I Somehow Got Tasked With Managing A Realm

The summer heat was finally beginning to fade in Jacob’s realm. A cool breeze flowed down from the north, swaying the mature stalks of corn planted near a large lake, ready for this season’s harvest.

Thousands of people were gathered on the lake’s edge, unbothered by the cool breeze; rather it was a welcome burst of refreshment from the blazing competition they were engaged in.

“That is three more targets for Olm, bringing their total to eleven!”

“RAHHHHH!”

Cheers sounded in the crowd as a man stood on a large cherry tree stump and shouted the announcement through a carved wooden cone.

“It is still a good lead, but we should have twelve! How could he slip on that throw!?”

“Mich still has a good chance to come back now… there is no way we are letting that man compete again next year.”

The announcer once again shouted from the stump.

“It is not over yet! The target challenge can still be won, lost, or sent to a runoff! It all comes down to Mich’s next competitor!”

“They should not have given Mich a chance to win…”

More frustration sounded out from the Olm village residents at their last representative’s performance. At the same time, nervous muttering, excited chatter, and cheers could be heard from Mich’s side of the lake.

“There is still a chance! We only need four points to force a runoff!”

“Why root for four when we could get five!? We can win this and have the lake to ourselves this year!”

“Five is a strong ask… those targets are not easy to hit. I was a representative back in my younger days, so I know how hard it is.”

“There is a reason you are not throwing any more, old man! Mica is our last representative for this! I have seen him hit all five targets more often than I have seen him hit four!”

Throughout the organized chaos, there were many who seemed to be much more laid back, simply watching the competition and enjoying the atmosphere rather than getting overly involved with the game’s outcome. Many of those were from neighboring cities, some as far south as Claymore, but a few others had different reasons for watching. That was the case for two men near the front of the crowd.

“Mich’s next representative sounds impressive…”

“You heard their shouting too? I would not get your expectations too high. Both Mich and Olm have exaggerated their representatives far too many times to count today.”

“I do not think those first two from Olm were very exaggerated. They both hit four targets each.”

The man on the left raised his eyebrow, “But are you willing to select either of them as a candidate?”

“I am considering it,” the man on the right shrugged, “Priest Brungon said the Creator of the World prefers an Oracle who can kill invaders from afar. Those things they are using to launch those stones…”

“They called them slings.”

“Yes those slings… using them, they can launch stones strong enough to put holes into those wooden targets. They seem deadly enough to slay invaders to me- especially in the hands of an Oracle.”

The two men watched as workers replaced the broken targets and attached new ones onto what resembled wooden tripods.

“That first competition game they played with those nets attached to wooden poles… you know, the ones where they had two teams that tried to throw that round thing into those vertical nets? It was fun to watch, but I can not see any of those people being candidates.”

Jacob would have easily compared that competition to a pseudo-lacrosse type of game had he been viewing, yet the scouts had no Earthen basis to compare what they saw to. Rather than the game itself, they were more interested in the ball they used to play it.

“That one? I did ask someone from Mich about that; they said that thing was a small stone wrapped in a few layers of tied corn husk. But yes, I agree. That type of competition does not relate to the work of an Oracle very well.”

The targets were just about replaced by this point, yet the two continued speaking as the crowd started to regain its energy.

“There is still the final competition after this last representative from Mich does his turn. That is a five-versus-five skirmish with the best fighters from the two villages, so that might be the best chance to find a good candidate.”

“I was thinking the same thing… but that is a purely melee fight, is it not? They can use dull wooden spears to make it safer, but it is not like they can use soft stones.”

“… That is disappointing. Can they not wrap them in corn husk like they did for the first competition?”

“I am guessing that the corn husk may make them too difficult to throw with the sling… or maybe it is not enough to make them safe? I heard causing a serious injury or death to the other village’s representative is an automatic loss for the entire competition. Neither village is going to risk that.”

“I understand. Even so, we still need to watch that fight, since we may be forced to select a melee candidate. The Crestor of the World prefers a range candidate, but we still need to choose the best person available.”

