Landlord in the Arctic

Chapter 268 - 232: The Tribe, Part 2

Nash sprinted to the stone slab and collapsed to his knees with a thud.

His eyes were fixed on the man lying on the slab.

’Father.’

His father lay there quietly, his face ashen.

The once-vibrant face was now lifeless, his eyes shut tight as if he had sunk into a profound sleep.

Only the faint, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest gave any indication that he still clung to this world by a fragile thread.

Nash’s thoughts churned like a stormy sea.

Scenes from his time with his father flashed through his mind.

He remembered his father taking him hunting in the forest as a child, patiently teaching him how to track prey and draw a bow. Back then, his father’s eyes were filled with love and expectation.

He remembered the two of them sitting by the river, listening to his father recount the tribe’s ancient legends, those mysterious stories seeming to echo in his ears even now.

He remembered arguing with his father during his rebellious youth, the pained and helpless look on his father’s face. Yet even then, his father’s love for him had never diminished in the slightest.

He remembered the helplessness and sorrow on his father’s face when he had to face the police because Nash had killed a poacher with his own hands.

And now...

The chieftain of the Yosemite Bear Tribe.

A great chieftain who had killed an Eskimo with his own hands.

The leader of the Bear Tribe.

Ch’ik sri idin jii Dene, which meant "Red Sun Man of the Steep Valley."

Yet here he was, lying so fragilely on the stone slab, his life hanging in the balance.

Nash felt a sharp pain pierce his heart, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Tears welled in his eyes before spilling over, streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the earth beside the slab.

He reached out a trembling hand, wanting to touch his father’s face.

But he was afraid of disturbing the fragile life force that remained, so his hand hovered there, trembling.

All his pain and helplessness erupted in that single moment.

"Feng." Jie Luo, also clad in animal skins and feathers, walked to Feng Mountain’s side, his expression sorrowful. "Dene’s condition is worsening too quickly. According to his last wish, we will follow the tradition of the Assabas People: wash his body and wait for our ancestors to welcome him to the spirit road."

Feng Mountain’s eyes flicked up, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding Bear Tribe members. "Have them all move back. I need more space."

"You’re going to treat Dene?" Jie Luo’s eyes widened in surprise.

He immediately recalled the scene at Kevik Camp not long ago.

Susan had been ambushed by a brown bear and was on the brink of death. The situation had been critical, but in that desperate moment, Feng Mountain had used a mysterious form of Witchcraft to snatch her back from the hands of Death.

He still had the water bottle Feng Mountain used to treat Susan, which he kept enshrined in his home like a sacred relic.

"I don’t know if it’ll work, but I have to try." Feng Mountain sighed, his expression grim.

In truth, he wasn’t confident at all. Dene’s condition looked terrible, far worse than Susan’s had been.

"I’ll go talk to them," Jie Luo said, moving at once. Time was of the essence; there wasn’t a moment to waste.

Jie Luo strode toward the Bear Tribe members, mulling over how best to persuade them.

The conversation did not go well.

The members of the Bear Tribe were resolute. They wouldn’t budge, flatly refusing to let Feng Mountain treat their great chieftain.

In their view, there were several insurmountable reasons for this.

First, Feng Mountain was not a member of the Bear Tribe. To them, he was an outsider, a stranger.

Furthermore, he wasn’t the tribe’s Witch Doctor. He didn’t hold the important responsibility of protecting the tribe’s health and communing with the spirits, nor did he possess the status, recognized by the tribe, that would grant him the power to heal.

Moreover, the returning ceremony had already begun. This was no casual event; it was a solemn affair concerning the final destination of their chieftain’s soul.

According to their beliefs, the ancestors were already waiting at the Totem Pole to guide the chieftain onto the sacred spirit road.

To interrupt the ceremony at such a critical moment would be a desecration of the Spirit of All Things and an act of great disrespect toward their traditions, their ancestors, and the spirits. Such an act was absolutely forbidden.

