Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: From Primitive Era Chieftain to Space Age Emperor
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Winter had truly arrived.
The days were growing even shorter.
Fortunately, since this wasn't the polar region, there was no midnight sun phenomenon, but judging solely by the length of one's breath or the thickness of the ice, it felt like the harbinger of a little ice age.
Luckily, thanks to preparing leather coats, gloves, and boots in advance, we could still move around when the sun was up.
Shoes had been a problem, though.
We inserted insoles twisted from willow bark and stuffed dried moss between the toes to keep out moisture.
If I weren't a veteran of Primitive Era Online, I wouldn't have even dreamed of such a method.
Rabbit breeding—the starting point of animal husbandry—was going decently well.
White steam rose from the rabbit hutches.
The ones we'd caught sporadically since late autumn had already exceeded forty in number.
A few froze to death in the night winds, but most bred successfully.
What we'd worried about was the hay.
We'd feared they might not touch it, but they devoured the piles mixed with young willow twigs and dried grass.
That was precisely why we'd included rabbits in our winter survival plan from the start.
Eating hay and producing meat—what a concept.
By primitive era standards, what innovation could top this?
If we couldn't make it through winter and food ran out anyway, we'd eat them.
During the daytime, we alternated short training sessions with village maintenance.
Marching on snow with shields, spear drills, archery practice, and the like.
Most of the training time went toward strengthening group tactics.
But as with life in this era, problems inevitably arose.
Even by 21st-century standards, humans hadn't enjoyed abundant lives for very long.
Before the Industrial Revolution, starvation was rampant, and in Korea, there was even the term "barley hill."
As if I had some magical trick to make food plentiful during this era's winter.
Sure enough, come winter, people ate more.
Even with cold-weather gear, enduring the chill burned extra calories.
But halting village maintenance and all other tasks to hole up indoors felt like a waste.
With smoked meat, dried fruits, and our stored provisions dwindling fast, it was time for a solid alternative.
The alternative was ice fishing.
Thanks to poison traps in the rapids, fall fishing had been easy.
But winter rivers were different.
Even if ice fishing was possible, cavorting around on top would mean freezing to death in no time.
We needed a simple fishing shelter to block the wind—no, something closer to a full house.
Ice might seem solid, but you never knew.
Falling through a thin spot would kill you before you could recover.
Red Rock tossed a stone tied to a rope and gauged the dull thud and ice color to tell if it was a death trap or sturdy enough.
If there was a clear layer beneath the milky one, it was safe.
Otherwise, danger.
"This spot looks good."
"Does it?"
"When I was a kid, the adults tried fishing here. They all failed and froze to death, but..."
Black Stone reminisced about the past.
Not just me—the primitive folk had also wondered about chopping through ice in winter to fish.
But they'd never thought to build anything on top, their fishing gear was inadequate, and their poor clothing doomed them to freeze.
Still, that old knowledge proved quite useful.
We started with the foundation.
Two rows of logs on the ice floor.
This created an air gap to insulate from the cold ice below.
Thin planks over the logs, with dried moss stuffed in the gaps for extra insulation.
Ash wood planks formed square walls, and hides reinforced the windward side.
The roof was woven reed bundles to keep out snow and gusts.
But that wasn't enough.
We cut a smoke hole and installed a small hearth.
The clay box stove was filled with pebbles to hold heat longer.
We even rigged a proper chimney for easy smoke venting—this was practically a major construction project.
Tough work, but no one complained.
Success here meant securing winter food to some degree.
We'd still hunt, but deep winter hunts weren't advisable.
Best to set traps and check them.
"It's done!"
"Whoa! The chieftain's smart as always. But how do we fish?"
"First, let's make the hole."
We chiseled a square hole.
Wooden mallet and stone chisel to score the edges, then pried it up with a tiger bone lever.
Eagle's Eye scooped out the slush with a gourd.
Now, just craft the rods.
Fishing line from twisted sedge fibers and sinew.
Hook from bone, of course—curved slightly so fish mouths wouldn't tear, with a flat river stone sinker pierced and strung on rope.
Bait was smoked meat scraps and organ bits.
Slightly frozen chunks, thawed in the palm and threaded on the bone hook for lasting scent.
"Alright, then."
All eyes from the tribesfolk turned to me.
After all the hassle to make this fishing spot?
It felt pretty cozy, at least.
With the hearth lit, it was warmer than the huts—good enough for shifts all day.
And thirty minutes passed.
"......"
The tribesfolk's patience was wearing thin, and I was getting antsy too.
Red Rock frowned slightly.
"Maybe the chieftain's wrong this time?"
Eagle's Eye snapped.
"What do you know!? The chieftain's brilliant. We'll catch something for sure."
"No, it's just been ages with no bites."
"You lack patience!"
That was when it happened.
Something nudged the rod.
This had to be a bite—I'd stake my chieftain's honor on it.
Pluck.
I jerked and reeled.
Up came a trout the length of my forearm.
Bigger than the ones I knew, with nasty teeth, but definitely a trout.
"There we go!"
"Whoa!"
"See? Told you the chieftain's smart!"
"I admit it."
Red Rock nodded readily.
We gutted the trout right there.
Slit the belly, repurpose the innards as bait.
Next cast hooked two more in a row.
Fresh bait drew bites like crazy, as expected.
"Nice!"
"Chieftain! What's 'nice'?"
"Means good!"
"Whoa! Nice!"
Anyone could ice fish.
We had just one spot due to limited manpower, but we'd add more as time allowed.
Come spring, dismantle them all and recycle the materials.
Food grew more abundant, needless to say.
Except at night, we fished in shifts nonstop, ensuring at least one fresh fish meal per day.
Elders, kids, women—anyone could do it, so it ran full auto.
Meanwhile, I planned to craft farm tools over the winter.
Spring meant sowing.
I didn't know what to plant yet, but through Black Stone and other elders, I'd learned of a grain resembling wheat.
Unfortunately, they saw it only as weeds and never thought to husk and eat it.
Plan: mainly wheat fields, plus some orchards.
Farming needed tools, though.
Designing with primitive tech was headache-inducing.
Once sketched, I had Yellow Hand copy them exactly.
First: hoe and mattock.
These two differed only in length; the process was nearly identical.
Flat blades from shattered obsidian and quartzite from the riverbank, fit into U-grooves carved in wood.
Secured with pine resin mixed with animal fat and charcoal powder, wrapped X-style with cord.
Short one: hoe. Long one: mattock.
Next: plow.
Essential for tilling fields.
No oxen, so two-person pull type.
Found a split Y-shaped tree for the body, reinforced with a sturdy curved branch as a brace.
The share: whittled oak tip flat, inlaid with chipped stone scales.
Angle tested first on winter ice.
10 degrees: just scraped. 20: dug in and stuck.
Experiments showed 15 degrees optimal.
Besides that, I designed and built harrows, rakes, sickles, winnowing trays, baskets, and more without rest.
I figured the winter would pass like that.
A winter with no starvation deaths.
A winter with no freezing deaths.
Smooth enough to call miraculous by this era's standards.
But soon, I faced a moment of choice.
While testing the tools, Eagle's Eye reported in.
"Chieftain! Wanderers have shown up!"
"Wanderers?"
"Looks like outcasts from a nearby tribe... Shall we kill them?"
"Why?"
"Our tribe's short on food right now."
He had a point.
They'd likely been exiled for the same reason: food shortages.
No, 100% that was it.
What happens if you chase off refugees?
Without proper gear, they'd die in two days, guaranteed.
As every tribesman watched my face...
I made my decision.