As they spoke, a shout once again came from the announcer on the large wooden stump.

“And now, Mich’s final representative is approaching the circle! He needs to hit at least four targets to force a runoff, but if he can hit all five, he can send Mich into the skirmish round with an advantage! Will he be able to hit all five!?”

“”RAHHHHH””

“YES HE CAN!”

“MISS THEM, MICH KID! THIS LAKE IS OURS!”

“You can do it, Mica! Do it just like you practiced!”

Everyone’s shouts and stomping were strong enough to shake the ground; the two scouts practically had to scream to continue talking.

“Here you go! You may not even have to worry about choosing a melee candidate if this Mica kid is as good as those rumors!”

“Ha! That would be lucky!”

Even the two scouts couldn’t help but give in to the amped-up crowd as a young teen holding a sling in his hand stepped onto a wooden stump, cut low enough to barely rise above the surrounding dirt.

He looked young, with straight brown hair and brown eyes. One look at him would be enough for anyone to know he still had more growing to do. Despite his stature, however, the teen showed no nerves as he plopped a small stone into his sling and began slowly spinning it in a circle while gazing at the first target.

“Mich’s representative is on the circle! Everyone keep quiet!”

With the announcer’s call, the crowd, which had just been screaming, was defeated nearly completely, quiet enough to hear the small whooshing noise from the sling rapidly increasing its rotational velocity.

The sling swung faster and faster, until the cloth and string tool resembled a blur. It was at that moment that Mica flicked his wrist, sending the stone flying toward the first target.

Whoosh!

Whip!

Thud!

“RAHHHHHH”

The wooden target instantly shattered the moment the stone hit its center, and the crowd, which had been silent a second earlier, now erupted back into cheers even louder than it was before.

“That is one target for Mich’s representative!”

The left scout turned to the right one.

“Did you see the speed of that throw!? I never would have thought those thin arms could launch a stone that fast!”

“I think he hit right in the center of the target, too! What a throw that was… I might have to take back what I said about it being an exaggeration if he can do that again.”

“Mich’s representative readies his second stone! Everyone quiet!”

The crowd defeated once more.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh! Whip! Thud!

"RAHHHHHH!!"

"The second target was hit even harder than the first! It is another point for Mich!"

There were still three targets left to go, yet it seemed the outcome was already decided. Mich’s spectators’ cheers grew louder while Olm’s quickly faded. The two scouts simply locked eyes at the scene.

“… I do not think you will need to choose a melee candidate after all.”

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“… There really is a village here. I was beginning to think Priest Brungon was playing a sick joke on me.”

While those two scouts were drowning in the cheers of Mich’s five-target victory, another scout was nearly gasping for air as he wiped dripping sweat from his forehead.

Saying he was in rough shape would be putting it lightly. His skin was burnt, his clothes were absolutely covered with sand, and he could barely even walk straight because of the blisters on his feet.

He was sweating like crazy, seemingly losing the water the moment he drank it from the shallow river flowing at his side.

The scout had jumped into that river more times than he could count during his journey to a region he questioned the Creator of the World for ever creating. It was a land blistering hot and covered in sand unsuitable for any crops; a region where the sun rarely set for most of the year and so far south that even the Mergos would not be willing to travel through it, had they known of its existence.

Yet it was that very region where this scout was sent; to a village thriving on the edge of a supposed large lake hidden in the desert’s interior.

No one from the temple knew that a village existed here, nor did they even think it was possible. After all, why would anyone be willing to venture into, let alone live, in such a hot and utterly inhospitable place?

The scout still did not know the answer to that question despite seeing the buildings seemingly made out of sand itself standing on the edge of the murky lake’s water.

“That is corn… the heat must be making me hallucinate… how could they grow corn here?”

As he muttered before, the scout did not believe Priest Brungon's words. How could the Creator of the World spot a village hiding on the shores of a giant lake in the middle of the driest region of the world? Yet their claims were right, after all. After splashing his face with more water from the river, the scout was forced to accept the scene before him.

