CH44 | MCT

Meeting the Bedouins (3)

The Bedouin warrior glared at them fiercely.

He wore a turban and layered leather armor, and at his waist hung a shamshir—a curved sword known in English as a scimitar.

[This is a battlefield. All outsiders must leave!]

Song Chang-jun quickly translated.

Tae-soo raised his voice.

[We are here to dig wells! For the Bedouins!]

[Wells? For us? What nonsense is this?]

The Bedouins’ expressions shifted.

One among them could read and began deciphering the words on the fluttering banner.

The more he read, the more confused he looked.

Tae-soo continued.

[We start construction tomorrow! If you have any questions, feel free to ask!]

Just then, a thunderous rumble filled the air as a massive convoy kicked up a storm of dust in the distance.

At the front of the line, the Foreign Ministry official Song Chang-jun had sent out earlier leaned out of a window and shouted.

"The heavy equipment has arrived!"

No fewer than 40 excavators, 30 dump trucks, 25 concrete mixers, and 30 bulldozers rolled in.

On top of that, the dump trucks were loaded with drilling rigs, exploration drills, core drills, and crushers.

And to top it all off—an entire shipment of materials from Pohang Steel!

The Bedouins were utterly shaken.

[W-What is all this…?]

One warrior turned to his men, his face tense.

[This is beyond my authority.]

"Go summon the chieftains and the elders. Bring all the warriors as well."

[Understood!]

The Bedouins swiftly dashed off.

Only a handful remained, their leader glaring at Tae-soo, deep creases forming between his brows.

[What is the meaning of this? Why bring an army of machines? Do you intend to oppress us?]

Oppress them? Far from it.

If Tae-soo had an ulterior motive, it was simple: give something small, gain something big.

A perfect local supply chain.

But that wasn’t something he could say outright.

[Of course not. The banner says it all—we are here to build wells for the Bedouins.]

A tense silence followed.

The Bedouin warrior had been gripping his sword, eyeing them sharply from the start.

Song Chang-jun felt his mouth go dry, cold sweat trickling down his back.

“I’ve heard that Bedouin warriors are exceptional, but seeing them in person… The pressure is overwhelming.”

“It is.”

Though he agreed, Tae-soo remained calm.

He doubted that the honor-bound Bedouins would draw their swords without provocation.

Tae-soo turned to Song Jin-gu and the others.

“Have you checked the rest of the trunks?”

“No issues.”

Song Jin-gu scowled, patting his waist.

The miners and others followed suit, subtly tapping various parts of their bodies.

They’d come well-prepared.

“You guys sure are quick.”

“What choice do we have? If a lunatic like you went out of his way to prepare this, it means things could get dicey. We have to look after ourselves.”

If the Bedouins had swords, they had guns.

Song Chang-jun glanced around nervously.

“Don’t you think this is a bit reckless?”

“If we’re going to carry out this project, we need to have a proper conversation with the Bedouins at least once.”

"Meeting both tribes at the same time is dangerous!" he insisted. "A fight could break out any moment! The tension here is razor-sharp!"

It made sense.

If one side had been clearly stronger, this conflict wouldn’t have dragged on for so long.

And this was a battlefield chosen by the Bedouins themselves.

A clash could erupt at any second.

With a grave expression, Song Chang-jun continued.

"We need to stop their fighting and resume construction, but we’re out of options. Even the Foreign Ministry is at a loss. But instead of avoiding them, you’re calling them here? What exactly are you planning?"

Tae-soo tilted his hand up and down, mimicking a seesaw.

"Picture a seesaw. One tribe on each side. Do you know how to make it tilt?"

"Of course. You just add more weight to one side."

"Exactly. Now, how much weight do you think we need? If we’re dealing with the fate of both tribes, what kind of weight would it take to shift the balance?"

"Hmm… I’m not sure."

Tae-soo gave a meaningful smile.

"What do you think happens when only one side of a seesaw touches the ground?"

"…The other side rises high?"

"Exactly. And when one side comes down first, the other will come crashing down with a heavy thud. The impact will be intense, sending them tumbling."

This wasn’t just a simple playground seesaw.

It was a seesaw with the fate of the entire Bedouin tribes balanced on either side.

