Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Birth of Writing
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Choi Seong-un didn't have high expectations.
"Discovering writing isn't a big deal in itself. Ancient ruins are scattered everywhere."
Discovering writing and inventing it were entirely different matters.
Typically, writing emerged once in a major cultural sphere and then spread rapidly.
"Even when playing Lost World, my tribes or civilizations rarely developed their own unique scripts."
And it was especially rare in the early game like now.
The "golden tablet" Rakrak had found was a dime-a-dozen relic.
If they got lucky and stumbled upon an ancient ruin, they might uncover a library of tablets densely packed with script from that era. For civilizations at this stage, it was a miracle if they even bothered writing about house-building.
"Still, the content's decent."
Rakrak and his tribe didn't know the script on the golden tablet, so they had no idea what it meant. But all that information was fully disclosed to the player.
"But translating it requires a much higher civilization level."
Lost World was littered with ancient civilizations, so it wouldn't demand something like the Rosetta Stone for deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphs—no need for modern-level civilization. Still, it required archaeologists, linguists, universities, foundational knowledge from various civilizations, and a diverse range of developmental progress.
"So for now... it's basically trash."
Of course, the golden tablet itself was a shiny metal object that could catch the lizardmen's interest.
But gold was a soft metal, no better than iron at this stage.
It had ornamental value as a precious metal, but crafting like that was foreign to lizardmen compared to other races.
"Will they toss it?"
But Rakrak didn't.
He seemed taken with the golden tablet, sniffing it, tasting it, even gnawing on the already damaged corner with his teeth. Naturally, deep bite marks were left behind.
"It's soft."
"Probably 'gold,' I think."
"Gold?"
"The Blacksmith once showed us various metals from his pouch. Gold is heavy and soft, so not very useful, but it shines beautifully when polished and reflects light."
"Useless, then?"
"Oh, and it doesn't tarnish or rot. That's why the bald ones value it more."
"Hm. Doesn't rot."
Then he traced the engraved script on the golden tablet with his fingertips.
"Anyway, Jaol, this seems like something made by ancient people."
"Yes. Definitely man-made. Doesn't look like that monster forged itself on its own back."
"So the ancients built the altar and hid this thing."
Jaol pondered Rakrak's words briefly and grasped the implication.
"It had value to the ancients."
"Exactly. The ancients probably used gold because it 'doesn't rot.' What matters isn't what it's made of, but why they carved these marks into it."
At that, Jaol peered intently at the golden tablet as well.
"There's a pattern. Here, here, and here too—the same shape. And these two match."
"Right?"
"Like our warriors' 'hunting marks'?"
Rakrak nodded in agreement.
Even primitive tribes easily used symbols that weren't quite writing.
Twigs woven to mark directions, stones piled to claim territory.
Hunter-gatherer cultures especially passed down knowledge of animal migrations or edible plants across generations.
"Of course, without records, it can't get too complex. But..."
Seong-un glimpsed a faint possibility.
"If I support them, Rakrak might invent primitive writing."
Rakrak had high "Will" stats, meaning he'd likely maintain sustained interest once hooked.
And Jaol beside him had high "Intuition."
She might catch knowledge Rakrak overlooked, as she'd already shown.
"Worth a shot, then."
Directly teaching knowledge to a tribe consumed massive faith resources, but subtle hints were no different from ordinary miracles.
"High chance they miss the hint and it's wasted, but no investment without risk."
Seong-un began pondering how to convey the concept and value of "writing" to Rakrak.
Rakrak returned the orcs' land.
The Orc Leader bowed repeatedly.
"Thank you. Truly."
"It was an obstacle we had to overcome ourselves. We couldn't delay further. And you said this was originally your land."
"Heading deeper into the mountains?"
"Yes."
The Orc Leader nodded slowly.
"We're a small tribe. That's why surviving deeper in was hard. Big beasts roam there, and larger tribes clash. But you and your tribe seem strong enough."
"Good to hear."
"You've done us a great favor. We'd like to repay it. We've lived here long, so we know wider paths and gentler terrain. May my son guide you?"
Rakrak nodded readily.
"Send porters too. We'll hunt or forage food and load it on your son and the porters."
The Orc Leader grinned broadly.
"We'll part now, but we won't forget your grace, Rakrak."
Rakrak and his tribe moved out swiftly.
Fortunately, Jaol's "Cooking" had made parts of the ancient scarab edible.
The bulk—body and guts—were inedible, but the large legs, grilled over charcoal with spices, lost their foul smell and tasted mildly bland but decent.
"Cooking's pretty good. I should learn. Teach me?"