“I heard about the river that is too far to see across, but for this huge thing to be a lake… that has to be impossible. I must have somehow crossed the desert and ended up on the shore!”

Aside from the fact that he followed the Priest’s instructions of walking along the river until he reached the lake, the fact that there was corn growing in the dirt on the water’s edge meant it couldn’t be the sea. The corn would not be able to grow in such salty soil.

It was as he was contemplating the nature of that belief that the scout spotted a few people crouched between rows of the maturing corn plants, pouring water from the lake over their leaves, likely trying to keep them cool under the blistering sun.

“H-hello! Can either of you hear me?”

The scout shouted toward the women with a large wave, his voice scratching in the process. This was the first time he had shouted since he cried out at the start of his journey into the desert many weeks ago.

Hearing his voice, the two quickly stood and stared at him for a moment before running over excitedly. His eyes took note of their corn husk attire, which had grown increasingly uncommon near the plateau, as many had switched to more comfortable cloth-based clothing in recent times.

“You are not from Osi, are you?” The first woman stopped in front of him and asked.

“Osi… no, I am not. Is that what you call this place?”

Their eyes lit up at the scout’s answer.

“I knew it! You must be a wanderer then!” The first woman brushed off his question and looked to her companion, “He must be the first wanderer to come here in a long time!”

“Yes! The last wanderer to arrive was when I was still a kid!”

“Hey- I am not a wanderer. My name is Roga. I came here from the temple- from Rygard.” The man finally interrupted their chatter.

The women’s eyes seemed to shimmer wearily at the mention of the temple.

“Why would someone from the temple come to Osi?”

The scout, Roga, paused for a moment at their sudden change in demeanor, but shook it off and continued his introduction.

“Another attack on our world from invading beasts is nearing! I have been entrusted by the Creator of the World himself to find a candidate from this hot, far away, awful, hot, sandy, and unbelievably hot land to become an Oracle and defend our world! Did I mention it is hot? It is really hot here.”

The two women simply stared at his flamboyant display, which seemed to be equally as loud in arm movements as it was in volume.

“Anyway, I need someone who is strong! I need someone who is brave- a man who can charge into a sea of beasts without flinching! I need someone who can unite even the most boisterous warriors from around the world and crush any semblance of doubt that our world can overcome whatever invaders dare to try to step on our land! And I need this person to be able to do all of this with the skill to slay those enemies from afar!”

Roga’s eyes shined as he pointed to the women.

“And so, would either of you two guide me to where I can find such a fine candidate?”

The two women looked at each other before glancing back at the scout.

“Um… can we take you to the village chief?”

“… Okay. That is fine, too…”

.

..

…

The scout was guided through the village sitting on the edge of the massive oasis. His eyes wandered as they walked, taking note of the muddy soil that layed around the lake’s edge. Although it blended with sand, merely the length of around a few dozen chickens standing side by side from the lake, the villagers seemed to take advantage of every bit of this soil for the corn planting.

Their homes, on the other hand, resembled those described in Claymore. They were made almost entirely from mud bricks and a material that almost resembled solid bricks of sand. These square buildings all had flat roofs which seemed to be fairly subpar, made from sewn corn husk and torch tree leaves that seemed to only serve to provide shade from the sun, rather than shelter from storms.

Eventually, he was brought into a home, large enough to engulf three of those he had just walked past, and was sat on the floor in front of an older man, sitting on a large wooden chair. The scout’s eyes twitched, as this was the first wooden object he’d seen since starting his voyage to the oasis.

“A wanderer…” the village chief spoke, but he was quickly interrupted by one of the women.

“He is from the temple, chief.”

Roga flinched as the man’s expression instantly turned harsher.

“Ah- that is a surprise,” the chief rested back in his chair, his expression slowly easing, “Though you are from the temple, it is still relieving to see someone from beyond the sands. We used to have new wanderers make their way here every few seasons or so, but recently, we have not seen a single one. Considering the time, I was beginning to worry whether something happened to the rest of the world.”

