Early in the morning, you gather all of the tribe's Tattooed Warriors, all seventeen men and women, wanting to gauge their exact capabilities in battle. And it takes you barely a couple minutes to come to the unfortunate conclusion: all of them are trash. 

Sure, they wield power beyond the mortal realm — but not only are the duration of such strength is limited, their appliance of it is primitive and basic. You shouldn't be surprised, for the young scions of the Celestial Empire are trained on the teaching left the Tang Wei himself, but still… after millenia of war, surely these savages should've picked up at least some semblance of technique?

Their fighting style reminds you of Tigress. Direct, ferocious and simple. It works for her, since Tigress is a gifted practitioner, but these tribesmen will be outmatched even against the weakest Early Houtians from the major sects.

Still, even amongst the common pigs it's possible to find one that flies: one of the warriors, a short man with a slim, narrow build stands out from the rest. He's not as strong as the rest, but there's a fluidity to his movements, a certain understanding in his actions that the others lack. He fights one against two, and yet he's the one at the advantage. The man dodges by instinct, his dancing feet letting him avoid defeat. 

You also notice a slight, yet impossible to cover smile of cockiness. The man is proud of his strength, but does he deserve to be?

*choice
	#"Good job!"
		"Good job!" — you praise, as the man somersaults and ends his bout in a certain victory. 
		
		Goshan, standing next to you, translates your words. The man, whom you decided to call One, falters for an instance, hearing your compliment. But then he beams, his face plastered with a wide grin. He bows to you and returns in the line.
	
	#Ignore him.
		Although One — that's how you decide to call the man — maybe exceptional amongst his peers, but to hear your praise he will have to try much harder. 
		
		One somersaults, his wooden dagger 'slashing' throats of both of his opponents. His bout ended in a certain victory, One turns to you, but your face is emotionless, ice-cold. His expression deflates, for he obviously desired for your acclaim, but soon he clenches his fists, gives you a bow and returns in the line.
	#"Wipe that smile off your face."
		One — that's how you decide to call him — his wooden dagger 'slashing' throats of both of his opponents. His bout ended in a certain victory, One turns to you, expecting at least a bit of praise. What he finds, however, is your mocking face.
		
		You gesture Goshan, who's standing next to you, to translate.
		
		"Wipe that smile off your face, you punk." — you say, stepping close to One. You give him a slight push in the chest and the man falls — "You think you're strong? You think you can be prideful? [i]Think again[/i], you backwater trash." 
		
		The man gulps and clenches his fists, but keeps his head low, not daring to lift it. You can see, though, that his arrogant smile is nowhere to be found.
		
		"That's better. Now get up and go train." 
		
		One nods and gets back in the line.
	#Kick him in the back.
		One — that's how you decide to call him — somersaults, his wooden dagger 'slashing' throats of both of his opponents. Before he can turn around, however, you leap and kick him in the back. You press him into the ground, not letting him stand. And when he starts to struggle, you twist your foot, causing him to whimper in agony.
		
		You gesture Goshan, who standing near you, to translate.
		
		"Pathetic." — you spit, giving a menacing glance to the rest of the warriors — "All of you are trash. Weak and hopeless trash. Your ancestors should be ashamed, both of you and of themselves for producing such useless offspring."
		
		All the tribesmen lower their heads, unable to muster a response.
		
		"Only one of decent strength," — you continue — "Yet he's as proud as a peacock. What a disgrace."
		
		You remove your hold and One immediately scrambles to his feet, looking at you with both anger and fear. He doesn't dare speak, just returns to the line.

You spend an hour teaching them the most basic breathing exercises and foundational techniques, hoping they would comprehend something, at least. However, it proves to be a mostly fruitless task: understanding Martial Arts is difficult, and when your students don't speak your language, the undertaking turns even more troublesome. 

As you run them through the motions, you find another outstanding warrior — only if One was exceptionally good, then Seventeen, a tall woman with a long braid, is on the end of the talent spectrum. 

It's obvious she tries her best, the sweat on her forehead the best indicator of her efforts, but she just can't match the rest of the group. She's slower, she's weaker, and it frustrates her to no end. When Seventeen fails another exercise, she yells out and punches the ground in her rage.

*choice
	#Approach her afterwards, offering individual training to help her catch up to the others.
		When the training ends and the warriors start to disperse, you approach Seventeen and ask her to stay behind. She does so, waiting for everyone else to leave with her head lowered, too ashamed to meet your gaze, before murmuring something that you can't understand.
		
		"She apologizes." — Goshan translates — "For being so useless." 
		
		Sighing, you pat her shoulder.
		
		"Everyone has their own starting point." — you console her — "Some are more talented, some are less. But your beginnings do not define the end of your journey, only the difficulty of the road." 
		
		You put your fingers under her chin and raise her head.
		
		"Do you have the heart to follow the ruthless, unforgiving path to greatness? Or are you content with being weak and [i]inferior[/i]?"
		
		When your words reach her ears, her whole attitude changes. From the self-hate and pity, to determination and want.
		
		You, the holy one, believe in her — which means, she is not allowed to lack the belief in herself.
		
		"Good." — you smile — "Now go. I'll organize a special training regimen for you."
		
		She bows, deeply, thanking you in her foreign language, and leaves. 
	#Ignore her.
		You couldn't care less about some tribal warrior. Her struggles, her frustrations — they are the least of your concerns.
		
		As long as she does her duty, of course. 
		
		Soon, the training ends and you disperse the warriors without bothering to give any of them additional pointers.
	#Laugh at her.
		Seeing her fail, stumble and fall just causes a chuckle to escape your lips. Her inadequacy amuses you — and as you laugh, other warriors begin to laugh as well. They point their fingers at her, snickering as they whisper demeaning comments. 
		
		And when one such particular comment reaches her ears, Seventeen, enraged, throws her spear. It catcher her insulter off-guard, piercing his chest and practically pinning him to the ground. Flabbergasted, you and everyone stare as the man tries to pull the weapon out, only to grow limp after mere seconds of struggle. 
		
		The warriors roar and soon, the same fate reaches Seventeen, for the others cut her apart in vengeance.
		
		As you watch the corpses carried away, you realize: perhaps you're not that great of a teacher. Only your first practice session, and yet two of your students are already dead.
		
		*set expo_army -2
	
	#Slap her for being useless.
		Seeing her fail, stumble and fall, you just can't tolerate her inadequacy. As she gets up after tripping herself trying to perform the movement you taught, Seventeen is met with a hard, heavy slap that plasters her on the ground. Then, you kick her in the stomach, causing her to slide across the ground, holding her stomach in pain.
		
		"I expect none of you to be so useless next time we-"
		
		You promptly turn around and catch Seventeen's wrist, one with a knife dangerously near your neck.
		
		This trash dared to attack you?!
		
		You glance into her expression and notice no reason inside her grimace: only rage and fury. Unable to free herself from your grasp, she attempts to punch her with the other arm — but you don't give her the chance, using her own blade and her own hand to slash the woman's throat. 
		
		You then free the corpse of your hold and continue your speech.
		
		"As I told you all before," — you say, the sounds of Seventeen choking on her own blood accompanying your voice — "I expect none of you to be so useless next time we train."
		
		"Scram now." — you order and the terrified warriors agree, carrying out the woman's bloodies corpse. 
		
		[i]Ah,[/i] — you think — [i]This teaching business is quite exhausting.[/i]
		
		*set expo_army -1

*page_break
*goto_scene expedition_free