In a certain dense forest, a small path wound forward, a bloody smell permeated the air, and on the path, a tragedy was currently unfolding.
On the road between the bushes and trees, a cargo wagon lay overturned, its goods spilled out. The bodies of seven or eight soldiers, dressed identically in red shirts and black hats, lay around the wagon. Their eyes were wide, arrows and javelins pierced their bodies, and the flowing blood stained their clothes and seeped into the soil.
On the other side of the soldiers' bodies, slightly away from the wagon, were the bodies of several people dressed in work clothes, like laborers. They had all been shot in the back, appearing to have been killed while trying to escape.
Around the scene of the massacre, several figures stood. Compared to the bodies lying on the ground, their physical appearance was very different.
Compared to the elaborate uniforms worn by the dead soldiers, these people wore clothes made of coarse linen. The clothes varied in length, some in the form of robes, others as short shirts, printed with various simple abstract patterns. At a glance, one could see they were various animals, and the edges of the clothes had small fabric tassels.
These people were all young men with yellowish-brown skin and black hair. Many had their hair styled, braided into strands that hung down their backs. Some also wore headbands and bright feather decorations on their heads, and their faces were painted with various battle patterns using unknown pigments.
Among this group of brown-skinned people, a tall man, bare-chested with a bison tattoo on his back, surveyed the bloody scene before him, then spoke to his companions around him in a deep, resonant voice.
"This is another victory. We have successfully ambushed another convoy of these white-skinned devils. Without the guidance of wild spirits, they are vulnerable in this wild land. Do not fear past failures.
"Under the gaze of the great soul, we will eventually have our revenge, making these devils slowly pay the price in blood! We will drive them out, leaving none behind!"
"Oh oh oh!!!"
The man shouted loudly. Hearing his words, the others around him raised their weapons and burst into enthusiastic cheers, but among them, only a young man with disheveled black hair, wearing a short shirt painted with an eagle, gazed silently at the bodies of the workers who had been shot in the back in the distance.
The young man did not echo the man's call. His silence attracted the man's attention. The man turned to him and said.
"Kapak, do you have a problem? I saw you were very brave in the previous fight, killing at least two white-skinned devils. Why aren't you celebrating the victory?"
Hearing the words of the man who seemed to be the leader, the young man named Kapak paused slightly, then pointed at the fallen workers in the distance and spoke solemnly.
"Sado, why kill them? They weren't warriors, and they had given up resisting. You waved for them to leave but then shot them in the back. This violates a promise."
"We have no promises to keep with these outsiders. I didn't say a single word to them, I just waved. That's not a promise," the man named Sado said slowly, while Kapak frowned slightly before continuing.
"But we shouldn't harm those who are no longer warriors and have given up resisting. We've already won, haven't we?"
"Won? No, Kapak, is just winning enough? Besides victory, I want more of the white-skinned devils' blood. They have killed a hundred times more of our people than we have killed of theirs. I won't be satisfied until we kill them back a hundredfold. I now crave to slaughter their towns one by one."
Looking at the bodies scattered on the ground, Sado said through clenched teeth, while Kapak responded with a solemn expression.
"Listen to me for a moment, Sado. I was once captured by those devils and made a slave in their cities. I worked in their factories and plantations. To be honest, those white-skinned people are just as cruel to their own.
"Those beasts force their lower-class people to work day and night in dark factories, and people often die while working. After I killed the factory owner and distributed the money to the laborers, they helped me escape the pursuit. It was thanks to them that I was able to return to the tribe. Those laborers are just as unfortunate victims as we are."
Kapak explained to Sado, while the latter spoke impatiently.
"Enough! I don't care about the differences between those white-skinned devils. All I know is that they are hateful invaders from across the sea, they killed our people and stole our land. All I want is their blood! A hundredfold the blood!
"Remember, Kapak, you are a warrior of the Tupa Tribe. You are not allowed to say a word for those white-skinned devils. I'll let you off this time, but if you do it again, I will punish you!"
Sado pointed sternly at Kapak as he spoke. Hearing Sado's words, Kapak was slightly startled and said nothing more.
"All right, now clean up the battlefield. Besides taking back the food and those fire-spitting sticks, leave everything else behind!"
Sado ordered, and then everyone around began to act together, starting to loot the spoils from the ambushed convoy, with the focus being on food and firearms.
For a time, the surrounding warriors of the Tupa Tribe began to gather and transport the surrounding items, and Kapak, who had been reprimanded earlier, was among them.
Just as Kapak was turning over a soldier's body to retrieve a firearm, he saw something beneath the body.
It was a book, a small book with a blue cover. The book was thin and small, only about the size of a palm, more like a booklet than a book.
Seeing this booklet, Kapak's heart stirred. After casually flipping through it, his eyes lit up. He glanced around, then quietly picked it up and hid it on himself.
After cleaning up the battlefield, the small team began their return journey. They used the surviving horses from the convoy to carry the loaded goods and traveled through this wild land for three or four hours, finally returning to the Tupa Tribe camp in the afternoon.
Amidst the warm welcome of the crowd, the team entered the wide camp built of countless tents and sheds. Many people with the same skin color and attire came out to greet them, men and women, old and young, many of whom were emaciated and looked haggard. Under everyone's attention, Sado loudly recounted the story of their "hunt" and how many white-skinned devils they had killed.
After the team disbanded and he finally had free time, Kapak immediately hurried back to his own tent.
In the somewhat dim tent, Kapak looked around a few times, then went to his sleeping mat and opened a wooden box placed beside it.
A pocket watch, a wristwatch, a pistol, small figurines, a walking stick, glass bottles, a top hat... The contents of this box were uniformly products of industrial civilization. These were Kapak's collection. His experiences in the city had sparked his interest in the civilization that came from across the sea, invading their homeland yet seemingly more advanced.
Kapak hated the invaders, but he was very interested in their endless industrial products. This was different from most other tribal people. Under Sado's leadership, the entire tribe held a repellent attitude towards industrial products, except for things like firearms, which were simply too powerful to refuse.
After rummaging through the wooden box for a while, Kapak took out a gas lamp. After twisting it open, the light from within illuminated the tent. Then, he sat on his sleeping mat, took out the booklet he had hidden earlier, which contained pictures and text he couldn't understand.
What Kapak held seemed to be a comic book. The pictures, drawn with a black pen, followed one after another. The characters in them seemed to be telling some kind of story, but because he couldn't understand the dialogue written next to their mouths, Kapak didn't know the content of the story, but this didn't prevent him from still reading it with great interest.
Gradually, Kapak finished flipping through the comic book. On the last blank page, he saw a letter. This letter was different from the printed ones; it was handwritten.
This was a Prit letter, meaning "knowledge".