Chapter Forty-Five: The Duel at Dinner

With language no longer a barrier, Vol once again introduced his party to Sun Licheng.

Their caravan comprised sixty-three clan members, including thirteen women, all except his own daughter, Christina, destined for marriage exchange with Sun Licheng’s tribe.

“Marriage exchange?”

The term was utterly foreign to Sun Licheng, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“Yes, marriage exchange. We hope to form an alliance with your tribe. Besides the thirteen women, there are thirteen strapping young men in our group, also here for marriage exchange.” Vol’s expression was solemn.

In their society, forging alliances was a grave matter, and interweaving bloodlines created the strongest of bonds. Once united by kinship, the alliance would be unbreakable.

“Well… Let’s discuss the marriage exchange later. Please, continue your introductions,” Sun Licheng replied, scratching his head awkwardly. He couldn’t very well admit that his “tribe” consisted solely of himself—and even he, by strict standards, was hardly normal.

Vol gestured toward the elderly goblin who had beaten the drum earlier. “This is Elder Isidor, the wisest among us. His culinary skills and stonework are renowned far and wide.”

Respect for elders was a hallowed tradition in Sun Licheng’s homeland, so he hurried to greet Isidor. Yet to his surprise, though Isidor’s gestures were polite, his eyes betrayed a hint of scorn.

“Have I offended him somehow?” Sun Licheng wondered, baffled.

“Hmph, a savage who doesn’t even know basic manners!” Isidor thought to himself, looking down on Sun Licheng.

He already harbored prejudice against Sun Licheng’s tribe. Though the Wolf King had given him a fright, seeing Sun Licheng’s ignorance of even basic etiquette restored his arrogance. The Silvermoon Tribe, named for the grandest moon in the sky, was steeped in history. As an elder, Isidor had seen much; he could tell at a glance how few people Sun Licheng’s tribe really had. In this primitive world, numbers were everything—a tribe so small was beneath his notice.

Moreover, he’d observed that Sun Licheng neither spoke the common tongue of the goblins nor recognized sacred songs—clearly a provincial bumpkin. To Isidor, Sun Licheng was now just a barbarian.

“Sigh. And Vol thinks he can find help among such as these… a vain hope,” Isidor thought.

“This is my daughter, Christina. She is thirteen this year, and serves as our tribe’s maiden of the moon,” Vol said with pride.

“Maiden of the moon? What does that mean?” Sun Licheng asked, puzzled.

According to Vol, this world was illuminated by two moons: a large one glowing silver—the Silver Moon—and a smaller, reddish one—the Red Moon. Each was governed by its own goddess, and the Silvermoon Tribe worshipped the goddess of the silver moon. The maiden of the moon played a role akin to a priestess on Earth, spreading the goddess’s teachings, with sacred songs at the heart of her duties. Christina’s sacred singing was renowned throughout the region.

Blessed by their deity, the girls of the Silvermoon Tribe were all notably beautiful, and Christina was famed as a local beauty.

“Oh, so that’s it. I thought you were hiding a green hat from me,” Sun Licheng said, finally understanding.

Vol then introduced the other members of his party, one by one.

The young men’s thoughts were much less complex than Isidor’s; they simply admired strength. To them, Sun Licheng—riding a giant grey wolf—was a figure to be respected. Vol’s earlier praise only increased their awe, and soon, everyone was getting along famously.

The women who had come for marriage exchange, however, viewed Sun Licheng quite differently. Across time and worlds, ninety percent of opportunity depends on appearance. While Sun Licheng was not as striking as the ancient goblins, his neat attire and the bearing of a modern Earthling set him far above the rough, unattractive goblins of the Silvermoon Tribe.

Soon, the women pulled the young men aside and gathered around Sun Licheng, chattering excitedly.

Women of old were unabashed; their desire for a worthy mate was written plainly on their faces and shown in their actions. They pressed their bodies against Sun Licheng with playful boldness, and he found himself quickly overwhelmed.

“For all their small size, these goblin women are certainly well-endowed,” he thought as he escaped their clutches.

A scowling Isidor called the women off, rescuing Sun Licheng, though his opinion of him dropped yet another notch.

After the lively introductions, mindful of secrecy, Sun Licheng led Vol’s party to the camp he had used when they last passed through.

Night had fallen by then, and Vol proposed they dine. Sun Licheng gladly agreed.

The goblins unpacked their bags, lit a bonfire, produced pottery and food, and began to cook.