Although Jie Luo did his best to persuade them,

attempting to convince the Bear Tribe members from every possible angle,

and explaining that Feng Mountain might be a great Shaman Wizard who could perhaps restore their chieftain’s vitality, urging them not to give up hope so easily...

...it was no use.

The Bear Tribe members’ reverence for tradition was unshakable. They remained stubborn, refusing to give Feng Mountain the chance to save their chieftain.

This left Jie Luo frantic but helpless. He could only return to Feng Mountain’s side and shake his head.

"Sorry, they’re too stubborn."

Just then,

Nash, who had been kneeling silently in grief before the stone slab, slowly rose to his feet as if he had made a decision.

He snatched the Long Spear that lay beside his father—the symbol of the tribal chieftain.

His father had once told Nash with immense pride that it was with this very Long Spear, through fearless courage and masterful skill in a fierce battle, that he had viciously pierced the chest of an Eskimo Hunter.

He had fought a bloody battle, earning the respect of the tribespeople, and, bathed in the blood of victory, became the chieftain of the Bear Tribe.

Now, Nash gripped this deeply significant Long Spear and turned to face his fellow tribespeople.

He raised the Long Spear high, its sharp tip glinting coldly in the sunlight as he aimed it directly at the crowd.

Then, he shouted in the language of his tribe, his loud and impassioned voice echoing across the clearing.

"Zr aii, din jii, ihłak tik sri i chuu a’à a gwin ah’ ii sheen jit gwin zįį, Khilla."

Hearing Nash’s words,

all the members of the Bear Tribe turned to stare at Feng Mountain. Their gazes, filled with scrutiny and curiosity, fell squarely upon him.

"What did Nash say?" Feng Mountain asked Jeff beside him in a low, quick voice, keeping his expression neutral.

Jeff shook his head helplessly. "Sorry, I don’t understand the Gwich’in Language. But I know Khilla. It means Iron Brown Bear, the Tribal Elf."

’No shit.’

’I know Khilla means Iron Brown Bear too.’

’I’ve been called that for months.’

Feng Mountain rolled his eyes but maintained his friendly expression.

From among the Bear Tribe members, three old men strode forward.

As soon as the three elders appeared, they captured Feng Mountain’s attention. They seemed to carry a solemn dignity that had settled upon them over many years.

The feathered headdresses they wore were distinctly different from those of the other tribe members. The feathers were extremely long, each one seemingly hand-picked for its smooth, lustrous quality.

When they walked, the long feathers trailed behind them, swaying gently with each step. From a distance, it looked as if they truly had wings growing from their backs.

Each of them held a wooden staff adorned with tassels, which also appeared to have been meticulously carved and decorated.

Atop each staff was a lifelike eagle’s head, its eyes seeming to gleam with a piercing light.

The three elders walked toward Feng Mountain with steady, deliberate steps, their expressions serious and grave.

"Feng, they are the Bear Tribe’s Elders," Jeff whispered, then quickly took a few steps back to put some distance between himself and Feng Mountain.

When the three Tribal Elders stood before Feng Mountain, their deep, dark eyes glinted with a complex light. One of the elders asked in a strange, stiff accent,

"Outsider, prove that you are Khilla—the great Tribal Elf, the Iron Brown Bear, guardian of the Spirit of All Things."

’Prove it?’

’How was Feng Mountain supposed to prove he was some kind of guardian?’

’But... I do know Witchcraft.’

He slowly raised a hand, palm open, toward the grass at his feet.

Then, he mobilized the Soul Power within his Witchcraft Bone Ring and cast a simple Breathing Technique.

Just as the three elders were looking on in confusion, their eyes suddenly widened in utter shock.

Because at Feng Mountain’s feet, the previously wilting grass and flowers seemed to straighten up in an instant, radiating with new vitality.

Even the air seemed to fill with a fresh scent, as if the very rhythm of life had been reawakened.

A revival of all things.

This was the power of the Spirit of All Things.

...