Glory is a powerful drug, but it doesn't fill stomachs. Lukas Fischer knew this better than anyone. In Ancestral Wars, owning an iron weapon without solid logistics was like building a castle on sand. Iron was only a lever; now he needed a foundation.
The third morning in the Silver Wolves' camp was shrouded in thick mist, cold vapor rising from the river and seeping into the bones. Lukas woke in Mathilde's hut, his body still sore from the previous day's labor, but his mind already buzzing. Mathilde was gone; she had left at dawn to test the new iron spearhead on real prey.
Stepping outside, Lukas was immediately struck by the shift in atmosphere. The women who, two days earlier, had looked at him with sovereign contempt now parted for him with a hint of respectful fear. He made his way to the center of the camp, where Hans and a few other men were scraping the frozen ground.
"Stand up, Hans," Lukas commanded. "Today, we do not scrape the earth. Today, we tame it."
The old man straightened, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
"Lukas… the warriors won't let us change their habits. They say the river belongs to the Spirit of Water."
"The Spirit of Water poisons us," Lukas replied, gesturing toward the camp's children, many with grayish skin and swollen bellies. "Your water is full of sediment and larvae. If you want to survive the Great Winter, you need clean blood."
He opened his mental interface.
[PROJECT UNLOCKED: FILTRATION AND DRAINAGE SYSTEM (STAGE 1)]
[OBJECTIVE: DRINKABLE WATER AND HYGIENE]
[MATERIALS: QUARTZ SAND, ACTIVATED CHARCOAL, FIRED CLAY, LIMESTONE]
He began by reorganizing the men. For the first time in their lives, they weren't receiving chore orders—they were receiving precise instructions. Under Lukas' guidance, they began digging a gently sloping trench from an upstream source to the camp center.
But the work did not proceed without friction.
"Stop!"
A massive woman, her hair cut short and burn scars crossing her chest, intervened. It was Brigitte, one of the Mother-Warrior's lieutenants and Mathilde's main rival for future tribal command. She brandished a stone axe, her face twisted with anger.
"The male takes too many liberties," she spat at the watching warriors. "Mathilde allowed him to forge, not to desecrate our ancestors' ground with his snake holes."
Lukas stepped forward, standing tall despite fatigue. He knew that if he retreated now, his authority would collapse.
"Brigitte, is it? Tell me, how many warriors did you lose last winter to the 'Gut Fever'?"
Brigitte froze, caught off guard by the direct attack.
"It is the will of the Spirits…"
"It's the will of the shit you drink," Lukas snapped. He scooped up a handful of muddy river water. "I will turn this mud into crystal. If I succeed, your warriors will be twice as strong. If I fail, you can use my skin to repair your shields. But if you stop me from saving this clan, it will be your head the Mother-Warrior demands when the first graves are dug."
Tension was palpable. The other women murmured. Brigitte, humiliated by Lukas' relentless logic, stepped closer until their faces were mere inches apart.
"You have a sharp tongue for a male, stranger. Mathilde protects you, but she will not always be there. One day, you will make a mistake. And when that day comes, I will make sure your hands can never build again."
She spat to the ground and stepped back. Lukas flinched not, but mentally noted: Brigitte. Political threat. Hostility level: Maximum.
Work resumed. Lukas used his newfound status to requisition the furnaces he had built. This time, he wasn't forging iron, but firing clay pipes—long, interlocking tubes. Basic pottery, but applied to civil engineering.
The "Sovereign's Filter," as he secretly called it, was a circular stone structure composed of multiple layers: large stones at the bottom, gravel, fine sand, and a thick layer of charcoal he had specially produced.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind snow-capped peaks, Mathilde returned from the hunt. She dragged behind her the carcass of an ether-deer, a majestic beast whose antlers still glimmered with residual light. She was covered in blood, but her face shone. Her new iron spearhead hadn't just pierced the beast's hide—it had gone straight through.
She found Lukas near his new filtration system.
"They say you defied Brigitte," she said, wiping her face with an animal hide. She seemed more amused than concerned. She was furious, she said, because he was turning their men into "earth warriors."
"I turn them into builders," Lukas corrected. "Look."
He opened the rudimentary valve he had installed. The river water, initially brown and murky, flowed through the system. When it emerged from the final clay pipe, it was crystal clear, like diamond in the rising moon.
