Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Mammoth Hunt and Black Tribe Challenge
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Mammoth.
Within the limits of my knowledge, it's a herbivore whose herds are typically centered around females and calves.
Adult males stay apart from the group outside of breeding season.
Needless to say, humans wouldn't dare hunt females or calves that had strayed from the herd. That left only lone adult males as viable targets.
An adult male stood at least four meters at the shoulder, with a massive hump on its back.
Its weight was beyond comprehension in words—think of it as a beast capable of shoving down an entire wall of our barricade in one go.
With several tons of mass charging straight at you, no creature could win a head-on fight.
And those tusks? Ridiculously huge and long. Even a graze meant death.
Elephants, its ancestors, don't go around killing people recklessly... so why here?
Ferocity patch, that's why.
This was a game world, after all.
I didn't notice it much day-to-day, but every now and then, I'd realize how it diverged from real history.
A colossal beast like that rampaging like a madman, trampling and biting people to death.
Without a doubt, an enemy fiercer than any tiger.
But.
If the raid(?) succeeded, we'd reap an enormous haul: meat, fat, bones, tusks, tendons, hides—the works.
Just one could feed a tribe through winter, which explained why primitive humans hunted them as prime targets.
There were many theories on why mammoths went extinct, but humans emerging as new predators claimed a huge share of the blame.
That very evening, as the mammoth's roar echoed, I called an emergency tribal council.
Black Stone, Red Rock, Yellow Hand, Eagle's Eye, Quick Hand, Slow Foot, Black Bear, and even Wise Flower and White Flame.
All the first-generation nobles—or potentials—gathered in one place.
They sat around the central fire in the plaza, while regular tribesfolk stood a bit farther back.
The mammoth's appearance was that serious a threat.
"We can't kill a furry beast with ordinary methods. Everyone here knows that."
"A furry beast... Yeah. Disaster incarnate."
"It bursts into peaceful villages, smashes homes, and devours people. Best to run at the sight of one."
"Sometimes hunters get lucky, but it's so vicious they won't even try unless starvation forces their hand."
Opinions poured in.
A mammoth raiding a tribe? Unheard of in my lifetime—but this was the game's world, so discrepancies like this popped up.
Black Stone asked,
"Chieftain, you speak like you have a way to deal with the furry beast."
"We dig a pit trap, cover it with a massive net when it falls in. Then I finish it off."
"A net...?"
"Yeah. The one we've been prototyping."
Nets worked for war and hunting alike.
As our territory expanded, they'd be essential for dedicated fishing, too.
Time to mass-produce them.
Big enough to cover a mammoth.
Black Bear asked with his honest face,
"Furry beasts are dangerous. Why does the chieftain finish it alone?"
"Spoils of war... Er, to keep the hide intact."
"Ooh! I see!"
New tribesfolk often forgot we wore hide clothes.
Mammoth fur was double-layered, perfect for winter gear. Armor from it would shrug off bone-knife slashes without a scratch.
It'd hold up decently against thrusts, too.
That's why we had to succeed.
No signs of other players crossing over or civilizations more advanced than Whirlwind Tribe so far... but who knows.
This incident hardened my resolve.
If mammoths were this ferocious, other monsters popping up wouldn't be surprising.
To prepare, our civilization had to keep advancing relentlessly.
"Starting tomorrow, everyone except essential personnel tending traps, fields, and livestock pens will prep for the mammoth hunt. Success means we'll grow stronger!"
"Woo-ahh!"
The tribesfolk burned with fighting spirit.
If I weren't halfway deified, deserters would've bolted by now. But nothing like that happened.
The next day, mammoth hunt prep began in earnest.
We'd dig the pit near our base.
Tons of weight meant transporting it from afar risked beast attacks en route.
Too much hassle to move, so nearby it was.
What did we need for digging? Tools, obviously.
No agriculture here, so no shovels—we had to make them.
Crude as hell, but stone shovels it was.
Water-elder and oak handles, flat stone blades.
We shaped light, even stones into blades, polished tips with obsidian shards and sand.
Fire-hardened handle ends with grooves for the blade, slathered in pine sap and fat resin—this era's universal glue.
X-wrap with cord, done.
Shovels weren't enough; we made pickaxes too. Once dug deep, we'd need baskets, so we repurposed farm ones.
Then came the grind.
Digs better than expected?
Primitive humans' stamina defied imagination.
Daily routine: eat, hunt, roam, work.
Lately adding construction, building real muscle—faster than modern metal shovels.
While at it, this pit would become a reservoir later.
Population growth and farmland shortages meant expansion; plan ahead.
Digging MVP: Black Bear.
Like Gongsun Zan from Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
Harnessing that huge frame, he shoveled at insane speed.
At this rate, three days' work for a mammoth-sized pit.
Gentle entry slope, steep drop midway.
Finish: clay base, fill with water.
No stakes or logs—hide couldn't be damaged.
Meanwhile, women wove the net.
Make it dense for hunt or fish; animal sinew core, wrapped in willow and leatherwood fibers.
Double knots at edges, pine sap on mid-knots to prevent slips.
Weights on the borders.
Pit took massive labor; net needed every woman's hands.
I called Quick Hand and Slow Foot to craft the killing blow weapon.
Ideally, one-shot the skull.
Eye stab to scramble brains tempting, but it'd thrash wildly in the pit—so tip focused on nerves.
Days passed.
Food? One mammoth covers us awhile, so all-in on labor.
As prep neared end, scout Quick Foot raced back.
"Chieftain! The black guys from the lakeside showed up!"
"War?"
"Nah, furry beast hit their tribe, they're fleeing. Asking if we'll take them in."
"Oh?"
Like manna from heaven.
Black Tribe lived by the lake, not river.
About a hundred strong—big tribe. Far off, just scouted recently.
Hulking builds made them prime next conquest target.
Round trip near a week; expedition prep would've taken ages.
With mammoth event, I'd figured months.
Not invading—for subjugation?
Of course.
Impressive physiques, but no laws or order here.
Couldn't rule out betrayal, so we halted work and armed up.
Black Tribe appeared from the west.
Lakeside refugees.
Messy bunch.
Many wounded, caked in mud.
They knew blood scent drew predator-mode mammoths.
Ragged, but big.
Dark brown skin, curly hair.
Weapons: stone mauls, crude spears.
Us?
Clack! Clack!
Fifty armed troops drilling formations.
Black Tribe warriors: fifteen.
Some injured—we could sweep them if it started.
Murmurs rose.
They felt the pressure.
Shields and spears like facing a wall.
A hulking man stepped from their group.
"You the chief?"
"And?"
"We're seeking a strong tribe to join. Yours looks solid and tough. Your chief must be stronger still—so fight me. Win, and we'll submit!"
Modern eyes: pure insanity.
Fugitives begging shelter, yet demanding duel for submission?
But this era's view?
Defeat their chief, gain legitimate rule.
Perfect chance to show force to Whirlwind Tribe, who saw me as divine.
I grinned.
No way I'd lose—pure gain.
"Sounds good."