"And what do you think will happen to the people who hit the ground first? Especially after months of fighting?"

Song Chang-jun’s expression darkened.

"Are you saying another fight will break out? Maybe even a one-sided massacre…?"

"What do you think the Saudi royal family would do if they saw such a disaster? If they witnessed a tragedy caused by me forcing the seesaw to tip?"

"Hmm…"

"It would make it impossible for me to resume construction. The Foreign Ministry would receive even stronger protests. And you, Secretary Song, would be buried in work."

Song Chang-jun let out a long sigh.

"That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. There’s no answer. Right now, all we can do is wait until the Bedouin tribes decide to stop fighting on their own."

Tae-soo chuckled.

"You really think I came all this way without a plan?"

Song Chang-jun turned to him in shock.

"Then what do you plan to do? How will you make the seesaw come down?"

Tae-soo smirked and mimed striking the seesaw’s fulcrum.

"I’ll just knock out the fulcrum—bring everyone down safely to the ground."

The Bedouins had been standing firmly on the ground before they ever got on this seesaw.

So why did they end up on it in the first place?

Because a fulcrum appeared in the middle.

And the root cause of that problem was water.

"The reason they’re fighting is simple: water."

In the desert, water means survival. There’s no room for compromise.

"If the conflict stems from a resource, then we solve it with that resource."

Song Chang-jun’s eyes widened.

"You mean…?"

"If water is the issue, then we just give them water."

"That’s obvious. But the problem is, we don’t have any to give."

"The drought is the worst in history. It’s not that people don’t want to help—it’s that there’s no water to help with."

"That’s why we’ll drill for groundwater. And… I’ve also prepared something extra."

"Something extra?"

"You mentioned earlier that an oil tanker had just arrived at a nearby port, didn’t you?"

"…?"

At that moment—

A massive cloud of dust rose from both sides as an overwhelming number of warriors charged in.

Song Chang-jun’s jaw dropped open.

"Holy… How many of them are there?"

The sheer number felt larger than it actually was—likely because of the fierce, almost warlike aura radiating from the warriors.

Even Song Jin-gu cursed under his breath.

"Damn bastards, looking at us like we’re prey. What, do they think we’re some small-time loan sharks?"

"Hyung-nim, we’re security contractors now."

"Shit, what’s the difference? Should we show them what Korean enforcers are made of?"

Song Jin-gu, already intimidating as hell, twisted his expression into something even more menacing.

The former loan sharks—now hired enforcers—who had followed him all the way here? They were just as bad.

Even the miners had somehow stripped off their shirts and were now holding pickaxes and shovels in their hands.

Seeing this, Song Chang-jun panicked.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys?! You’re going to start an actual fight at this rate! We’re not here to pick a fight!"

Tae-soo, meanwhile, glanced over at the line of heavy machinery parked nearby—then straightened his posture.

"It’s time to meet the Bedouins."

Then, he reached into his chest pocket and pulled something out.

A piece of white cloth.

He carefully tied it to a stick, securing it tightly.

Song Chang-jun, still breathless from the tension, frowned.

"Wait… what are you making?"

"You can’t tell just by looking?"

"It… looks like a white flag."

"You’ve got a keen eye."

Tae-soo firmly placed the white flag into Song Chang-jun’s hand.

Song Chang-jun, caught off guard, instinctively gripped it.

Tae-soo spoke.

"I’d go alone if I could, but you’re the only one here who speaks their language. I’m sorry for dragging you into this."

Song Chang-jun looked at the flag in his hand.

"If anything happens to you, just wave that flag. No one will harm you. These desert warriors… they know honor."

A lump formed in Song Chang-jun’s throat.

"Then what about you?"

"We’re here as representatives of Korea. If I start waving a white flag the moment we step forward… we’ll lose all credibility. We have to stand tall—show them we won’t be looked down on."

Song Chang-jun found himself at a loss for words.

Tae-soo clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.

"Stay back. I’ll speak loud enough for you to hear from a distance."

With that, Tae-soo walked forward—alone—toward the Bedouin warriors.

Then—

"Tae-soo! Wait up!"

A lanky figure hurried after him.

It was Hol-jjuk.

"It’s too dangerous," Tae-soo said without turning back. "Stay here with the others."

