Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: From Primitive Era Chieftain to Space Age Emperor
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As soon as I stepped into the cave, the smell hit me like a wall—pure agony for any modern person.
High humidity mixed with the scent of moss, constant acrid smoke from the campfire, and the piled-up raw meat in one corner all blended with the stench of unwashed bodies.
The ceiling hung low, trapping the smoke at eye level with no easy escape.
Children were hacking away with coughs everywhere. This was no healthy setup.
A tutorial that kicked off with war? The structure felt just like the first game.
'How did I handle this back then...?'
How? Simple—I'd just charged in blindly.
But this was reality now.
I needed to use my head, at least a little.
I sat by the fire and scanned the surroundings.
Baskets woven from hides and leaves, dried tubers, shards of broken obsidian, half-burnt firewood.
Their possessions seemed serviceable enough.
'Roughly mid-Stone Age level?'
They used chipped stone tools, but I couldn't be sure about the other tribe.
The men glared with eyes full of murder.
Aftermath of the battle, no doubt.
"We raid at dawn tomorrow."
"Raid...?"
"Whirlwind! What’s a raid!?"
"Right."
"You don’t know raid."
"Hm."
They didn’t even have a word for "raid."
No problem, though.
Body language was universal.
I supplemented with gestures, tone, and actions.
"When enemies are asleep."
I mimed slicing my throat with my finger.
"Sneak in and kill."
"Ooooh!"
"Good idea!"
"Whirlwind’s smart as always!"
Primitive didn’t mean dumb. Brain capacity in this era matched modern humans.
They could grasp the benefits of a raid.
Before eating, I moved the fire to the cave mouth, creating a new hearth near the entrance.
I selected dry logs for low flames, stood flat stones beside it to reflect heat forward while directing smoke up.
For ventilation, I cleared wet leaves from a blocked space above the entrance.
The primitives watched my every move.
I was the biggest among them, which meant strongest.
The strong led the tribe—it was natural law.
Now the children’s coughing eased.
Smoke still seeped inside a bit, but no more choking bonfire in the cave’s heart.
"Smart Whirlwind!"
"Eat now."
"Eat? What’s eat?"
"Hungry! Eat to fight!"
"Uooo!"
Eat? In a foraging age, rice wasn’t on the menu.
Chopping words made me feel primitive myself.
Meal was wild boar meat.
No seasoning, reeking of rot.
But for protein and sustaining these massive frames, I had to pack it away.
Crunch crunch!
Sour stench rose sharp.
No fridges in this era—it was expected. Still, living off this...
Luxury complaint, sure.
Unless it was winter, I’d adapt to the sourness.
'Even medieval nobles ate gamey meat without batting an eye.'
Can’t fix the quality? Cook it thoroughly.
I’d picked survival perks before starting, but one bad bite could end me.
I took a palm-sized chunk, spread it thin as possible, skewered it, and roasted.
Adjusted distance and time so insides heated before the outside charred.
The women mimicked, slicing even thinner.
Soon the whole tribe followed, spreading and grilling thin.
This killed off plenty of harmful bugs.
Taste improved too.
After the meal, before sleep.
Kingdom of Animals unfolded.
No shame—they tangled in a heap, devouring each other’s flesh. Utterly absurd.
'Human glans shaped like mushrooms to scoop out rival semen, right?'
Modern me never dwelled on it, but here? Made sense.
Short lifespans meant passing genes was priority one.
Especially pre-war.
Might die tomorrow—male instinct overflowed to procreate.
Nearly twenty adults knotted in the center, minus kids. Cultural shock of the century.
Then Black Stone, the middle-aged elder (late thirties), approached me.
"Whirlwind no make baby?"
'Black Stone, was it?'
The tribe’s eldest, elder role.
Taught kids, passed knowledge to youth.
Even he endorsed the orgy. Lawless society indeed.
I shook my head.
"Save strength. Tell them to ease up."
"Whirlwind wise!"
Black Stone waded in, clubbing the rutting mass apart with a stick.
"......"
Mid-thrust, whacked by wood.
'Beating stuck dogs or what...'
Men exploded, naturally.
"Why! Leaving offspring our duty!"
"Whirlwind says save strength. Rise early, kill enemy. No energy if obsessed with babies."
"Tch... Whirlwind’s word."
"After kill Yellow Tribe, steal women—enjoy all you want!"
"Uo!"
Raid then orgy.
Mind reeling.
Kids around—really okay?
Early dawn.
No clocks, but moon’s tilt gave a rough read.
Primitives’ instincts nailed it better.
Common myth: primitives dumb.
Wrong. Up close, obvious not.
Distinguish myriad poisons, adapt per season—vast inherited knowledge.
Hence cave paintings.
No writing, so visuals preserved lore.
Nomadic for game and fruit—limits, sure.
Black Stone knew the rough plan, woke me on time.
"Whirlwind."
Eyes snapped open.
Already asleep? Nerves of steel.
Sleeping sound in this mess.
Quietly roused the men, one by one.
Revived embers—preps began.
Smeared wet ash on ankles and calves, thin mud on faces.
Cut body odor, repelled bugs.
Crude plant-woven shoes too—not all barefoot.
War meant a pebble could hobble you, gifting foes openings. Women’s handmade footwear.
Ruder than straw sandals.
Still beat nothing.
"Move."
Nods.
I led; they followed single file.
Luck: tailwind.
Keen noses might catch our scent otherwise.
Quiet woods.
Crunch. Crunch.
Only fallen leaves underfoot.
Thirty minutes in?
Enemy traces appeared.
This close—war inevitable.
Footprints, soot-marked sticks, chipped-tool scraps.
Human and animal skulls dangling—eerie vibes.
'Yellow Tribe' turf had low branch pit traps, leaves too neatly layered.
Amateurish.
Prodded with long stick.
Snap—hide snare sprung.
Weak, but ankle-trapping enough.
Deeper: crude fence, sentries visible.
'Huts?'
Not bad, but vulnerable to beasts or raids.
Pros: no smoke suffocation, easy retreat.
"Wait."
Two sentries at village mouth.
Wartime vigilance, probably.
One clutched obsidian-tipped spear, other stone axe.
'Bows would be nice.'
Knew rough bow-making from game.
Post-war: prioritize archery research.
Moon dipped, forest sounds shifted.
Wolf howls gone.
Pre-dawn hush.
Slither.
I rose; silent woods birthed tribesmen one by one.
Humans weakest before dawn.
Primitive stratagems? If war-minded, common sense.
Final gear check.
Reapplied ash and mud, smeared pine resin on weapons for grip.
"Go."
I charged first, axe high.
'Work?'
Hurled stone axe at dozing sentry’s skull, three meters out.
Splat! Watermelon burst.
Thwack!
Blood sprayed; partner jolted awake.
Slash!
"Grk."
Obsidian knife slit throat.
He gurgled blood, collapsed dead.
"Quiet kills only!"
I ordered, then stormed in knife-first.