Chapter 12:Seontaekdoen ja
The tribe of the Wildmen had split—not openly, not yet—but in the quiet spaces between glances.
On one side stood loyalty to their king:
Bugardi Helensfield.
On the other whispers of prophecy.
Whispers of Seontaekdoen ja.
The child who walks between.
The shaman summoned Daito before dawn.
Mist clung low to the terraces. The air felt heavy.
"Today," the old man said, "you will understand what you lack."
Daito said nothing.
He rarely did.
The shaman drew symbols in the dirt.
"Aura has tiers. Four recognized among us."
He pressed his palm to his chest.
"First tier: Carer. A flicker. It warms the skin."
A faint glow shimmered around his hand.
"Second: Wind. It shapes intent. It sharpens weapons."
The glow expanded, steady.
"Third: Fissure. It commands space. It crushes lesser wills."
The ground trembled lightly.
He looked at Daito.
"Fourth… Dominion. Only one here stands at that threshold."
They both knew who.
Bugardi.
"And you?" Daito asked quietly.
The shaman studied him for a long moment.
"You have none."
Silence.
"No Carer. No Wind. No Fissure."
Daito's jaw tightened slightly.
The old man's voice lowered.
"You are not tiered."
He drew a circle in the dirt—then pressed a finger into the center and dragged it downward.
"You are depth."
"When you release Aura, it does not expand outward."
"It pulls inward."
Daito closed his eyes.
He felt it.
Not a radiance.
A pressure.
Like gravity folding into itself.
"Is that weakness?" he asked.
The shaman's eyes sharpened.
"No."
"It is unclassified."
That afternoon, Bugardi stood before the tribe.
Bare arms crossed.
Bronze Aura resting on him like invisible armor.
"Prophecy breeds doubt," he announced.
"Doubt breeds fracture."
His gaze found Daito instantly.
"You will hunt with me."
A murmur rippled through the valley.
Not a duel.
Not yet.
A test.
Daito stood slowly.
"I don't take orders."
Bugardi grinned.
"This isn't an order."
"It's an opportunity."
He leaned closer.
"Unless you fear comparison."
A few warriors shifted uneasily.
Daito's eyes remained steady.
"I don't fear the living."
Bugardi laughed—a deep, echoing sound.
"Good."
"Then keep up."
* * *
SWOOSH
They climbed beyond the terraces into the higher ruins where wild boars roamed through collapsed stone corridors.
Bugardi moved first.
Efficient. Confident. Dominant.
VRRSSH!
BAM!
CRUSH!
His Aura flared bronze when he leapt from a broken pillar—landing directly onto a charging beast and driving his blade through its skull in one brutal motion.
The tribe below roared approval.
He dragged the carcass effortlessly.
Blood dripping.
He looked at Daito.
"Well?"
Daito stepped into the brush alone.
No Aura flare.
No roar.
Minutes passed.
Then a sudden violent crash echoed through the ruins.
CRASH!
RUMBLE! BRRMM!
A larger beast—twice the size—burst from cover.
Bugardi watched from a distance.
He saw no glow around Daito.
No visible energy.
Only movement.
SWOOSH!
THRUST!
Daito sidestepped at the last possible second, grabbed the animal's tusk, twisted with terrifying precision, and drove his blade under its jaw and through the brainstem in a single fluid thrust.
No wasted motion.
No roar.
BOOM!
SWOOSH!
The beast collapsed.
Daito dragged it back without expression.
The tribe fell silent.
Bugardi's grin faded slightly.
"You rely on technique," the king said calmly.
"You rely on noise," Daito replied.
A sharp intake of breath passed through the watchers.
VRRSSH!
Bugardi's bronze Aura flickered.
But he smiled.
"I like that."
That night—
While the tribe slept—
Daito sat alone near the valley edge.
Looking up at the distant broken lights of the city far away.
He said nothing.
But inside—
Something was settling.
Not rage.
Not forgiveness.
Not loyalty.
Just clarity.
He did not trust the NBA.
He did not trust kings.
He did not trust prophecy.
He trusted one thing.
Strength.
And strength—
Was becoming quiet.
* * *
At sunrise, Bugardi stood again.
"Strength is not only killing."
He pointed toward the northern cliff face—sheer rock, nearly vertical.
"Climb."
No tools.