"Of course."
But charcoal was limited, and the scarab spoiled faster than Rakrak expected, so they couldn't keep butchering it indefinitely.
With over 300 lizardmen, it couldn't sustain many meals, so Rakrak hurried.
The canyon path through low shrubs and sparse trees wasn't easy, but the orc guide prevented major mishaps as they delved deeper.
After days, the terrain gentled, trees grew taller.
The water buffalo gorged on lush grass, barely moving, frustrating the warriors.
Rakrak spotted a four-legged, long-necked, horned furry beast bounding away—his first sight of one.
It eyed the unfamiliar lizardmen warily.
Rakrak stepped forward cautiously, noticing a small herd behind it.
The one-armed Star Reader spoke.
"Deer."
"Tasty?"
"Ate it once. Still remember—sweet meat."
Rakrak ordered a rest, then hunted deer with his warriors.
He offered the first kill on the black rock altar to the god, gave the second to the orcs in thanks for guidance.
The rest filled the tribe's bellies.
After a satisfying meal in ages, Rakrak sat before the provisional rock altar, golden tablet beside the rotting offered deer, lost in thought.
"This doesn't rot, that does."
If Jaol was right, the tablet wouldn't rot ahead. From what he'd seen, dead things rotted away.
"Come to think, the world splits into pairs. Day and night. Light and shadow. Earth and sky. Hunter and hunted. Eater and eaten. Living and dead... male and female."
His thoughts halted there; he shook his head.
"Jaol's waiting for my answer. ...Answer."
He gazed quietly at the deer's head.
Its body crawled with maggots, blood-soaked, swarming flies.
"Dead things teem with life, yet it'll fade."
Then Rakrak saw something odd.
Maggots arrayed in patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand.
Blink, and it turned chaotic.
"What?"
The vision flickered in and out.
The wriggling felt familiar.
Not distant.
"These bugs' movements resemble the marks ancients stamped on the golden tablet."
Rakrak realized not everything divided cleanly.
Dusk between day and night, blurry lines between light and shadow. Earth rose to mountains, sky hard to pinpoint. Hunters became hunted, eaters eaten.
"And male and female..."
He scratched the ground with a twig: first copying tablet script, then scribbles, then erasing with hand, deep in thought.
"Maybe the non-rotting part isn't the gold. What truly doesn't rot is..."
He scratched with the twig, lit a fire near the altar, and stayed up all night.
Next dawn, Jaol awoke to Rakrak before her.
"Chief, what is it?"
"Something to show you."
"Show?"
Jaol worried, but Rakrak seemed excited, so she followed silently.
Rakrak said,
"Staring at the golden tablet and rotting deer by the altar, it hit me—the god granted me grace. Suddenly realized: it's not the gold that doesn't rot. What truly endures is..."
"I don't follow."
Rakrak fell silent.
Then knelt, picked up the twig.
"Watch closely."
He drew a triangle and two lines.
△
┴
"This is me."
"Rakrak?"
"Uh, no..."
"You said Chief."
"I mean... male lizardman."
"Hm. Go on."
Next, inverted triangle and two lines.
▽
┴
"This is you."
"Female lizardman."
"Y-yeah."
"Precisely, 'me' as female, and lizardman."
"Yes."
Then lines between them.
△─▽
┴─┴
Rakrak stopped after the lines, so Jaol asked.
"What’s this?"
"This... means we become mates."
Rakrak said,
"This is my answer."
Jaol stared blankly at the "script," then took the twig and drew.
○
Jaol said,
"Rakrak, know what this means?"
"Yes."
Seong-un cheered inwardly.
No one around to see it anyway.
"But it'll take many generations to evolve further."
Still, early game now.
Rakrak led a sturdy tribe and was motivated for script use.
As expected, in the humid, grassy foothills, lizardmen perked up, foraging eagerly.
The water buffalo herd, bellies full despite new terrain, grew docile, easy for warriors to handle.
Rakrak and Jaol became mates; the tribe celebrated as festival.
A hunting contest replaced primitive wedding rites; Rakrak proved worthy again by offering the largest deer to his bride.
Everything seemed smooth.
But Seong-un knew Lost World wasn't that easy.
"Tons of random encounters and negative events—because it's based on the real world. And the next one's... kinda predictable."
Post-wedding, Rakrak sent warriors scouting nearby woods for threats.
Sightings of huge beasts, but not immediate danger.
He worried more about other tribes.
Days later, he learned of another tribe nearby, constantly scouting too.
Rakrak didn't know the tracks, but the Star Reader did.
"Frog footprints."