All the way to kill, the barbarian of the enemy tribe could not stop him. With the lethality of a stone axe raised several levels by his sheer brute force, how could a few flimsy wooden sticks hold him back? The phrase "a wolf among sheep" wasn't just accurate—it was an understatement.
Ethan Drake, gripping a stone spear, moved with calculated precision, his every motion deliberate. His strikes didn't land immediately, but the promise of his movements whispered potential. Born in an era of peace and reason, the concept of mortal combat was a foreign one. Yet, as the chaos around him roared louder, he learned—quickly.
He shifted his focus to a barbarian entangled in combat with one of his tribe's warriors. Calculating his timing, Ethan inhaled deeply, steadying himself, before plunging the stone spear forward with all his might.
The scream that followed was visceral, primal, but it was the sensation that nearly undid him—the sickening yield of flesh and sinew beneath the spear's tip. His hand trembled, but he clutched the spear tighter, forcing it deeper with a surge of strength and whispered resolve: *This is the enemy. This is the enemy. This is the enemy.*
The tactic was ruthlessly effective. It wasn't heroic or noble; it was sharp, tactical, even ruthless. But did he care? Not at all.
Neither did his tribesmen. Their cheers were thunderous, their morale swelling. The warriors, inspired, fought with renewed vigor, following Ethan's lead. The enemy tribe faltered, their resistance crumbling under the combined force of superior weapons and boosted confidence. The gap between the primitive Stone Age and ancient ingenuity was vast—and decisive. Yet, in the back of Ethan's mind, he couldn't ignore the influence of his strange, almost mystical "ruler" talent that increased their fighting strength by twenty percent.
"Run! Everyone, run!" one of the enemy shouted as the last of their resistance collapsed. They fled, fast as rabbits, leaving behind broken weapons and wounded pride.
A system message blinked across Ethan's mind, unnoticed in the fervor:
*Congratulations to the player 'Ethan Drake' for winning the first battle. Earned: 100 Civilization Points, 5 Military Points.*
The warriors around him roared, ready to chase the fleeing barbarians, but Ethan barked sharply, "Stop! Don't chase!"
Their feet halted, but their expressions brimmed with confusion. Why let the enemy go when victory had handed them a perfect opportunity? Ethan didn't waste time. His voice was steady as he addressed them.
"Listen. The camp comes first. Food. Shelter. Survival. Chasing them does nothing but waste our strength. Focus on what matters most right now."
Realization dawned in their eyes. Where doubt had lingered, respect now burned. Their confidence in Ethan—this unlikely but undeniably capable leader—cemented further.
Yet, his mind remained sharp. He glanced at one of the scouts he'd handpicked earlier. "You," he said, motioning the scout forward, "I have a dangerous task for you. Do you have the guts for it?"
The scout stood straighter, emboldened by their recent victory. "Anything you ask, Chief!"
Ethan handed him the stone spear. "Follow their tracks in the snow. Find their camp and report back. Don't fight. Don't get caught. If they spot you, retreat immediately."
The scout thumped his chest. "I won't fail!"
As the scout vanished into the snowy trail, Ethan turned his focus back to his tribe. Materials were needed for a proper camp. On the way back, he struck up a conversation with the tribe's first warrior, a man whose raw courage had impressed Ethan from the start.
"You don't even have a proper name?" Ethan asked, his brows lifting.
The warrior tilted his head, confused. "A... name?"
Ethan thought for a moment, his mind racing. "You'll be Rio. Rio Drake."
The warrior's face lit up with pride. "Rio... thank you, Chief!"
The moment was punctuated by another system message:
*Congratulations to the player 'Ethan Drake' for creating the concept of 'names.' Earned: 50 Civilization Points, 10 Culture Points.*
Ethan glanced at the rest of the warriors, who now stared at him expectantly. Clearly, they wanted names too. He swallowed hard. Naming people was not his strength.
"Well," he began, thinking fast, "only those who prove themselves earn a name. If you want one, fight hard and contribute to the tribe."
The warriors nodded, their admiration for Ethan deepening. Unbeknownst to him, his improvisation had birthed a new tradition—one that would resonate through generations of their civilization.