Everyone in town loved to tell Lloyd Belladonna the same thing.
“It’s too much for you.”
He was a good-looking boy with a gentle smile who was much better at cooking, cleaning, and laundry than he was at throwing hands, just as his meek demeanor suggested. Even he agreed with the general consensus that he was the weakest man in town. Not a day went by without at least one village girl commenting on how he’d make a great wife someday.
No matter how many times he dived into the river, he’d never come up with a single fish. If he went to fetch firewood, it would take him until sundown to gather less than the average man. If he engaged in some friendly sparring with the other men, he’d spend the entirety of the following day in bed—and on and on and on.
So when he’d suddenly announced that he was leaving town to be a soldier in the royal capital…well, given his earnest, friendly, and gullible disposition, most people felt he should never be allowed to leave the village, let alone join the army.
Yet where Lloyd usually gave in to peer pressure, he stood his ground this time. A whiff of actual determination emerged from beneath that naive exterior. Biting his lip, he’d insisted this was what he wanted.
This new side of him flummoxed the villagers. When they’d reached their wit’s end trying to convince him, they held an intervention, hoping the village chief would be able to talk some sense into him. Ordinarily, the only things that brought this many villagers together were event planning, discussions on new laws, and more event planning. This proved just how much everyone cared about Lloyd’s well-being.
A few days after he’d first started talking about enlisting in the army, the village leaders finished work in the early afternoon and dragged him to the chief’s house.
On a windswept plateau with a view of the wheat fields north of the village, Lloyd sat cowering like a scolded puppy. On his side was the person who’d raised him and who Lloyd called Grandpa. Around them, the village leaders sat in silence, their faces betraying their worries and frustrations.
The stress had Lloyd sweating bullets. The spring breeze brushed across his face, carrying the scent of the green wheat stalks, and made a linen curtain sway. A sweet voice came from behind it.
“Sorry for makin’ y’all wait.”
A girl emerged wearing a silk robe, her black hair in twin pigtails. She looked to be around twelve years old. She was the village chief, Alka.
She might be itty-bitty, but don’t let appearances fool you. She was well over a hundred—nobody knew exactly how old she was, herself included. According to her, she “became immortal to save the world, blah blah blah.” But not a single villager believed this, and the entire concept had become a running joke. Basically, she was your typical loli grandma…but if she heard you say that, you’d end up buried neck-deep in the field for three days and nights.
Regardless of her actual age, Chief Alka spoke and acted like a middle schooler. Clutching the excess length of her robe off the ground, she pattered over to the seat of honor and plopped herself down into a legless chair made of woven bamboo. It creaked as she sat, breaking the silence.
After a brief pause, she spoke to Lloyd as if she was catching up with her grandson.
“Lloyd…I hear ya want to be a soldier in the capital, eh?”
Before he could reply, his guardian erupted, “Please talk him out of it! It’s too much for him! He’s always had a stubborn streak, and it shows up at the worst times!”
Lloyd wasn’t about to let that pass. “We won’t know…if it’s too much for me…if I don’t even try…”
“Do you even hear yourself?! You’re a fool! You can barely gather firewood; you’ve never caught a fish… The army would never take you!”
“S-sure, I’ve never succeeded in catching a fish. But I’m sure they have other food in the capital. I’ll be fine… And yeah, I’m not great at diving, but…how often will I need to dive in the city anyway?”
His rebuttal was answered by a plump older lady, who scolded him like he was her own son. “Lloyd! That’s not what your grandpa means. He’s worried about how feeble you are!”
His grandfather nodded vigorously, grunting. “Indeed.”
“Darn tootin’. I reckon ya can’t be a soldier if you can’t do even these simple tasks. And there’s a limit to how no-account you can be.”
“Seriously, dude. Stop looking for loopholes.” Next up to berate Lloyd was a stoic young man with an old sword at his hip. “You gotta admit you’re the only one to blame for not rising to the occasion and overcoming your failures.”
“Urp.” Lloyd hung his head.
But the young man was relentless and scowled as he spitefully added, “I mean, to begin with, how can you do anything if you can barely stay underwater for an hour?”
“That’s right, three hours is the clear minimum. When your grandfather was younger, he could stay under for three days!”
“Four!” his guardian boasted, holding up four fingers.
(Side note: Professional pearl divers can stay under for an average of five minutes without equipment, and the world record is just over twenty-two. FYI.)
Lloyd’s grandfather spent a few moments basking in the praise of the other villagers, but he soon resumed his stern expression and glared at Lloyd once more.
“Listen up, Lloyd. Ya can’t be struggling to kill a fish just because it’s got a few fangs and some horns. I’m sure they’ve got more gnarly ones in the ocean!”
“But in novels, they talk about fish in the capital having no fangs or horns, and they apparently eat those!”
“Don’t talk nonsense! How’s a fish supposed to survive without ’em? If anything like that existed, I reckon they’d have been all caught immediately and gone extinct years ago.”
“Erk, good point…”
(Side note: The organisms they’re calling “fish” are actually monsters called “killer piranha.” Sturdy horns, giant mouths, and a row of teeth capable of consuming a whole cow in three big chomps—even a hardened warrior would be helpless against them underwater.)
Spying Lloyd’s resolve flagging, a woodcutter dressed in work clothes joined the pile-on.
“Even if you aren’t much of a swimmer, I think you oughtta be a bit better at cutting or gathering wood…” He spoke softly, patiently, trying to get through to him.
Lloyd’s grandfather mimed an ax swing. “Yes! You’ve gotta sneak up on the treants and take ’em down with a single blow!”