“That is exactly why I am here!” Roga took the chance to cut in, “Nothing bad has happened yet- actually, it is the opposite! With the Creator of the World’s return, we are busy preparing for the upcoming invasion of beasts. We have already stopped the fighting above the Buggy Bog- now we just need to choose an Oracle! We need someone who is strong! We need someone who is brave-“

“Tch.”

His speech was interrupted by the click of the village chief’s tongue.

“Huh? What was that for?”

“So now the temple decides to stop the fighting,” the chief spat.

“… What?”

Roga was dumbfounded as he watched the chief stand from his chair and begin slowly pacing around the room.

“Our refuge was founded by our ancestors who were mercilessly kicked out from their homes by needless fighting and conquest. They begged the temple for help; they cried for their families and their homes, but their tears went unanswered. After losing everything over and over again, their desperation led them into the sands- a land so hot and inhospitable that there was no fear of it being taken away from them.”

The scout took a few moments to process his words.

“I am sorry to hear about your history… but the temple did not have the power to stop the fighting until my father’s time.”

“Do not dismiss the influence the temple has- the people there could have acted if they wanted to,” the chief argued, “I feel it is almost insulting for the temple, which refused to help us against years of invasion by other humans, to ask for our help in defending them from an invasion by beasts.”

It was Roga’s turn to stand.

“Are you saying you are not going to participate!? This invasion is not just the temple’s problem; this affects the whole world! If our force falls, this village could be overrun, too!”

The village chief shrugged, “I find that unlikely. For what purpose would beasts cross into such desolate land? A beast can tell from just a glance that there is nothing the sand has to offer… they would not come far enough to reach us. It was the pure desperation of our ancestors that led us to discover this refuge in the sand. Undoubtedly, we are dumber than beasts but smarter than men.”

Roga wouldn’t give his words time to mellow; a vein throbbed on his forehead.

“So that is your decision then? You will not send anyone to fight? Is the weight of your grudge greater than that of the world’s fate?”

“No… not necessarily,” the chief suddenly conceded, to Roga’s confusion, “If anyone here would like to fight, I will not stop them.”

“Huh… really?”

The chief grinned, “Of course. Who am I to stop them from fighting for this world? I will not force anyone to join, but I will not forbid volunteers.”

“Oh, that is a relief. For a second, I thought-“

“But you should know, scout, our people came to Osi because they are tired of fighting. I think you will find these people reluctant to cross the sand and stand on the front lines,” the chief interrupted.

“Thank you for your input, but I am sure there are many who are willing to fight. Can you just tell me where I can find the bow users of this place?”

This time, the chief looked puzzled.

“Bow users? What is a bow?”

“Ah… right," Roga put a hand on his forehead, "Those only recently became widespread. It makes sense you do not have them here. How about someone who can use an atlatl? You know, that piece of wood that lets you launch javelins super far?”

“We do not have those either.”

“Really!? Okay… what about a sling? Yes- a sling! I heard those are getting popular! You just need a bit of rope and some cloth to make one- even some layered corn husks might work… surely there is someone here who is good at using them!”

The chief shook his head.

Roga clenched his teeth, “You said I can take any volunteers! Why are you messing with me!?”

“I am being truthful,” the chief shrugged, “Osi was founded to avoid conflict… why would we have such weapons here?”

“This is so…”

Roga returned his hands to his head and squeezed his temples.

“A spear then! Someone who can use a spear well! You can not convince me that this village does not at least have those!”

“Oh… we have spears-“

“Yes!” Roga pumped his fist into the air.

“- But they are primarily used for fishing.”

“Of course they are,” the scout’s face fell with his arm, “That is something, at least.”

Roga fixed his posture and made eye contact with the chief.

“If they are used for fishing, I am sure I can find dozens of volunteers near the water! Just you wait- I will find a spear wielder that can rival even Oracle Rynn in this awful village!”

With that declaration, the scout sprinted out of the home, leaving those standing there with exhausted expressions.

“People from the temple are crazier than I was told,” he muttered.

The two women nodded.