On the open ground, people gathered daily, half-focused on their own work while gossiping about the latest events in the tribe. Some would join in, others would leave, but a core group of ten-year-olds remained constant.
"Hey, do you guys think the Chief, being an alchemist, would really come to a place like ours?"
As a girl, Udo perfectly inherited the love for gossip.
"I heard the Chief's family is royalty," Fatty Bull said while chewing on dried meat.
"I heard that too. The Chief is truly amazing," Skinny Stick nodded.
"Exactly, how else would he be our Chief?"
With admiration practically bursting out of her small frame, Udo wished she could dash down the hill into the newly built workshop to find something to do.
"But isn't magic only known to foreigners?" A boy sharpening his dagger joined the gossip circle.
"Maybe he has some foreign blood. Just look at how amazing the Chief is!" Udo glanced at the boy.
"Didn't the Fort of the Forge send out orders to watch out for foreigners…" the boy with the dagger spoke calmly.
"Are you stupid? The Chief is a noble from the Highland Alliance. Just keep sharpening your blade, Little Dagger," Udo rolled her eyes at him.
"Speaking of which, I heard Uncle Beard say the Chief wants to form an army," Fatty Bull continued, undeterred by their conversation.
"So, can we join? There's even pay…" Skinny Stick looked dreamily.
"Keep dreaming… you're too young!" Udo replied.
"I want to earn money too," Fatty Bull smacked his lips, almost dropping the meat from his mouth before stuffing it back in.
"Then go mining. After a few months, you'll earn a whole gold coin," Little Dagger said while sharpening his blade.
"That'd be a fortune. A gold coin… I've never seen one before," Skinny Stick exclaimed.
"You know, if the Chief really is an alchemist… imagine all the gold he could make!" Udo's mind was already spinning with tales of the Chief creating gold.
"He's not just an alchemist; he's also a high-ranking chef," Fatty Bull added.
"And maybe even a master craftsman," Skinny Stick added.
"Oh my god, he really is a big deal. We'd better keep him around," Udo was already enthralled.
"Exactly," Fatty Bull agreed.
"He'd also need a guard squad, right? All the heroes in the bards' tales have guards," Skinny Stick said.
"The Chief of the Sun Tribe even has an elite guard unit!" Udo nodded.
"Then you be his guard, Udo," Skinny Stick blurted.
"I'll do it! And I'll drag you, Skinny Stick, and Fatty Bull along with me… and you too, Little Dagger!" Udo pointed her finger fiercely.
On the hillside open space of the Hunters' Spear Tribe, a peaceful scene unfolded under the winter afternoon sun. Some people carried bundles of animal skins and tools as they left, while others tinkered with arrowheads. Some cradled children, softly singing, while others lay on newly woven mats, gently snoring. Some joined the gossip group, others left, and some quietly listened without joining in.
Meanwhile, Kent, lost in the sense of accomplishment over bulk toilet paper production, had no idea that one day, due to a conversation started by Skinny Stick after spying on the toilet paper-making process, he would be regarded as a super-master combining "alchemy, culinary arts, and craftsmanship." The gossip eventually evolved into the unofficial formation meeting of the First Chief's Junior Guard Squad, with all members either volunteering or being volunteered in Kent's absence.
These days, he had been busy teaching the settlers new techniques.
Coal furnace manufacturing had already started. Eight blacksmiths and eight apprentices were working in shifts around the clock, producing fewer than twenty finished sets daily, slightly slower than anticipated.
But no worries—the goal was for everyone to learn the production method slowly, then improve and increase efficiency.
Four large iron pots were made, and two stone huts were built with four stone stoves for the territory's dining hall. The day the first large pot of food was cooked, the settlement was as lively as if it were a grand festival.
Although it was just stir-fried potato slices, using animal fat rendered from meat, it was a taste sensation for the settlers—and even the guard squad—who had never experienced such a flavor.
Public restrooms had also begun construction. Although a full sewage system wasn't feasible yet, at least this would help curb the settlers' habit of relieving themselves anywhere. Public sanitation would be a major issue as the population grew, so careful planning and design now would pay off later.
With toilet paper now in production, Kent felt an extraordinary sense of accomplishment watching a society evolve from primitive conditions and build up civilization step-by-step.
"Chief, are we planning to take all this magic paper up to the Highlands to sell?"
Down at the workshop, Gray Beard wiped the sweat from his brow.
The work wasn't physically hard, but the room was steaming hot. In the corner, a makeshift furnace was burning, and the walls were lined with freshly made "magic paper" drying after soaking. The stacks by his hand were finished products, cut into palm-sized pieces with a hunting knife.
"Beard, this isn't magic," Kent replied helplessly. "It's science."
"Science?" Gray Beard and Splitting Blade exchanged glances, and they couldn't help but admire the Chief even more as he fished out magic paper from the pool with a sieve. With all their years of experience, they hadn't heard this term before, but it sounded impressive.
Magic, alchemy, or wizardry—those foreign sorcerers all had mysterious ways.
He insists it's not magic, but it's just tree bark and ironwood ground into pulp, mixed with water, minerals, boiled for days, and poured into a pool to make parchment?
Surely, it's all just a ruse to hide the true magic.
That pool of water must have been enchanted under the cover of night.
And the Chief—what a noble character, clearly a high-born noble with his mannerisms, speaking style, gaze, organization skills, and the way he made those delicious roasted potatoes.
Gray Beard couldn't help but swallow.
This must be a noble from a great tribe, maybe even a royal from a super-tribe.
Why else would he come here, to such a remote place, an ideal site for a…
Secret training base for someone of his rank.
"Boss!" Dry Leaf burst through the door. "Hunters reported a gang of bandits outside the valley, with some big carts."
"Bandits? Tiger Clan?" Kent asked, surprised.
"No, it's the Cave People…" Dry Leaf looked both amused and frustrated.
"Cave People raiding human lands?" Splitting Blade glanced at Kent. "Boss, want to take a shot at them?"
"We're short on food and money, so why not take the opportunity?"