Capítulo 18: Training Trip - She Doesn't Hunt Beasts
Walking through the inner section of the tribe, I still find myself amazed at how well-organized everything is here. I never imagined a tribe in the middle of a forest could achieve this level of structure. It makes me wonder how long this place has been around—something I'll need to ask Mama Huiya the next time we meet.
But seriously, the houses here are impressively well-built. Even in the outer areas, where things aren't as meticulously planned, it's still more organized than many villages and even some towns I've visited.
There are even open spaces I like to call "semi-plazas," where children gather to play, and vendors set up their stalls. Not to mention the well-crafted stone stairways that make traversing the uneven terrain of the village much easier. Nice stuff.
That said, I won't be enjoying those spots today. After taking a left, a right, another right, and yet another right, followed by a left, climbing one flight of stairs and descending three, and finally turning left again, I arrive at a dark and suspicious alley—or rather, the house within the suspicious alley.
This is an extremely small wooden house, looking more like a tool shed than a place where anyone would live. I let out a sigh before stepping closer and opening the weathered, creaky door.
Whoosh.
The moment the door opens, I feel a sharp breeze graze my cheek. Turning my eyes toward the wall beside me, I spot a bone throwing knife lodged into it, mere inches from my face.
"You do realize the walls of your house are paper-thin, right? I'm not patching another hole," I remark, choosing to ignore the fact that I narrowly avoided getting a knife to the head.
"Breaking into someone's home without permission is a serious crime," a raspy female voice, tinged with a groggy edge, answers from the darkness inside the house.
It doesn't take more than a second for the overwhelming stench of smoke and alcohol to hit my nose, forcing me to cover it with my hand.
"Cough, cough. I'm honestly shocked you have the audacity to call this place a home," I manage to spit out between coughs.
"Heh, what? Can't handle a bit of smoke?" the voice responds with a chuckle, now sounding more awake.
'A bit? Even a bonfire couldn't produce this much smoke,' I think, but I choose not to say it aloud, hoping to avoid an unnecessary argument.
I finally step into the dark room, and my eyes quickly adjust to the darkness, allowing me to take in my surroundings. At a glance, it's hard to find a single spot not occupied by a weapon hanging on the walls. Even the floor is cluttered with layers upon layers of discarded items. In one corner of the house, there's a table with abnormally short legs, neatly arranged with tools—surprisingly the only organized area in the room. Oddly, there's no chair to be seen. Beside it are large, sealed barrels, which I don't need to open to know they're filled with wine.
But the most striking feature of this chaotic space is the figure lying on the floor, her back turned toward the door. Even from this distance, her immense stature is evident. It doesn't take long for her to rise, revealing her full form.
She is an exceptionally tall woman—taller even than Miss Mahu and rivaling most of the men in the tribe. Her sheer physical presence is formidable, with a body built like a fortress of muscle, almost as sculpted as the stone warriors of old. I still wonder how she manages to maintain such a figure while spending her days smoking and drinking. Her body is nearly covered in scars.
Her dark brown hair is cut short and haphazardly styled, giving her a wild appearance. Her left eye glows a bright yellow, like that of a wolf, while her right eye is hidden beneath a leather eyepatch.
She wears an old, faded cloth tied around her hips in a makeshift skirt that stops just above her knees, along with fingerless gloves that cover her entire forearms. And that's it. That's all she's wearing. Yes, that's it.
"So, lass, what brings you to my humble nest?" she asks, turning in my direction, entirely unbothered and unapologetically exposing her "jewels" for the world to see.
"You didn't make a request, did you?" she adds, her tone casual as if this were the most normal interaction in the world.
"Would you mind covering yourself, you indecent creature?" I snap, averting my gaze to the side, feeling my eyebrow twitching in irritation.
She simply shrugs, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "What? It's not like you're seeing anything you haven't seen before. Besides, if you're going to keep barging in uninvited, you'll just have to deal with it."
"...," I respond with silence and the sharpest glare I can muster.
"Hahaha! I'm just joking, sheesh. You don't have to be so serious all the time," she chuckles, finally relenting as she grabs a piece of fabric from the cluttered floor and wraps it around herself. "Happy now?"
"I'm just checking on you," I finally say, stepping further into the cramped space.
"Why's that?" she asks, adjusting her makeshift outfit.
"I'll be away for a while. Thought I should let you know," I reply, glancing around.
"And where are you off to?" she asks, settling down on the floor by the low table cluttered with tools.
"Hah, if only I knew," I sigh, frustration slipping into my tone.
"An arrangement by the old shaman, huh? Haha, you must be thrilled about it," she says with audacious sarcasm, daring to laugh as if my predicament were some grand joke.
At this point, you're probably wondering about this... eccentric individual. Let's stick with that description. This is Haní, the tribe's executora—or rather, its only executora. And what is an executora? Well, our tribe is quite large, you see, and with size inevitably comes the occasional bad apple. As the next shaman, I have the authority to judge criminals, but public justice isn't my main responsibility, nor could I handle it alone. That's where the executoras come—or, well, came—in.
But why is there only one left?
This is something I only recently learned and still don't fully understand, but apparently, our tribe went through a civil war many years ago. Wild, right? From what I've gathered, the executoras played a significant role in that conflict. Afterward, their influence waned, and now Haní is the only one left standing.
In this tribe, familial bonds are strong, and conflicts rarely escalate to violence, let alone murder. Taking a life, for any reason, is an enormous taboo here. So, having a profession where your very purpose is to kill... well, you can imagine how that isolates a person.
But that's precisely why I sought her out. Haní is incredibly skilled in combat—or so I've heard—and is said to be the third strongest person in the tribe. Plus, she has an abundance of free time to teach me. Don't get me wrong, Mama Huiya taught me a lot, but her lessons were more about self-defense at best. What I need now is something... more aggressive.
On top of that, Haní is a master weaponsmith. Some of the best weapons I've seen in the tribe come from her hands. I didn't even know bones could be sharpened to such a deadly edge. While bows and spears are the most common weapons in the tribe, they aren't the only ones. There are also axes, swords, and clubs, and she's proficient in crafting them all. She's a master of close-range combat.
When I first met her, she already lived in this alleyway, though there wasn't even a house here at the time. That's where I came in—I built her a house in exchange for becoming my teacher. Now, as I've said before, I'm no craftswoman, let alone an architect, but I'd say I did a decent job. Well... okay, maybe not. The cabin I built for her fell apart fairly quickly. But we built a new one after that, together this time.
"Anyway," I break the silence that I hadn't realized had formed. "I think that's everything." I turn to leave but pause for a moment. "Ah, almost forgot—here." I toss a small pouch her way, which she catches without even looking at me.
"What's this?" she asks, peeking into the bag.
"Herbs to cleanse the air. Open the windows and burn them. This place reeks," I reply, already making my way out.
"You want me to change my signature scent? Hah, no way!" she shouts from inside.
"We'll see!" I shout back with a smirk as I leave.
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PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
Ampulheta
Ampulheta Phoebe's Notes;
I swear, there’s more smoke in that tent than breathable air. How she survives in there is beyond me.
Aniways, to my objective now I go!
Status de energia semanal
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