No ropes.
Just stone.
Bugardi went first.
SWOOSH!
His massive frame moved with surprising agility.
VRRSSH!
Aura flared occasionally to anchor his grip.
He reached the top quickly and stood there like a statue.
Daito began next.
He did not flare anything.
TAP—TAP
His fingers dug into narrow cracks.
Sweat smeared stone where gripped.
BRAKE!
Halfway up, rocks broke loose.
He didn't look down.
He didn't look up.
SWOOSH!
He simply climbed.
At the top—
He stood beside Bugardi.
Breathing steady.
The king studied him carefully now.
"You do not use Aura."
"I don't know how."
"That's not true," Bugardi said quietly.
"You refuse to."
Daito looked out over the valley.
"If I release it… I don't know what it becomes."
For the first time—
Bugardi did not mock him.
He understood that tone.
It was not fear.
It was caution.
That evening, the whispers grew louder.
"He hunts like the king."
"He climbs without Aura."
"The shaman named him."
Others argued:
"Bugardi has protected us for years."
"Prophecy is dangerous."
"We need dominance, not riddles."
Lines were forming.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
* * *
Two days later, Bugardi approached Daito before the tribe.
"No blades today."
He stepped close.
"Stand."
The circle formed around them.
No fighting.
Only Aura.
Vrrssh...
Bugardi released his bronze presence slowly.
The air thickened.
Bow.
Bow.
Bow.
Warriors dropped to one knee instinctively.
The pressure weighed like an unseen mountain.
FWOOSH!
Dust lifted from the ground.
Daito stood in it.
Eyes calm.
Breathing steady.
VRRSSH!
The bronze pressure pushed—
Pressed—
Demanded submission.
Daito closed his eyes.
And for a fraction of a second—
TRRRTLE!
The air folded inward around him.
Not outward like Bugardi's.
Inward.
SWOOSH!
The bronze Aura distorted.
As if falling toward a center point.
CRACK! CKACK!
The ground beneath Daito cracked faintly.
Several warriors stumbled backward.
Bugardi's eyes widened just slightly.
Then both released at the same time.
Silence.
Heavy.
Electric.
Bugardi stared at him.
"You are dangerous."
Daito opened his eyes.
"So are you."
The king smiled slowly.
"Yes."
---
Later that night, the shaman spoke quietly to Daito.
"You cannot remain neutral."
"I never was."
"The tribe will force a decision."
Daito looked toward Bugardi's hut.
"And him?"
"He will not share power."
Daito's voice lowered.
"I don't want it."
The shaman shook his head gently.
"Prophecy does not ask what you want."
Daito left to go sit alone somewhere.
Under the moonlight—
SKREETCH! SKREETCH!
Bugardi sharpened his blade alone.
Across the valley—
Daito sat still as stone.
Two centers of gravity.
Bronze dominance.
Silent abyss.
They had not fought.
But the clash had already begun.
And the tribe—
Would not survive two suns rising forever.
* * *
The night split open with howls.
Not Freakers.
Not machines.
Wolves.
Wild.
Massive.
Scar-lined beasts from the outer ruins.
They came down the northern ridge in a gray avalanche—eyes burning, ribs visible, hunger louder than fear.
The cattle panicked first.
Bugardi's prized herd—thick-necked, horned beasts kept in a stone enclosure near the terraces.
A warrior stood guard there.
Young.
Focused.
Too focused.
She was the shaman's niece—Aerin.
She had insisted on taking the watch alone.
"I won't fail," she had said earlier that evening.
Now the wolves hit like a storm.
Teeth tore through wood.
Claws ripped hide.
Aerin's Aura flared—second tier, Wind—bright and sharp.
SLASH! SLASH!
She cut down two wolves immediately.
ROOAR!
A third lunged from behind.
CLANG!
She staggered.
RUSH! FWOOSH!
More poured through the breach.
SWOOSH!
The shaman rushed toward the chaos despite his age.
"Protect the herd!" he shouted.
He released his Fissuere-tier Aura just enough to steady frightened villagers.
But a wolf broke through the line and leapt at him.
ROOAR!
SWOOSH!
Aerin turned too late.
The wolf struck the shaman down.
BITE!
CRASH!
Its teeth sank into his shoulder before another warrior drove it off.
The valley became noise—metal, howls, screams.
