The Tribal Wars

"Are you all sergeants like Sergeant Chomo?" Heisen asked, eyeing the four supervisors.

One of them, a thin, small man, stepped forward. "Yes," he replied.

"What’s your name?"

"Dickett," the man answered, his tone laced with a hint of defiance.

"What is the purpose of this training?" Heisen inquired.

"It’s for combat, of course," Dickett replied, sounding slightly irritated.

"Is that so? Then we’ll change it. Everyone will run until sunset," Heisen declared firmly.

"...Understood. Hey, you lot, get moving," Dickett ordered the soldiers.

"Don’t misunderstand. That includes you sergeants as well," Heisen added.

"...What?" Dickett looked stunned.

"If this is the level of training you’re capable of, then running to build endurance is better. And if it’s just running, one supervisor is enough."

The sergeants glared at Heisen with hostility, but he remained unfazed.

"Understood?" Heisen demanded.

"Yes," Dickett responded reluctantly.

"And the rest of you?" Heisen looked around. The other sergeants, though clearly resentful, nodded in agreement.

"Thirty laps between those two trees over there, within my line of sight. Finish in under an hour. Anyone who fails will run another thirty laps. Any cheating will be punished like Sergeant Chomo."

"..." The sergeants and soldiers glared at him, but Heisen was indifferent. He gave the start signal, and they began running.

As the sun set, the training ended. Most of the lower-ranking soldiers managed to finish within an hour, likely accustomed to physical exertion. However, the sergeants and a few slackers had to run extra laps.

"Running is fundamental to infantry combat. We’ll do this every day until everyone’s endurance is up. Dismissed," Heisen announced, then walked away briskly.

As he left, Kakuzu, who had been observing, spoke up, "Everyone's glaring at us, especially Chomo."

"There’s no regulation against glaring," Heisen replied coolly.

"That’s not what I meant," Kakuzu sighed, knowing Heisen’s character well enough to drop the matter.

Back in his room, Heisen placed the issued toiletries—a toothbrush, a cup, and a hairbrush for bedhead. Apart from his magic wand, he had brought nothing, so the room was sparse. As he lay on the stiff single bed, reviewing the personnel roster, there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Heisen asked Kakuzu, who was in the hallway.

"It’s Sergeant Chomo."

"Let him in," Heisen instructed.

The door opened, and the pudgy middle-aged man entered with a sly smile.

"We’ve prepared a welcome party for you. I’d like to invite you," Chomo said.

"A welcome party? It didn’t seem like you were welcoming me," Heisen remarked, still looking at the roster.

"No, we don’t mean to be hostile. I think there was a misunderstanding. Let’s clear it up with some good food and drink."

Heisen almost dismissed it as a waste of time but held back. Chomo’s eyes were filled with obvious malice. Heisen sighed and stood up.

"Fine. Is it in the dining hall?"

"No, we have a room where the sergeants gather."

"Alright. I’ll go there."

"I’ll accompany you," Chomo offered.

"Heisen, should I come too?" Kakuzu asked, noticing Chomo's face darken.

"There is no need for a guard. We’re all 8th Platoon comrades here. You wouldn’t distrust us, would you?" Chomo taunted.

Heisen sighed. It was clear Chomo had risen to his rank by oppressing those below him.

"I’ll go alone," Heisen decided.

"Please leave that dangerous wand behind," Chomo said as Heisen reached for his magic wand.

"It’s for protection. One never knows what might happen," Heisen insisted.

"No need to worry. We’ll protect you if there’s an attack. Or are you scared?" Chomo mocked.

"Fine," Heisen said, pretending to take the bait, and he left the room without his wand.

In the room Chomo led him to, five sergeants were already seated, all wearing insincere smiles. The table was laden with six bottles of wine and lavish dishes of meat and fish. Chomo proudly picked up a wine bottle.

"Impressive, isn’t it? We had the chef prepare it," Chomo boasted.

"Indeed," Heisen replied, suspecting the chef was coerced. He resigned and took a seat, deciding not to dismiss the event outright.

"Come on, let’s drink," Chomo said, pouring wine into Heisen’s cup.

"..." Heisen remained silent.

"What’s wrong? There’s no poison. You’re not scared, are you?" Chomo challenged.

Maintaining eye contact with Chomo, Heisen picked up another wine bottle and opened it, causing the others to look startled.

"It’s not fair for me to drink alone. Let’s have a toast. You all drink, too," Heisen insisted.

"What? No, we’ll drink after you," Chomo stammered.

"Don’t be shy. It’s common courtesy to toast together," Heisen said, pouring wine into Chomo’s cup and then the others'.

"Well then, let’s toast to our future. Cheers," Heisen said, downing his cup in one go.