Mathilde crouched, cupped the water in her hands, and drank. Her eyes widened.
"It has no taste… It's pure, like snow on the peaks."
"And it won't make your people sick," Lukas added. "This is sustainable development, Mathilde. A healthy warrior is worth ten dying ones."
Mathilde straightened, gripping Lukas by the nape. Her touch was less brutal than usual, tinged with admiration bordering on obsession.
"You are a miracle, Lukas Fischer. Or a demon sent to tempt us. But it doesn't matter."
She led him to her hut, ignoring the other warriors' gazes. That night, the camp celebrated the ether-deer's capture. Meat was roasted, and for the first time, Lukas was invited to sit by the central fire, a place normally reserved for high-ranking matriarchs.
The feast was intense. Fermented berry liquor flowed freely. Mathilde, sitting next to him, placed her hand possessively on his thigh, marking her territory in front of Brigitte and the other lieutenants.
"This male is the heart of our future," Mathilde declared, her voice carrying beyond the fire. "His hands create steel, and his mind purifies water. He will give the clan children who possess the knowledge of the Ancients and the strength of Wolves."
The tag "strong offspring" was no longer just a probability; it was a political project.
Later, in the privacy of the hut, the atmosphere shifted. Mathilde was no longer a triumphant war chief but a woman consumed by anticipatory jealousy. She stripped Lukas with feverish haste, her hands trembling slightly.
"Brigitte watches you… They all watch you," she murmured in his ear, her voice hoarse with desire and threat. "They see what I've found. They think they can take you because you are a male."
She bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a deep mark.
"You're going nowhere, Lukas. I will build a citadel around you if I must. You will forge for me, think for me, and sire for me."
Lukas met her kisses with calculated intensity. He felt the power he wielded over her. The more comfort and technology he brought to this savage world, the more he became a drug for these women of power. He was no slave; he was the architect of their dependence.
The act that followed was savage, in keeping with this prehistoric age, but Lukas always kept part of his mind alert. Every moment of pleasure was a step toward consolidating his empire.
The next day, Lukas decided to move to the next stage: agriculture and currency.
He gathered the Mother-Warrior, Mathilde, and, to his surprise, Brigitte, summoned to witness his new "madness."
"Iron and water are secured," Lukas began, drawing diagrams in the sand. "But you depend on hunting. If the beasts migrate because of the cold, you die. We must cultivate."
"The soil is too hard, and seeds won't grow under snow," Brigitte retorted.
"They will grow if we use animal manure and create rudimentary greenhouses with translucent hides and geothermal heat," Lukas explained. "And to organize all this, we need a system of value. Barter is inefficient."
He pulled a small, perfectly round iron coin from his pocket, stamped with a stylized wolf seal he had engraved the day before.
"This is the 'Lukas-Mark.' Each coin represents an hour of labor or a measure of grain. Whoever holds these coins has the right to food and tools."
The Mother-Warrior took the coin, examining it with fascination mingled with apprehension.
"You want us to trade our sweat for small pieces of metal?"
"I want you to organize your workforce," Lukas replied. "With this, you can pay men to build roads. You can pay neighboring tribes for their timber instead of waging war. Currency is the language of civilization."
At that moment, a cry rang out from the palisade.
A sentry rushed in, pale-faced.
"Mother-Warrior! Mathilde! A delegation from the 'Daughters of the Sun' is at the gate. They demand to see the 'Iron Male.'"
Mathilde leapt to her feet, her hand gripping the hilt of her new iron knife.
"Already…" she hissed. "The news has spread like wildfire."
Lukas felt a chill run down his spine. The System vibrated violently.
[ALERT: NEW FACTION DETECTED — DAUGHTERS OF THE SUN (JAPANESE-INSPIRED TRIBE)]
[KEY INDIVIDUAL: AMATERASU RYOKO (PRIESTESS)]
[THREAT LEVEL: HIGH / OBSESSIVE]
Lukas looked at Mathilde. She was ready to kill anyone approaching him. He glanced at Brigitte, already calculating how to exploit this intrusion to discredit him.
The kingdom-building game had reached a new level. It was no longer just about forging metal, but navigating predators willing to tear each other apart for his genius—and his blood.
"Let them in," Lukas said, pocketing his coins. "It's time to show the world that the Stone Age is over."