Absorbing the Widow Tribe
"That Dodokke bastard... I'm so jealous. I want a woman too."
"I should've scouted harder..."
"Ah, I should've come this way."
"Dodokke, if you get a woman, share just a bite with me. You've got Aengsooni already."
"No way. I'm never sharing. Only my cock's going in my woman's pussy. No. Absolutely not. And Aengsooni... she's just a friend now..."
"Dodokke, you selfish prick. Boo hoo."
"Shut up. Ingchil, you only have eyes for Hayangi—why are you eyeing my woman? Didn't you confess to her that you like her?"
"Hayangi only likes the chief now, with his way bigger cock... I showed her mine and told her I liked her, but she laughed 'pfft' and said it was small... Sniff..."
"......"
"Wah, sob..."
"...D-don't cry. I'm still not sharing. Even if you cry, absolutely not. No. Hate it."
While the male tribe members were chugging kimchi soup over women they hadn't even gotten yet, I was scouting the enemy tribe I'd targeted.
Their numbers... one, two, three, four...
Rough count put them at around sixty. A small tribe, about ten more than us. But unlike ours, made up only of young men and women, theirs was a mix of all ages and genders.
Hmm... way more women? Out of sixty, like fifty women? Did all the men go hunting and die...? That makes sense why the first guy who spotted them said there were tons of women.
About fifty women out of sixty. Had the men gone on some big hunting expedition? Or just died out wandering and fighting?
Wait and scout more? Or just hit 'em?
I wrestled with it internally for a bit... Fuck it. No waiting bullshit. Just charge. If the men come back later? Fight 'em. No reason to pussy out.
"Charge! Attack! Follow me!!"
"““Waaaaah!!!”””
We got as close as possible to the target tribe, then roared our war cry right before they'd spot us and charged straight in.
"Gah! Wh-what the hell?!"
"Who are you guys?! Eek?!"
"Don't touch the women! Kill the men first!"
"Chief! Kill all the men? What about the kids?!"
"...Uh, yeah... Kill anything taller than a cartwheel!"
"...Pardon? What's a cartwheel?"
"A cartwheel—you know, fuck, just kill any male taller than your waist, leave the rest!"
"Wait! Hold on! Let's talk this out! ...Y-you're not here to make love with us, right? Our tribe's short on men anyway... No! We don't need to fight!"
One of the prettier women among them started yelling her lungs out. Short on men? No need to fight? Hmm... she had a point.
I raised my hand, signaling to stop the fight.
"Everyone, halt! Stop fighting! Hey, fuck! I said stop! Wanna die?!"
My bellow shut down the skirmish in seconds. Looking around, luckily no one dead on either side—just a couple who'd tripped and fallen on their asses from our screaming charge, butts a bit sore. Whatever.
"Who's the rep here? Get this tribe's chief out."
"That's me. I'm the chief of this tribe."
A pretty young woman stepped forward boldly. The same one who'd been hollering.
"What? A woman's the chief?"
"Is there a rule saying women can't be chief?"
"...No, not that. Hmm... Fine. Anyway, your tribe's short on men?"
"Yes. Really short. Like, really short."
"How come? What happened to the men?"
"Monsters."
"Monsters?"
"Yeah. Huge ones. Striped. Sharp teeth and claws... like this."
"That's a tiger? Or leopard?"
"Tiger? Is that what this monster's called?"
"Yeah. Anyway, all the men died to tigers?"
"Yes. The men kept getting worn down by the monsters... I mean tigers' attacks. Our tribe used to be much bigger. But this monster ate our people every month. Finally, the chief—my husband—couldn't take it and led all the men who could hold spears to hunt it down..."
The woman calling herself chief bowed her head glumly.
"...No word since. We'd agreed beforehand: if the moon changes full cycle with no return, even two, abandon the old spot and run as far as we can. That's how we ended up here."
"I see. Tough story."
"We're really short on men. ...So, you here to claim our women? Or food? We don't have much food, but plenty of women. We lack men, you need women—no need to fight. Merge tribes. I'll step down as chief. I only became one 'cause my husband died."
"Sounds good. Follow us then. Smart girl, glad you get it. We've got food. And I get more easy. Stick with me, no starving."
The women near the chief perked up at my words. Faces lighting up, yeah.
"Awesome. You're hot. Handsome face, tall. Total dream guy. Marry me? It'll bond our tribes better."
"Nah. No marriage for me. Even if, ...uh, I've got main wives already. I'm from the heavens, y'know. Anyway, that's the deal... But you're mine. No wedding needed. All pretty girls are mine. Got it?"
"What's that mean? Complicated. Or your tribe got no marriage custom?"
"We do, but... whatever, figure it out. Follow us. Oh, need time to pack?"
"Yeah, a bit. And... the loads are heavy. Help move 'em?"
"Sure. Hey, men! Help these women with their stuff. They're our tribe now."
"““Yes, Chief!”””
My original tribesmen happily jumped in, helping the women pack and carry. They loved the tribe getting more women.
Fifty-one women, thirteen men. Eight boy kids, five old men.
About half the women were kids or old too. So fertile-age women around twenty-five, same as us.
Hmm, checking with Impregnation Power... most are already knocked up.
Twenty-three out of twenty-five pregnant. Whoa... ancient fertility rates insane. No birth control, nothing to do but fuck like rabbits, I guess. How else twenty-three of twenty-five breeding women pregnant? Wild.
But that chief chick... not pregnant? Or had one already?
"Hey, chief girl. Why aren't you pregnant?"
"Huh? How'd you know? ...Oh, flat belly? I just gave birth recently."
"The baby?"
"...Died."
"Ah..."
Right. Ancient times: sky-high birth rates, sky-high infant mortality.
"Sniff... sob..."
"Hey, no crying. Just make more. I'll knock you up. Come to my hut tonight. You too. You're not pregnant either. My hut."
"...Sob... I'm cursed. Third baby in a row died... Sob..."
"Not cursed. This era's infant death rate is nuts... Whatever. My kids are tough. Look at me. This build, height. Solid abs, thigh muscles, arms. My seed's strong—no dying. Got it? No tears, have hope. I'll give you healthy babies."
"Y-yes..."
She looks young, but three births already... Ancient life brutal. Puberty hits, boom—woman, married, fucking. Can't avoid it. Gotta pop 'em out fast or line dies.
I shouldered a ton of the chief girl's stuff and headed back with her and the tribe. She seemed into my strength, quickly clinging and coquettish.
Three-time mom, but pretty and young—yeah, I liked her too.
Hmm... Pretty pregnant ones join my harem. Ugly ones to the men.
Back at base, time to divvy women. Gotta keep promises.
Minus men, fifty-one new women. Twenty-five fertile... minus two, all carrying other dudes' kids.
Decided to give the bottom-five looks among the twenty-five fertiles to my men. Dodokke earned one for spotting 'em, rest four for rotation.
"They're pregnant, so handle gentle."
"““Yes, Chief!”””
No real fight, just absorption—men took me hogging twenty calmly. Virgin losers eyeing those four permitted pussies like mad.