Hol-jjuk knew how ruthless desert warriors could be.

But instead of backing down, he grinned.

"Then we die together. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? I’ve told you before—I’ll watch your back."

Tae-soo felt a surge of gratitude.

He never expected Hol-jjuk to stand by his side like this—facing death together.

"Hol-jjuk… You don’t have to do this. I’d rather you just stick around, be my drinking buddy for years to come. That’s enough for me. I don’t want to be left alone."

Hol-jjuk chuckled.

"Tae-soo, you’ll have plenty of drinking buddies. When you start your business, you’ll meet clients. You’ll make work friends. But—"

He clapped Tae-soo on the shoulder.

"Your back? That’s different. I’ll be the one watching it."

Then, he grinned wider.

"And besides, my dreams are way bigger than just that. Watching you changed the way I think."

"Hol-jjuk…"

"Tae-soo, you once said there are plenty of people to handle your work, but no one to guard your back."

Hol-jjuk’s eyes gleamed with certainty.

"I think you’re wrong. More and more people believe in you. More people will want to stand beside you."

A warm breeze swept through the desert.

"I want to be that friend—the one who walks into hell with you."

Tae-soo clenched his fist.

He felt Hol-jjuk’s words deep in his chest.

"You idiot… your grandma’s gonna kill me for this."

"My grandma would love this. She always told me—a friend like you is one in a million."

Hol-jjuk stepped up, standing firmly to Tae-soo’s right.

Song Chang-jun steeled himself.

"I’m a diplomat of the Republic of Korea. A civilian is walking in with that much confidence—how can I stand here, waving a white flag like a coward?"

Without hesitation, Song Chang-jun threw the white flag behind him.

Then, he stepped up to Tae-soo’s left.

"I’m coming with you."

By then, the Bedouin warriors had formed ranks.

A tense standoff.

One of them suddenly shouted.

[Who are you?!]

Tae-soo responded loudly—in English.

His voice was clear, confident.

[We are from the Republic of Korea! We have come to speak with you—properly!]

Most of the Bedouins didn’t understand him.

But Tae-soo noticed something.

The two tribal chiefs and a few key figures remained silent.

They understood English—but chose not to respond.

They didn’t want to acknowledge him.

"They know English. Their reaction is different from the others. These must be the tribal leaders. I need to remember their faces."

Just as planned, Song Chang-jun began translating.

Tae-soo had asked him to wait—to see who reacted first.

Now, Tae-soo raised his voice again.

[Offer me a cup of tea. Share a meal with me. Give me shelter for the night! Today, I wish to be a guest of the Bedouin people!]

The warriors’ expressions shifted.

[He knows our customs!]

[He calls himself a guest of the Bedouin!]

In Bedouin culture, a guest is sacred.

A guest must be treated with the utmost respect and hospitality.

To harm a guest is an act of shame—disgraceful beyond measure.

Even if a man had killed your son, if he seeks refuge as a guest, you must offer him shelter and treat him with honor—for at least one night.

Such is the tradition of the Bedouin tribes.

In the unforgiving desert, where scarcity breeds conflict, clans and tribes are in a constant state of strife.

If they were to draw their swords against a guest—someone who posed no threat?

Their people would soon find themselves isolated, cut off from the outside world, forced to face the dangers of the desert alone.

[Today, I ask to be the guest of the Bedouin people! Lower your weapons, and welcome your guest!]

The Bedouin warriors turned to their chieftains.

The decision was not theirs to make.

Finally, the chieftains relented.

[A guest is a guest—there is no choice.]

[We cannot turn away a guest.]

Then, from the crowd, two men stepped forward.

[I am the chieftain of the Corino tribe!]

[I am the chieftain of the Harkonnen tribe!]

Their voices boomed over the desert.

[By the laws of the Bedouin, we will honor you as a guest.]

[You have the word of the chieftains.]

Then, the Corino chieftain called out.

[Which tribe will you be a guest of?]

Tae-soo grinned.

[I will decide—after hearing what both of you have to say.]

A murmur rippled through the warriors.

Some even scoffed.

"Unbelievable."

"Arrogant."

But Tae-soo stood firm.

"Soon enough, you’ll be the ones begging me to be your guest."

After all—I have an oil tanker filled with water.