Training Trip - I Have Some Reputation

Now, you might think my situation in the tribe has improved significantly over the years. People don't hate me anymore—heck, I even have a few who'll wish me good morning. But don't be fooled: it's not that they've started to like me; they've simply grown used to my presence.

To make it easier to understand, I'm like that big stray dog that one day shows up in the neighborhood. Some people are surprised, others are scared, and some, for whatever reason, are filled with anger, as if the dog were the cause of all their problems. A few might even find it cute. But unanimously, everyone keeps their distance. Of course, nobody knows where it came from, whether it's carrying diseases, or when it might decide to bite someone. Generally, everyone just wants to get rid of it—but no one has the courage to be the first to approach.

During the first few weeks after the dog's appearance, parents hesitate to let their kids play outside. Some people even avoid walking down the street where the dog lingers. But after a while, once they realize it's not going to attack anyone, most start merely tolerating its presence. Even so, some will still think it's best to get rid of it somehow. Fun fact, though: dogs are a lot tougher than they seem, and trying to chase one off rarely ends well.

As I walk through the tribe, most people glance at me briefly before quickly looking away, silently hoping I'll leave soon. Some watch me with fear, shrinking back and praying I haven't noticed them. Others glare at me with open hostility, their eyes filled with the desire to harm me.

My opinion about all this? Honestly, it's pretty amusing to watch. There was this one time I decided to stare back at a man who was glaring at me. It was entertaining to see his anger grow with every passing second as I held his gaze.

For me, walking through the village isn't much different from walking in the forest, and the people aren't that different from the beasts. You've got the rabbits that hide at the first sign of danger, the boars that try to look intimidating to avoid being hunted, and the wolves that growl at anything entering their territory. But if a simple growl were enough to scare me, I wouldn't be here, would I?

So, when this "wolf" saw I wasn't backing down, what did he do? He ran off with his tail between his legs.

You might think doing something like that is completely unnecessary—that I'm just a jerk for deliberately provoking someone. But it's not as if I enjoy it either; it's a matter of necessity.

At first, I tried ignoring all the hostility directed at me, but that was seen as a sign of weakness. The looks became bolder. How? It started with a few children causing trouble while I walked through the tribe. Then, one day during a hunt, a hunter deliberately lured a boar to attack me. Mirina was with me, and she was nearly trampled by the animal.

You see, no matter how powerful a predator is, if it shows enough weakness, even a rabbit will try to take a bite.

After that incident, I realized I needed to act before something even more dangerous happened. So, what did I do? I burned the hunter's house down while he was away. When he attacked me in retaliation, I fought back. Let's just say it didn't end well for him.

You might think what I did was excessive, but deliberately endangering someone during a hunt is a crime punishable by death in this tribe—especially when the target is the next shaman. So, losing his house and suffering a few broken bones seems like a far lighter fate to me.

And let's not forget: I am the next shaman of the tribe. I can't afford to let them look down on me. I have a position to defend, and I've already accepted that I won't achieve the same level of respect that Mama Huiya commands. So, I've decided I'll make them respect me—whether they like it or not.

As the future shaman, I hold the authority to decide the punishment for criminals. Trust me when I say that Mama Huiya would've done far worse than I did if she'd found out about the incident.

That said, I have to bare my teeth whenever necessary—to crush any thought of rebellion before it has the chance to grow.

"Hah, this is why I hate walking through the village—it's just too stressful," I sigh, deciding I've wasted enough time already. Picking up my pace, I focus on reaching my destination.

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