"Great wine. Delicious... What’s wrong? You can’t drink the wine poured by your superior?" Heisen taunted.

"..." The sergeants hesitated.

"Relax. There’s no poison. It’s your wine, after all," Heisen reassured them, his piercing gaze making Chomo turn pale.

The sergeants, their hands trembling, lifted their cups.

"At one point, I was deeply engrossed in poison studies. I can tell at a glance which wine is poisoned," Heisen said, causing Chomo to flinch.

"Just kidding," Heisen added with a broad smile.

The sergeants wore expressions more fitting for a death sentence than a welcome party. However, Heisen showed no concern for their demeanor, smiling broadly.

"Hey, drink up. The wine loses its flavor when exposed to air."

"Uh, I’m feeling a bit..."

"Do you have a reason you can’t drink?"

"Ugh, ugh!"

Sergeant Chomo suddenly stood up and swung a punch. Heisen instantly dodged the fist and decapitated him. Blood gushed from the headless neck, and the head rolled like a ball, bumping against Baz’s arm, which turned pale.

"A magician’s staff isn’t just one. Well, usually it is, so the misunderstanding is understandable. Don’t worry about Sergeant Chomo; he’s dead. But you should remember this."

Heisen, wiping his blood-stained black hair with a napkin, beamed. In his hand was a short, thin wand. With a flick, he had instantly decapitated Sergeant Chomo.

It was the Wind Willow, a wand Heisen always carried. It could send out a sharp wind blade with a flick. Its small size and ease of carrying made it highly useful, despite its low power.

Approaching the sergeants, who had lost all will to fight, Heisen continued to offer the wine.

"Drink."

"Eek..."

"Can’t you drink it either?"

When he tilted his head and asked, Sergeant Samua prostrated himself.

"I’m sorry; please forgive us! Chomo was the one who put poison in it! He coerced us into it!"

"Poison? This wine has poison. Surely not."

Heisen feigned surprise.

"Don’t misunderstand, but I only punished Sergeant Chomo according to military regulations because he tried to strike his superior officer. Treason is a capital offense. If you admit there’s poison in this wine, I’ll have to execute you all according to military law."

"Hic, hic, hic."

Sergeant Zerega drooled and moaned.

"I’ll ask again. Is there poison in this wine?"

The blood-covered youth asked calmly.

"There’s... none."

"I see. Good."

Heisen flashed an innocent smile. Sergeant Baz, relieved to have narrowly escaped death, breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then you can drink it, right?"

"Huh?"

"It’s wine without poison, given by your superior. Of course, you can drink it, right?"

"Hic... hic... hic..."

Sergeant Dickett’s body leaked every possible bodily fluid.

"I have a family! Please spare me."

"Sorry, but we toast before a pleasant conversation. It’s common sense."

"Hic, hic."

"Choose. Drink the wine I poured or defy me and be killed."

"Please spare me. Please."

"You have a family, right? If you drink this wine and die by accident, you’ll be considered a hero and compensated according to imperial regulations. I will also compensate my deceased subordinates generously."

"..."

"But if you say you can’t drink this wine, it means you tried to poison me. That’s treason. No compensation for your family, and you’ll meet the same fate as Chomo here."

Heisen picked up Chomo’s severed head and smiled.

"Will you really treat it as a heroic death?"

"Of course, Samua."

"..."

"Shall we toast then? Down it in one go, for good cheer."

"Ugh..."

The four men trembled as they picked up their cups.

"Cheers!"

Baz, Samua, and Zerega downed their cups, while Diket trembled and didn’t move his cup.

"Please! Spare me! I don’t want to die; I don’t want to die; I don’t want to die."

Before he could beg a third time, Diket’s head was swiftly severed and rolled to the ground.

"You’re unfit as a soldier. Killing without the resolve to die yourself."

Heisen spat, then turned to the three sobbing, suffering men. He poured the same wine into his cup and took a sip.

"Rest assured. It’s just wine."

"G-gah...?"

The three sergeants stared at him in shock.

"It’s a simple trick. Didn’t you notice? While you were focused on my cup, I swapped the poisoned wine with the regular one. You need to hone your observation skills more."

Heisen held up the bottle of poisoned wine and laughed.

"…"

"Any response?"

"Yes, sir!"

Their voices harmonized perfectly.

"Tell everyone below your rank. I abide by military regulations. Anyone who defies them will face no mercy. Tomorrow, make sure everyone knows by presenting these two heads. It’s your responsibility."

"Yes, sir!"

The three jumped to their feet, standing at attention and saluting.

"Very good. I’ll step out to clean up. Enjoy the delicious food and wine while I’m gone."

With that, Heisen left the room.