There seems to be some unwritten law that no matter how good things might be, there would be at least one grouch around to spoil things.
Indigenous civilizations bowed to conquests of more powerful countries or empires.
A book on this might tell you that, indeed, many things in life are not fair!
Peace is honored but there will always be that grouch to spoil peace, or grouches after grouches. When one gets a taste of combat, and while it wasn’t to his liking, he knew sometimes there was no other recourse but to take up arms and fight. Thus, combat becomes an instrument to regain peace.
During and after the struggle to ward off the conquerors, a warrior realizes he can’t just assume the role of a defender but must be more of a healer as well.
For example, he must have the credibility to identify the marvelous abilities of plants to draw poisons out of a wound the way laughter takes over a weary heart, allowing pains of sorts to heal naturally.
No matter how severe a wound may be, it will heal very fast. It will form no scabs and when the skin grows from the outer edges to the center, it will leave no scar behind, or if the wound is great enough, it will leave the smallest scar possible.
One must assume these communal roles honorably in the world of flesh to be worthier of the other world of spirits.