The sun rose hard and pale, as though even the sky wished no part in what was to come. The village stirred with nervous silence. Women ground maize with heavy hands, children were shooed to the edges of the clearing, and warriors painted their arms in black and red.
By law, the duel would begin at sunset, when shadows stretched longest and spirits came nearest. Until then, Sky-Torn and Wounded Bear carried their tension like stones on their backs. Each sat apart, fasting, drinking only bitter root-water to sharpen the mind.
Sky-Torn's body felt hollow but burning. The System hummed softly within, counting the hours.
Quest Active: Duel of Oaths.
Outcome: determines dominance within tribe.
Projected Support: 47% Wounded Bear, 39% Sky-Torn, 14% undecided.
Recommendation: Manipulate external factors.*
He spat into the dirt. External factors meant fate would not allow this to remain a simple duel. Already he could feel the threads tugging at the edges.
And as if called by the thought, the sound came: hoofbeats on frozen ground. Foreign voices. A horn blowing not like any river-tribe's call.
The crowd stiffened. Children fled to mothers' skirts. Warriors gripped spears.
Through the trees rode men clad in pale coats, horses steaming in the cold. At their front was one who carried no musket but a staff tipped with iron. His hat was wide, his beard trimmed neat, his smile sharp as a blade's edge. Behind him, four soldiers kept muskets ready.
"An envoy," someone muttered, spitting the word like rot.
The envoy dismounted slowly, deliberately, so all could see he carried papers, not weapons. He raised his hand in greeting. "We come in peace," he said, words thick with accent yet clear enough. "We come to trade. We come to speak for friendship."
The murmurs turned to growls.
Wounded Bear strode forward, chest bare to the cold, scars crisscrossing his skin like rivers. "We need no friendship that carries thunder-sticks. Take your words back to your fort."
The envoy's smile did not falter. He bowed slightly. "Your people are strong. We see this. We respect this. But strength can walk beside strength. You need food for winter. We bring gifts. Blankets. Powder. Iron pots. All for peace."
He gestured, and one soldier brought forward a crate, pried it open with a knife. Inside gleamed bright beads, small mirrors, iron tools, and rolls of fabric colored richer than any dye the tribe had seen. Gasps rose despite themselves. Children leaned forward, eyes wide.
The envoy's smile deepened. He had seen that hunger before. He knew how quickly beauty turned to leash.
The System flared in Sky-Torn's vision.
Sabotage Opportunity Detected.
Options:
— Humiliate the envoy (Reputation Shift: +Fear).
— Twist omen to mark gifts as cursed (Reputation Shift: +Authority).
— Plant evidence of insult (Path Bonus: Sabotage).
Sky-Torn's hand tightened on his staff. He felt the moment tilting.
Wounded Bear growled low. "Take your toys and leave. Our blood is not for sale."
But already he could see Slow Mink's eyes glittering, already hear whispers among the younger women who saw cloth as fine as moonlight. The envoy's smile was bait, and the hook already sat in their throats.
Sky-Torn stepped forward. He bent as if to examine the gifts, letting his hand brush the beads. Then, so small no soldier noticed, he whispered a word of power into the crate. The beads trembled, the mirrors cracked faintly, a faint stench of rot rising from the fabric.
Gasps erupted. An elder recoiled. "They bring us cursed things!"
The envoy blinked, startled. He turned to his soldiers, who swore they had brought nothing foul. But the damage was done. The people muttered darkly, some spitting into the dirt.
Sky-Torn raised his voice. "The fire stag warned us! The spirits show their true faces! They come with curses hidden in silk!"
The System chimed with savage pleasure.
+100 Villain Points: Sabotage success.
Path Progress: Sabotage unlocked.
Skill Gained: Wither-Touch (Minor). You may spoil goods or weaken materials subtly.
The envoy tried to recover. "No! No curse—your man lies!" He gestured furiously. "These are gifts of peace! We mean no harm!"
But suspicion had already sunk its claws. The tribe's people whispered of Two-Reeds, of beads traded for blood, of ancestors who would choke at such insults.
Wounded Bear raised his spear. "Leave. Before your peace becomes your grave."
For the first time, the envoy's smile cracked. He gestured sharply to his soldiers. They closed the crate, mounted quickly, and retreated into the trees. Their horses' hooves drummed like war-drums in the distance.
The village erupted in shouting. Some cheered, praising Wounded Bear for his defiance. Others muttered of beads too easily discarded, of iron pots that could have boiled winter stews. Slow Mink's voice rose thin above the din: "Fools! Do you spit at gifts when your bellies growl?"
He was struck down with a cuff across the mouth. The crowd roared, split as ever.
Sky-Torn stood silent, the System's glow thrumming in his skull. He had sabotaged the envoy's moment, yes—but the tribe was more fractured than before.
Questline Update: Outward Sabotage Initiated. Inward Corruption Required for Synchronization.
Villain Points: +40 (Polarization).
⸻
That night, the council gathered in chaos. Broken Antler tried to quiet them, but every voice clamored.
"The shaman saved us from poisoned gifts!"
"The envoy meant peace!"
"Peace with chains!"
"Better chains than graves!"
Sky-Torn let them rage until his staff struck stone, sparks flying. "Listen! The pale-faces are not our friends. They will bring forts, guns, ships. Already they dig walls into the marsh. Already they point thunder-sticks at our lodges. Would you wait until your children march in chains?"
The crowd muttered, uneasy. Wounded Bear crossed his arms. "And yet you twist omens, Sky-Torn. The fire's smoke does not lie, but it bends too easily for you. If you are right, let tomorrow's duel prove it. No more words."
The council shouted agreement.
Sky-Torn inclined his head. "Tomorrow, then. Let the ancestors watch."
The System whispered cold comfort.
Major Questline Alignment: Duel remains active. Stakes heightened by sabotage. Outcome will ripple outward.
⸻
That night, Sky-Torn dreamed once more.
He stood in the fort's half-built walls, the envoy's smile carved into the wood itself. The crate opened again, but inside were not beads—only skulls of children, their eyes hollow. The envoy whispered in a dozen voices: Take, take, take.
Behind him, the stag from the fire reared high, but its antlers dripped black with rot. It lowered its head toward Sky-Torn, not in blessing but in warning.
The System's voice cut through the dream.
Path Divergence Approaching. Choose fully: Sabotage or Corruption. Delay risks collapse.
Sky-Torn woke with his heart hammering. Tomorrow he would bleed in the duel, but already the greater war pressed in.
And the smoke above the village still carried the faint scent of iron.