Chapter 0
My earliest memory begins when I was about three.
Nothing special about that.
I later learned that most people said their memories began around age three, too.
A warm mother's embrace.
A soft bed.
I had none of those.
A snow-covered mountain where winds howled as they sliced through flesh.
That was my cradle.
I didn't even have a rattle-like toy in my hands.
Of course, even this couldn't be called anything special.
There were others like me—perhaps not many, but more than I could count on both hands.
Except for one thing.
One thing was special.
A heavy, cold double-bladed ax as tall as I was.
Only a handful of three-year-olds would have a double-bladed ax beside them instead of a cradle.
I don't know where it came from.
It had simply been stuck into the ground beside me from the moment I opened my eyes.
Like an umbilical cord.
I knew instinctively.
‘If I let go of this, I die.’
“Grrr...”
A starving snowfield wolf stood before me, drooling as it bared its yellow teeth.
I was only three.
I was nothing more than a bite-sized snack to the beast.
I was probably a delicacy.
My flesh would be tender, and there probably wouldn't even be bacteria in my organs.
By all rights, I should have burst into tears in terror or been torn to shreds.
But my heart began beating strangely—not with fear.
Exhilaration took the place of fear, and an urge to sink my teeth into its nape replaced my desire to flee, ruling my entire body.
‘I’ll kill it.’
My survival instinct swallowed my reason.
With my tiny hands, I gripped the ax handle tightly.
The chill of the metal bit into my palms, yet even that cold felt hot.
Bark!
The wolf lunged at me as though it had been waiting.
Its sharp fangs sank into my shoulder.
The pain of flesh being torn away.
But no scream escaped me.
Instead, the pain became fuel.
My heart began pumping as though it might burst.
My muscles swelled abnormally, and my vision turned red.
Growling like a beast, I brought the ax down on the wolf's head.
Crunch!
With a dull cracking sound, the wolf's skull split in two.
Hot blood gushed out and soaked my face.
The metallic tang of blood stung my nose.
At that moment, the wound in my shoulder where the wolf's teeth had pierced it slowly healed.
As heat like boiling blood coursed through me, I felt my depleted life force surge back.
I couldn't even wipe the blood from my face; with trembling hands, I used the ax as a cane to pull myself upright.
Gazing down at the dead wolf's eyes, I let out ragged breaths.
“Tyu-tya… tyu….”
Instinct whispered.
I was the sort who could only live by fighting.
That was my first memory.
The only thing out of the ordinary.
A birth story with nothing special about it.
That's how all barbarians are born, right?
‘….’
Or am I wrong?