BOOM! CRASH!
Bugardi arrived like a falling hammer.
VRRSSH!
Bronze Aura exploded outward in a violent wave.
"RWAAARGH!"
"GRROOARG!"
"GRAAAEGHR!"
Wolves were thrown back as if struck by an invisible wall.
He moved with terrifying efficiency.
SLAASH! SLASH! SMASH!
CUT—CUT! SLASH! SWOOSH!
Each swing of his blade ended a life.
Blood painted the stone.
Within minutes—
HOWL!
The wolves retreated.
Dragging carcasses.
Leaving ruin.
10 cattle dead.
5 children, 3 warriors, and 8 farmers injured.
The shaman bleeding heavily.
And Aerin kneeling in shock beside the broken fence.
* * *
Judgment Called
At dawn, the tribe gathered.
Bugardi stood at the center.
Aura subdued—but present.
Heavy.
Controlled.
Aerin knelt before him.
Head lowered.
"I failed," she said clearly.
Her voice did not shake.
Bugardi's eyes were cold.
"You were assigned one duty."
"Yes."
"And you allowed breach."
"Yes."
The tribe was silent.
The shaman, wounded and pale, was supported by two elders nearby.
His eyes were fixed on the ground.
Bugardi turned to the circle.
"What is the penalty for failure that endangers the tribe?"
A chorus answered:
"Judgment."
"And judgment means?"
"Death."
Aerin closed her eyes.
The shaman broke protocol.
He stepped forward despite the blood seeping through his bandages.
"Bugardi."
The king did not look at him.
"Stand down."
"She fought bravely."
"She failed," Bugardi replied flatly.
"She is my blood," the shaman said.
Bugardi finally looked at him.
"And the cattle are mine."
The words struck harder than a blade.
The shaman's voice lowered.
"Mercy is not weakness."
VRRSSH!
SWOOSH!
Bugardi's Aura pulsed faintly.
"Mercy invites repetition."
The shaman's eyes shifted.
Not to the king.
To Daito.
Across the circle.
Silent.
Watching.
"Seontaekdoen ja," the old man whispered.
"Do something."
Daito stepped forward.
The crowd parted instinctively.
Bugardi's expression did not change.
"You interfere in tribal law?" the king asked.
Daito's voice was calm.
"You call this law."
"It is order."
"It is fear."
A ripple moved through the tribe.
Vrrssh..
Bugardi's bronze Aura rose slightly.
"You question my authority."
"I question your enjoyment."
The words landed heavy.
The warriors shifted uneasily.
Bugardi stepped closer.
"You think I take pleasure in this?"
Daito did not blink.
"Yes."
The valley went completely still.
Bugardi's hand moved to his sword—but did not draw.
"You tread dangerous ground."
Daito took another step.
"I challenge you."
Gasps broke the silence.
Not for the execution.
For the throne.
Bugardi's eyes narrowed.
"You have no tier."
"I don't need one."
VRRSSH!
Bronze Aura surged outward.
The ground trembled.
"On what grounds do you challenge me?" the king demanded.
Daito's gaze flicked briefly to Aerin.
Then to the shaman.
Then back to Bugardi.
"On the grounds that strength without restraint rots."
Bugardi smiled slowly.
"And you think you can restrain me?"
"No."
Daito's voice remained even.
"I think I can stop you."
The tribe erupted into murmurs.
Some angry.
Some hopeful.
Some terrified.
Bugardi raised a hand and silence returned instantly.
"You would gamble your life for hers?"
Daito answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
The king studied him.
Searching for doubt.
Finding none.
"Very well," Bugardi said finally.
"But not today."
The words cut sharper than steel.
"You will prepare."
"So will I."
He turned to the tribe.
"The execution is postponed."
FALL!
Aerin collapsed in relief.
The shaman closed his eyes in gratitude.
Bugardi looked back at Daito one last time.
"You have chosen your side."
Daito replied quietly:
"I never stood on yours."
That night—
Two fires burned on opposite ends of the valley.
One in the king's camp.
One where Daito sat alone.
The tribe divided fully now.
Bronze dominance versus unclassified depth.
Aura with tiers—
Versus Aura without boundary.
The challenge had been declared.
And when it came—
It would not be through activity.
It would not be through hunts.
It would be absolute.
to be continued....