Keenly interested in their way of life, Sun Licheng wandered among them, observing everything closely. With their permission, he picked things up and examined them, the picture of a country bumpkin visiting a grand estate.

“Hmph, paupers! We come all this way and they don’t even offer hospitality. So rude. And from the looks of things, they’re quite poor. We never should have come,” Isidor grumbled silently.

After a while, Sun Licheng realized that Vol’s group had brought only meager provisions. He understood why—here in primitive society, simply having enough to eat was a blessing. Who could expect to be full?

“Heh, how naive I am to think otherwise,” Sun Licheng reflected, a touch embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t much food with us. Please don’t take offense,” Vol apologized, mistaking Sun Licheng’s expression for dissatisfaction.

The Silvermoon Tribe was in dire straits; what little they’d brought was the best they had. This was precisely why the old chieftain had permitted his son to seek an alliance. They desperately needed help.

Vol’s honesty left Sun Licheng feeling awkward. After a brief word, he mounted the Wolf King and rode back to his own forward camp, where he had supplies stored.

Seeing him leave, Vol was puzzled, while Isidor assumed Sun Licheng was ashamed at having no food and had slunk away.

“I must urge Vol to take the clan home as soon as possible. This tribe is not to be trusted,” Isidor decided.

When Vol failed to notice anything amiss, Isidor was about to speak with him. At that moment, a commotion arose among the outer members of the group.

“How undisciplined!” Isidor muttered inwardly.

Turning to see what was happening, he spotted Sun Licheng riding his giant grey wolf, hauling a strange four-wheeled sled behind him, atop which lay a huge black fish.

Sun Licheng had returned to the forward camp, instructing his clever companion to keep an eye on the goblins while he gathered food, intending to host a feast for Vol’s party.

Fortunately, he still had most of a giant black fish left. He loaded it onto the four-wheeled cart, along with pottery and seasonings, and had the Wolf King pull it back.

The goblins had never seen a four-wheeled cart, but they recognized the black fish—a river monster that had claimed many goblin lives. Seeing Sun Licheng haul one in, they crowded around, pointing and exclaiming.

Sun Licheng asked Vol to find some women to help process the fish, then lit the bonfire and set water to boil in a clay pot. Returning, he found the women struggling to cut through the fish’s tough skin with their stone knives. He remembered just then—giant black fish had such resilient hides that they could be made into armor.

He asked the women to step aside and, drawing his saber, began to chop. In no time, the enormous fish was reduced to manageable pieces.

The sight of Sun Licheng at work, muscles taut and veins standing out on his arms, set the goblin women’s eyes sparkling. Such a male would make an ideal mate—if not for the elders’ presence, they might have devoured Sun Licheng on the spot.

Unaware of the effect he was having, Sun Licheng called everyone to roast most of the fish over the fire, since with so little pottery, he couldn’t stew it all. He reserved the most delicate part—the fish’s brain—boiling it in water with his own seasonings, intending to make a fish brain soup that he was sure Vol and his people would enjoy.

While the women watched Sun Licheng, Vol and Isidor were fixated on his weapon. It slid through the fish as if it were nothing. Their eyes, too, sparkled—not with admiration for Sun Licheng, but for his saber.

“Well, Uncle Isidor, our host’s tribe is quite formidable, don’t you think?” Vol said, pride in his voice as he patted Isidor’s shoulder.

“It’s… adequate. But they are far too few,” Isidor retorted, unable to concede fully.

But soon, he saw a chance to regain his dignity—Sun Licheng was cooking.

“Hmph, when it comes to cooking, no one can best Isidor. I’ll show them all!” Seeing the women crowding around Sun Licheng, Isidor’s irritation spiked. He resolved to strike back.

He took over one of the bonfires, shooed away the goblin tending it, and set to work. Grilling was his specialty, and he had a secret weapon—a certain ground fruit powder. No one who tasted his grilled meat failed to lavish praise on him.

“Hmph, just wait till you try mine—you’ll see,” Isidor thought, turning the meat over the flames. When it was nearly done, he sprinkled on his secret blend, releasing a mouthwatering aroma.

Still unsatisfied, he pulled out his most precious possession—coarse salt, acquired with great effort—and added it to the meat.

“Sigh, I’m going all out this time,” he thought, heart aching as the salt melted into the meat.

Suddenly, Isidor realized the fireside was deserted. Looking up, he saw all the goblins crowded around another bonfire, where Sun Licheng was busily stirring a clay pot over the flames. From that direction wafted an irresistible fragrance.