The chief Pre summoned me; a messenger came to my tent at dawn and shook me awake. I rose without hesitation, dressed quickly, and went to his cave. The air inside was heavy. The stone walls held the warmth of the fires from the night before, yet the faces I saw were carved from cold determination. Around me, twenty broad-shouldered men stood in silence, their muscles tense, their eyes sharp. Every one of them had gathered to hear the chief's words.
Pre's gaze fixed on me, and in his eyes I read something beyond command: a plea, a burden he was handing to me. "Make this succeed," his look said. Then he spoke aloud. The task was simple to describe but heavy to carry: we would raid the neighboring tribe's storehouse. We would strip them of their supplies, take the animals for our people, and burn whatever remained so they could not recover. The responsibility for this fell on me. I was the one who had shown them fire, the one who could wield it with intention.
They asked how I intended to do it. I paused, let the silence stretch for a moment, then outlined my plan. "We will move under night's cover, arriving before first light. We will craft torches , tools of fire. Each man will carry one. At my signal we will set their barns and huts ablaze. But not all of us will tend flames. Karlmos will take one man with him, and together they will drive the animals out and bring them home."
As I spoke, I saw Karlmos stiffen. In his eyes a storm brewed , pride wounded, rage flickering, the hunger for dominance burning again. My words had not even settled in the cave before his voice erupted. He shouted with the force of a man who believed the world bent to his will. "I am the great warrior! I am the War Chief of this clan! Animals are not my work." His spit sprayed with the words, his face reddened with fury.
I let him rage, then answered evenly, letting each word fall like stone. "This operation is mine to lead. What I decide will be done. You will take the animals. You will bring them to our people." My voice did not rise, but my tone was iron. Around us, men shifted. They heard the clash of power and understood its weight.
Karlmos' fists clenched, his chest heaved, but I pressed on. I explained every step: who would guard the paths, who would set fire first, who would cut down those who tried to resist. I painted the raid in detail until the vision was clear in every mind. At last they nodded. The crowd dispersed to prepare.
I went to the younger men, those who shaped wood and stone. I showed them how to make a torch: strips of bark wound tight, bound with twine, dipped in fat to catch flame. I lit one for them, showed them how it burned slow and hot. "Make twenty of these," I ordered. They looked at me with wide eyes and set to work at once.
It was then, as smoke curled from the torch in my hand, that I heard Karlmos again. His voice cut across the village square, a roar that carried my name. He was calling me out , to the duel ring. He wanted blood, finality, death. I felt the weight of the moment press on me. My heart beat fast, but I stood calm. To refuse would be weakness. To kill him would be loss. Yet I had no choice. He left me no path but combat. I walked to the square.
The circle of villagers formed quickly, men and women pressing close, children clinging to their mothers, all eyes on us. Karlmos stood across from me, his muscles tense, his chest rising and falling like a beast ready to charge. I entered the ring, spear in hand, and silence fell heavy.
He attacked first, his strikes fierce, fueled by pride. I blocked, parried, deflected. His blade grazed my arm, left shallow cuts that stung and bled, but I did not falter. I fought not with fury but with patience. I wanted him alive, subdued, made to bend.
But his fury only grew. His eyes shone with madness, not reason. I looked to the chief, and Pre gave me a small, sharp nod, a command without words: Finish it. The fight turned sharp and brutal. My spear struck true, and Karlmos staggered. His breath came ragged, his knees buckled. I caught him as he fell, felt the last strength seep from his body. He died in my arms, his chest rising once more before falling still.
The circle of villagers froze in silence. For a heartbeat the world held its breath. Then the air broke with a wave of sound , cries, gasps, shouts. Faces that had once watched me with suspicion now brimmed with awe. Hands reached for me, touched my shoulders, my arms. The women's eyes lingered differently now: there was respect, yes, but also something more primal. They had seen me defeat the strongest among them. Desire flickered in their glances , quiet, restrained, but unmistakable.
I felt the shift in the air. Karlmos had been the War Chief. Now he was gone, and I stood in his place. My authority was no longer questioned. It was carved in blood.
Yet I carried no joy in it. After the crowd's shouts faded, I left for the small pond beyond the village. I stripped off my armor of hide and bone, waded into the cool water. The cuts on my arm stung; the bruises across my chest throbbed. I closed my eyes, let the water wash me clean. I thought of how it had come to this, of the life I had lived before this world, of the paths that had brought me here. Killing Karlmos had not been what I wanted , but survival demanded it.
When I returned to my tent, night was heavy. My body was tired, my spirit heavier still. Yet under it all a new certainty burned. Tomorrow we would raid the enemy, seize their stores, and I would lead them as War Chief. There was no turning back.
Sleep came quickly, but even in dreams, one thought remained: Victory.