He pointed at himself with a dumb look on his face. For a second, he thought he had misheard. Then something clicked—hard.
The system had said he was entering as the leader of a primitive tribe. His memories from the installation process returned slowly: their previous home destroyed by a snow disaster, the tribe wandering in the cold, looking for a new place to live.
So these people are my tribe. They're not enemies. They're looking at me because they're waiting for orders.
The panic drained out of his body little by little. The "red eyes" he saw earlier were nothing but fear and exhaustion. Now that he actually looked properly, their gazes held worry, respect, and the helplessness of people who had lost their home.
Alex let out a long breath and pushed himself to stand up. Every barbarian's gaze followed his every move. It was uncomfortable, yes—but he didn't feel threatened anymore.
He glanced down at his own clothes and nearly laughed.
He was also wearing fur. A crude animal hide, tied clumsily around him. And the cold wind biting at his skin explained everything.
"Okay first things first," he muttered quietly. "This isn't modern day. Clothing standards don't matter."
He looked around at the endless white horizon, snow whipping across the ground.
"The first task is obviously finding a place to settle down, a proper settlement."
His thoughts drifted to Savage 6.
In the game, he always chose spots with food and water—grain tiles and river tiles. If there were extra resources, even better. But here, nothing could be seen except snow, trees buried under frost, and exhausted people shivering in the cold.
"In this weather, even walking feels dangerous. If we don't find shelter soon, someone might actually freeze to death."
Alex clenched his teeth and rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself. The tribe looked at him, waiting.
I guess being patriarch means no time to panic
He lifted his head, took a deep breath, and tried to think like a leader.
"We need to move. And we need to move now."
The real game had begun.
*
Alex took a slow breath and looked carefully at the group of people depending on him.
Roughly thirty of them—men, women, elders, even three children wrapped in furs too thin for this cold. About four men stood out: tall, broad, each gripping thick wooden clubs. They looked exactly like the basic melee units from Savage 6—the Warriors. Except these ones were alive, breathing, and shivering in the snow.
He turned his attention to the environment. Dense forest all around. Enough wood to last forever.
But food was another story. In a game, food tiles sat neatly on the map. Grain icons, river fish, deer herds—easy to spot. Here? In this frozen world, everything looked the same shade of white. He had no idea where to even begin.
"Fresh water," he muttered. "We need a river."
Food was important—but water was survival. Even without anything to eat, people could last days if they stayed hydrated. And if they found a river, maybe they could catch fish. That alone might buy them time.
He'd barely formed the thought when a young man stepped forward. Skinny compared to the others, with bright eyes and a nervous posture.
"Patriarch," he said, pointing east, "I walked around a bit earlier. There's a river that way."
Before Alex could respond, the old man with the wild beard—the tribe's elder—smacked the youth on the back of the head with words alone.
"You brat! Who told you to wander off without orders? What if a wolf caught you? You think your scrawny legs can outrun one?"
The youth shrank like a scolded child, shoulders hunching, eyes on the snow.
Alex quickly waved his hands. "It's fine, it's fine. He's safe, right?"
Looking at the elder, Alex could see his anger wasn't real anger—it was fear. Fear for the safety of the tribe's young. In a group this small, every person mattered. Every death was a heavy loss.
But inside, Alex was practically cheering.
A scout!
In strategy games, scouts were crucial for early exploration. And this young man had gone off on his own before being told. That curiosity, that habit of observing the terrain first—he was a perfect early-game scout.
"Come here," Alex called, his tone firm. "You lead the way. Take me to the river."
The youth's eyes lit up, and he immediately ran to the front of the group, eager to be helpful. The others followed without question—after all, a patriarch's decision was absolute.
As they walked, Alex tried to understand his new identity. Being a leader felt weirdly natural. He found himself talking to the young scout as if he really were the commander of an early tribe.
"When no one told you, why did you go out on your own?" Alex asked.
The youth scratched his head. "I thought if I check the area first, everyone can be safer."
Alex almost clapped on the spot.
"This is real scout instinct"
With four Warriors already and now a potential scout, Alex felt his "starting lineup" wasn't bad at all.
*
As they walked, he moved closer to the old man. If anyone here knew anything, it was him. Alex started asking questions quietly, keeping his tone respectful.
But the more he heard, the more depressed he got. Information was scarce, and what he did learn wasn't comforting.
They used to live near several other small tribes. Those tribes had more fighters and often raided them during the winter. Food became so scarce that many from Alex's tribe starved to death before the snowstorm finally wiped out their home.
The beasts weren't any better. Most animals slept through the cold, but wolves didn't. Hungry wolves prowled the wild in winter, and running into one in this weather was practically a death sentence. Especially for a slow-moving tribe with women, elders, and children.
Alex felt the weight of that information settle on his shoulders.
So we're surrounded by stronger tribes and wolves. Great.
Most importantly, they'd been walking for five days straight. No carts. No horses. Nothing. Just two legs and whatever strength they had left.
That meant something important— They weren't far from their ruined home.
Which also meant they weren't far from the tribes that used to rob them or the wolves that prowled the region.
Alex tightened his grip on his fur cloak as the cold wind whipped past him.
This world isn't a game.
One bad decision, and my whole tribe dies.
He glanced forward at the young scout leading the way, then at the warriors holding their clubs, and finally at the tired faces depending on him.
*
Alex's mind kept circling the same worry:
If their tribe had been wiped out by a blizzard, then the nearby tribes must have been hit too. They were all displaced, all wandering, all desperate. And if they ran into each other well, he doubted anyone would greet him with "Patriarch Alexander, please adopt me."
More likely, they would fight over food, land, and a place to survive the winter.
And judging by what the elder said earlier, their tribe had been bullied even before the disaster. Now—when everyone was starving and freezing—the danger was even worse.
Alex let out a shaky breath. "This is too much. Being patriarch is really not easy."
He was still lost in thought when the scout up front suddenly shouted, "Patriarch! We're here!"
Alex looked up, still half-distracted— And then he saw it.
A forest clearing opened suddenly like a curtain being pulled aside. Beyond it lay a massive frozen lake stretching wider than anything he'd imagined. Even under a thick shell of ice, the lake looked majestic, vast, and strangely calming.
Before he could react, a chime rang in his head.
System prompt: Congratulations, player 'Alexander', for discovering the two-star natural wonder 'Mirror Lake'. Award: +1000 civilization points.
"Huh?!"