Chapter 37: The Dormant Hero

Kazz-Khan, a leader of the Red Rock tribe still in the prime of his youth, adjusted the amulet resting on his chest before striding into the hall built of mud and stone.

Inside, a crowd of former kings, city governors, and khans—all at least twice his age—were busy thrusting their large tongues in the heat of a heated debate.

The Sand-Folk, who seemed to have evolved directly from reptiles (though they were, in fact, mammals) into upright-walking sentient beings, were covered in scales and lacked sweat glands. Consequently, they often had to extend their long tongues to dissipate heat; they never truly broke a sweat. Had the Great Elder not been sitting quietly at the head of the chamber, the scene might have devolved into a chaotic mess.

Indeed, the Sand-Folk, whose civilization had only just evolved into the era of classical city-states, were in a state of volatile, high-spirited bellicosity. Among them were leaders of nomadic tribes and self-proclaimed kings of city-states, none of whom would submit to the others. When words failed, their immediate instinct was to draw their blades.

However, the wizened Great Elder was not only the spiritual and religious leader of the Sand-Folk but also their greatest warrior. Despite his benevolent, elderly appearance, he had more than once crushed a stubborn chieftain or "king" with his bare hands when pushed to anger.

Kazz-Khan, a junior among the leaders, offered a slight bow to the Great Elder before finding a spot in the corner. He had barely settled when a loud, booming voice declared, "Waiting, too long! Must fight, fight, fight!"

The speaker was Modor, Grand Chieftain of the Red Lake tribe. As the leader of the most powerful nomadic tribe among the Sand-Folk, he was getting on in years; though still bold and brave, his mind was beginning to dull, and he was not yet fluent in the "Common Sand-Folk Tongue."

Oh, by the way, this Common Sand-Folk Tongue was a language the spiritual leader, Great Elder Herson, had spent ten years compiling by synthesizing various tribal dialects. He had always believed that a unified language was the key to a unified race, as well as a gateway to integrating with the advanced civilizations of the universe.

One must admit, the Great Elder was quite visionary.

However, it was a tragedy that the simplistic, early pictographic script of the Sand-Folk could not bear the weight of information from the Age of the Great Universe. The so-called "Common Tongue" was already riddled with transliterations and linguistic variations from the Empire, the Alliance, and even Earth.

It was truly sorrowful, but that was not the point.

"The time has not yet come. Our goal remains to force the Earthlings to negotiate with us!" replied Hanrat, King of the Black Mountain City-State. He possessed a city, territory, and a throne; he had long maintained an ambiguous relationship with the Governor's Office. Having accumulated wealth and status, his fighting spirit had naturally waned.

"Even if we are to fight, we must wait until the cannons are set up to shatter the protective dome of Tulong. They will surely surrender then," another city-state governor added.

"Yes, we demand a share of the profits from the sales of spices and minerals! We cannot let them dictate the prices forever! Oh, and they must allow Sand-Folk to live and travel in Tulong—no, I mean, in the Galactic heartland!" a prudent lord suggested, earning nods of approval from those around him.

*But isn't this our home?* Kazz-Khan couldn't help but think. *Why are so many of us gathered here just for this? Is there any difference between begging for food while lying on the ground versus begging while sitting?*

In reality, most of the "kings" and "governors" of the city-states were exactly like this. The Governor's Office and the merchants used them to "hire" cheap labor and acquire spices and minerals at a pittance, and their own lives remained quite comfortable. The city-state lords now lived in domed villas equipped with climate control and greenhouse gardens, sipping fine wine produced by the Empire while watching hit shows from the Alliance, living the happy lives of modern, wealthy shut-ins. Meanwhile, the slaves still toiled for over fifteen hours a day in mines where they couldn't even stand upright or on plantations where the sun could peel their scales, struggling to secure the most basic sustenance for their families.

"Cowards!" a chieftain jumped up and roared.

"Lizards in a sand pile!" another chieftain slammed the table and cursed.

"Leeches in a cave!" an elderly chieftain, acting as if he had suddenly shed twenty years, shrieked with such hysteria that it was the loudest sound since the argument began, startling Kazz-Khan enough to make him tremble.

"We have a million soldiers in our hands; why must we look at others' faces? When will those things be set up?" asked a younger chieftain. His "Common Tongue" was far more fluent.

"Great Elder, let us fight!" he petitioned Herson earnestly, his face filled with such fervor and bravery that he looked ready to carve out his own heart to prove his loyalty, splattering his blood across the room.

*But the time isn't right yet... our forces aren't fully deployed, we have no complete attack plan, and we lack the cover of heavy weaponry! Why not wait until the agreed-upon heavy artillery positions are built and all weapons and troops are in place?* Kazz-Khan felt this man was like a frilled lizard spreading its neck folds to mate, and he wanted to stand up and retort. But at that moment, the Great Elder, who had remained silent, nodded expressionlessly and said in a tepid tone, "You all want to fight?"

