In a dense forest, a narrow path winds forward, the scent of blood lingering in the air. On this very path, a gruesome scene was unfolding.
On the road between the shrubs and trees, a cargo carriage had overturned, spilling its contents. Surrounding the carriage lay the corpses of seven or eight soldiers, all dressed in identical uniformsâred tunics and black hats. Their lifeless eyes stared blankly, their bodies pierced by arrows and spears. Blood seeped from their wounds, soaking their garments and staining the earth.
A short distance from the carriage, further from the soldiers, several other corpses were scatteredâmen dressed in work clothes, appearing to be laborers. They had all been shot in the back, seemingly killed while attempting to flee.
Around the site of the massacre, several figures stood. Compared to the lifeless bodies on the ground, they bore strikingly different features.
Unlike the fallen soldiers in their finely tailored uniforms, these people wore garments made of rough linen. Their clothing varied in styleâsome wore long robes, others short tunicsâadorned with simple, abstract patterns that, upon closer inspection, depicted various animals. The edges of their garments were lined with small fringed tassels.
All of them were young men with tan-brown skin and black hair. Many had their hair braided into long strands hanging down their backs, some adorned with headbands and vibrant feathers. Their faces bore intricate war paint, drawn with unknown pigments.
Among them, a tall, muscular man stood bare-chested, a tattoo of a wild buffalo stretching across his back. He surveyed the bloody scene before speaking in a deep, resonant voice to his companions.
"This is yet another victory. We have once again successfully ambushed these pale-skinned devilsâ convoy. Without the guidance of the Wild Spirit, they are powerless in the wilderness. Do not fear past failures.â
"Under the watchful eyes of the Great Spirit, we shall have our revenge. These devils will pay for their crimes in blood! We will drive them outâleave none alive!"
"Ohhh!!!"
The manâs shout was met with a fervent cheer from those around him. They raised their weapons high, their voices echoing through the trees. But amidst the celebration, one young man remained silent. He had long, unbound black hair and wore a short tunic embroidered with an eagle. His gaze lingered on the corpses of the slain laborers, his expression unreadable.
His silence did not go unnoticed. The tall man turned to him, addressing him directly.
"Kapak, is something wrong? You fought bravely just nowâI saw you kill at least two of those pale-skinned devils. Why arenât you celebrating our victory?"
At the sound of his name, Kapak hesitated briefly before pointing toward the fallen laborers and speaking solemnly.
"Sado, why did we kill them? They werenât warriors. They surrendered and stopped resisting. You gestured for them to leave, but then had them shot in the back. That breaks our word."
"We have no word to keep with these outsiders," Sado replied calmly.
"I never spoke a single word to themâI only waved my hand. That is not a promise."
Kapak frowned slightly but pressed on.
"But we shouldnât kill those who are no longer warriors, who have given up the fight. Weâve already won, havenât we?"
"Won? No, Kapak, victory alone is not enough," Sado said, his voice cold.
"I want more than just victoryâI want their blood. Theyâve slaughtered our people a hundred times over. I wonât rest until we repay them a hundredfold. I want to wipe their towns off the map!"
Gritting his teeth, Sado surveyed the carnage before him. Kapak, his expression heavy, responded in a measured tone.
"Listen to me, Sado. I was once captured by those devils and enslaved in their cities. I worked in their factories and plantations. And let me tell you thisâthe pale-skins are just as cruel to their own kind.â
"In their factories, they force their own lower-class people to work endlessly, day and night. People collapse and die from exhaustion. When I killed the factory owner and distributed his wealth to the workers, they helped me escape. Without them, I wouldnât have made it back to our tribe. Those workers are just as much victims as we are."
Sado waved his hand dismissively, his patience wearing thin.
"Enough! I donât care about the differences between those pale-skinned devils. All I know is that they came from across the sea, invaded our land, and slaughtered our people. I want nothing but their bloodâa hundredfold!â
"Remember this, Kapak. You are a warrior of the Tupa Tribe. You are forbidden from speaking a single word in defense of those pale devils. Iâll let this slide once, but if you do it again, I will punish you!"
Sadoâs stern warning left Kapak momentarily stunned. He fell silent.
"Enough talk! Gather everything useful. Take the food and those fire-spitting sticks. Leave everything else behind!"
At Sadoâs command, the warriors sprang into action, looting the ambushed convoy. Their primary focus was food and firearms.
As the warriors moved swiftly to collect their spoils, Kapak did the same. When he flipped over a soldierâs corpse to retrieve a rifle, something caught his eye beneath the body.
It was a bookâa small, blue-covered booklet. Thin and barely larger than a palm, it was more of a pamphlet than a proper book.
Kapakâs curiosity was piqued. He flipped through it briefly, his eyes lighting up. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he discreetly tucked it away.
Once the battlefield was cleared, the warriors began their journey home, using the surviving horses from the convoy to carry their spoils. They traveled for three to four hours through the wilderness, finally reaching the Tupa tribeâs encampment by afternoon.
A vast settlement of tents and makeshift shelters sprawled before them. The people of the tribeâmen and women, young and oldâgathered to greet them. Many were emaciated, their faces weary. Under their eager gazes, Sado loudly recounted their "hunt" and how many pale-skinned devils they had slain.
After the celebration, the warriors disbanded. Freed from the group, Kapak hurried back to his tent.
Inside the dimly lit space, he quickly scanned his surroundings before crouching near his bedding. He opened a wooden chest at the bedside.
Inside the chest lay an assortment of items: pocket watches, wristwatches, pistols, small statues, canes, glass bottles, top hatsâall trinkets of industrial civilization. These were Kapakâs personal collection. His time in the city had sparked a fascination with the very civilization that had invaded their homeland, a sentiment few among his tribe shared. Under Sadoâs leadership, the tribe rejected industrial goodsâexcept for firearms, which were simply too useful to discard.
Kapak rummaged through the chest before pulling out a gas lamp. He lit it, casting a warm glow across the tent. Then, settling onto his bedding, he retrieved the small booklet he had hidden earlier.
It contained illustrations and text he couldnât understand. The pages were filled with sequentially arranged black-ink drawings, seemingly telling a story. Though he couldnât read the words, he found himself engrossed in the images.
As he reached the final blank page, his eyes caught a peculiar detail.
A single handwritten wordâdistinct from the printed text before it.
A word in the Pritt Common language.
A word that meantâ"Knowledge."