, he told the other Minotaurs what he had seen.

“How could they trade away the chieftain's precious stones? We're strong enough to protect his treasures, and he'll guide the direction of our fists!”

These irrefutable words were burned into Torun's heart with the heat of the volcano.

He stood up and, gripping the huge battle axe that no other in the tribe could lift, walked towards the chieftain's cave in the light of the moon and volcanic flames.

The only night no one in the Minotaur tribe slept was the night Torun defeated the chieftain.

“That night, when the chieftain yelled that he was willing to be exiled, one of the horns on his head was still in Torun's hand.”

“The chieftain lost to Torun, so Torun should be our new chieftain.”

“He said he didn't want to be the chieftain.”

“Then why did he fight the chieftain and even force him to guard the treasure in the cave? I can't understand it. You know we Minotaurs are better at using our muscles than our heads.”

The tribe members weren't the only ones that were confused—not even Torun was sure what to do next. He only knew their “trading fists” approach would render the once dominant force in Kotchiwi useless and vulnerable.

Torun and his tribe sat on their hands like this for two days. On the third day, the Centaurs, taking advantage of the upheaval, launched an attack. With no chieftain to command them, the Minotaurs, who only had brute strength at their disposal, were no match for the Centaurs.

Seeing defeat was inevitable, Torun finally burst out, “Enough! We surrender!” At this moment, Torun stood with the imposing air of a chieftain.

The Centaur chieftain captured all the leaderless Minotaurs near the volcano, with their heads lowered and only Torun standing tall, facing the Centaur chieftain.

“You have courage and great strength, but no brains, unfortunately.” Torun just stared into the Centaur chieftain's eyes, seemingly not listening. “I heard that few in Kotchiwi can wield your huge axe. Why not melt it down to make several smaller ones?”

Torun's battle axe was then thrown into the iron furnace before him.

However, the Centaurs chose not to occupy the Minotaurs' territory. The environment in their territory was already harsh enough—the Centaurs didn't stand to benefit from occupying a tribe in a similarly inhospitable place. It was better to use the Minotaurs' power to mine more rare ores while the volcano could still be excavated, then trade them with other tribes.

This was the agreement reached between Torun and the Centaur chieftain. Some tribes beyond the volcano had already been infiltrated by the Nightfall, so this was the most suitable arrangement for their own tribes.

Watching his tribe members gradually adjust to life without a chieftain, Torun decided to leave. “Which is more important, strength or wisdom?” Torun hoped someone could give him an answer. He also needed to go farther afield to find a new weapon.

Leaving the Crickert volcanic zone, Torun wandered alone across the vast Kotchiwi continent, his feet finally no longer numb from the heat.

He crossed the Gogori Valley, frightening many human children and hearing tunes hummed by human bards. He then entered the territory of the Wing Clan, where he helped them move giant stones for a few days. At last, he passed by the dragon caves and was dazzled by the treasures hidden in there... but he still had not found the answer to his question about whether strength or intelligence is more important.

Torun arrived at the Geryon's territory, and even with the rough, hard skin, huge horns, and muscular physique that made up Torun's imposing presence, he seemed diminutive among them. Perhaps he could find a suitable weapon here.

Most Geryon were relatively simple and kind, and a group of young Geryon followed Torun around for several days. They wanted to hear stories from the Crickert volcanic zone, but Torun, not being a skilled storyteller, ended up sharing his vexing question with them instead.

“I think being smarter is more important. Humans are physically weak, but they've put up a good fight against the Nightfall!”

“If you're really strong, you can beat your enemies faster! But using your brain takes time!”

Several young Geryon started arguing, and Torun listened quietly, feeling that they were making sense.

Suddenly, Torun felt something strike his head—it was a stone with a rolled-up piece of paper wrapped around it. Torun removed the paper and unrolled it. On it were big, crooked words that read, “You're awful at telling stories, you big, horned cow! Only an idiot wouldn't get such a simple question!” There was a signature in the lower right corner—a small drawing of a lamb's head.

Torun stood up and walked around for a while until he saw a wooden stick supporting a large boulder not far away. Was the stone that hit him launched from there? During his travels, Torun had seen some small-statured tribes using simple tools to borrow strength.

If you lack strength, use your intelligence!

Torun seemed to have found some answers to his question.

“That clever runt shouldn't be able to walk too fast, right? I really want to see him.” Torun had completely forgotten about finding a suitable weapon in the Geryon's territory. He hastily took his leave, hoping to catch up with his answer soon.