"Fight! Fight!" Modor jumped about, nearly breaking into an awkward war dance.

"Then fight," the Great Elder nodded.

"Great Elder, we cannot fight..." the lords jumped up to dissuade him, only to be shut down by the Elder’s retort: "Or do you intend to persuade these hungry, restless warriors yourselves?"

The lords had nothing more to say and left in a huff. The chieftains, having received the answer they wanted, departed in high spirits. Kazz-Khan, the only one not pleased, left the hall with a heavy heart. He could already foresee the outcome for the warriors, and he nearly wept... though, in truth, the Sand-Folk lacked tear glands. Their way of expressing extreme grief was to vibrate their eardrums to produce a poignant, long-drawn tremor that sounded like whale song—actually quite melodic.

Kazz-Khan was disappointed—disappointed in everything: the lords, the chieftains, and even more so in the Great Elder, whom he had viewed as a spiritual leader. He wanted to take his men and leave, but just then, someone discreetly beckoned him over.

"The Master wishes to see you, Chieftain Kazz-Khan."

The messenger was one of the Great Elder’s prize pupils, a psionic user known as "Wind-Fist."

The young Kazz-Khan was led by the young Wind-Fist through a back door into the stone hall, which also served as the Great Elder’s private residence. No sooner had he entered than the pungent smell of medicine made him want to bolt.

In the corner of the hall, a female Sand-Folk with beautiful azure scales was preparing medicine. Seeing Kazz enter, she bared her serrated teeth and tongue, offering what, to the Sand-Folk, was a sweet smile.

Her name was Mixun, another of the Great Elder’s prize pupils who had awakened psionic powers.

Just as Kazz-Khan was about to return a polite smile to this famous beauty, the Great Elder spoke bluntly: "You may take your people and leave, but once you return, remember to pack your belongings, say goodbye to your clansmen, and make arrangements for the future."

Kazz-Khan stood frozen.

"I have already negotiated with our partners to send a group of promising young people to study abroad. Any university or even a military academy will do, but you must pass the entrance exams yourselves, so you will have to start from preparatory school. From now on, you must study the Alliance Common Language in earnest." The Great Elder paused, then produced a bracelet-like information terminal and handed it over. "Inside is an Alliance dictionary and a set of elementary textbooks. Start previewing them whenever you have free time."

Kazz-Khan took the piece of technology, which looked entirely out of place in the primitive surroundings, and listened mechanically to the Elder’s earnest instruction: "Yes, the Empire still has strict restrictions on this, so you will have to study in the Alliance. However, remember to keep a low profile. Many of you hold hatred for humans... I cannot make you distinguish between Earthlings and Gaians, but in the Alliance, every action you take represents the image of the Sand-Folk. You must lead those young people, set an example, and keep them in check!"

The young chieftain finally regained his senses. "But, Elder, I..."

"Whether we win or lose, this place is destined to be a meat grinder. Talented young people should not waste their lives here," the Great Elder said, shaking his head and cutting the young chieftain off.

Kazz-Khan was deeply moved, but he still voiced his confusion: "But why did you agree to the proposal of Great Chieftain Modor and the others? You know how reckless that is..."

"Even if I did not agree, would they not have acted on their own? I am merely a Great Elder, not their king. They are chieftains of nomadic tribes who have little connection to the Human Governor's Office. Are they joining this war to liberate their fellow Sand-Folk and win honor? Or are they joining to rush into that city to burn, kill, and loot? If slaughter and plunder are their goals, how could they possibly wait for the city-state lords to prepare everything? Kazz-Khan, you are a nomadic chieftain yourself; you should understand this, should you not?"

The young chieftain was left speechless.

"Since that is the case, it is better to let them test the Earthlings' situation. At the very least, when the heavy artillery positions are built and the full-scale attack begins, we will be better prepared."

Kazz-Khan had to admit the Great Elder made sense, but precisely because it made sense, he felt even heavier and more sorrowful.

"I am old. If I can force the Earthlings to make concessions through this one great battle, I will be satisfied. Yes, Kazz-Khan, Hanrat is right—we do not truly have the capability to drive the Earthlings away completely... But you are different, Kazz-Khan. You are young, strong, passionate, and sincere, and you possess a calmness and composure rare for your age. You have infinite possibilities; you have a future, and that is why you must take on greater responsibilities!"

"We cannot go extinct here. Young man, that is precisely why I used all my influence to gather so many warriors willing to die. Let this battle be the first cry of the Sand-Folk in this universe! As for what comes after, that will be left to you."

Kazz-Khan looked at the aging Sand-Folk leader, his heart filled with a thousand words, yet he could not utter a single one.

The Great Elder’s frame was no longer upright, his scales were turning gray, his eyes were clouded, and he required constant medication just to maintain his health. Yet, he appeared stronger at this moment than he had ever been in his youth.