From Robinson Crusoe

People in primitive tribes don't have many ideas.

In reality, their lives don't allow them the opportunity to reflect on life.

Day after day of hunger, year after year of searching for food, survival, reproduction, fighting, and death—everyone's life is no different from that of an insect, ending in a painful cycle.

Perhaps they will have happy moments—

Catching fish, finding fruit in the forest, indulging primal desires with your spouse in a dark, cramped, and leaky hut, or witnessing the continuation of your own life into this world...

But happiness is always rare, while hunger and pain are ever-present.

Of course, not all tribal members have such tragic life experiences. At least Risoben is an exception; his experience is completely different from others.

As the eldest son of the previous leader, he enjoyed being the center of attention and adoration from a young age.

While the other natives worked, he slept soundly in the comfort of his animal skins. Few children in the tribe were breastfed to the age of three like him.

Thanks to an ample food supply, Risobben was taller than his peers from a young age.

His father often boasted about his strength and wisdom in front of all the members, and the old priest, who was very close to his father, echoed him, saying that he was a warrior sent by the gods.

When Lisoben was just old enough to understand things, he was surrounded by praise.

Back then, the tribe's situation was not as difficult as it is now. There were plenty of trees on the island that could produce fruit and fish in the near sea. Although people couldn't fill their stomachs, they didn't have to spend an entire day searching for food just to barely survive.

However, along with the relatively abundant food came the exclusion from other tribes.

Conflicts are always inevitable in the struggle for limited resources.

As the chosen "warrior" of the tribe, Lisoben also personally went to the battlefield, holding a spear and a wooden sword, and charging at the forefront of the troops.

Tall and imposing, he was not only the son of a leader but also a brave warrior. With each victory, his prestige soared, making him a natural contender for the next leader.

At that time, he was full of vigor and vitality.

After all, he was different from the other members of the tribe. Although he had experienced life-and-death trials, he had never experienced the hardships of ordinary tribe members.

The title of God-given warrior hung above his head, and over time, even the old priest believed it to be true, let alone Risobon himself, who had held this title since childhood.

This smooth-sailing life continued until he was seventeen, when Risoben's father, the tribe's old chief, died on the battlefield in a conflict with a small tribe.

Immediately, several other renowned warriors in the tribe stepped forward and began vying for the position of leader, almost causing the tribe to split apart.

At that time, Lisoben was in a state of panic and did not resemble a "god-given warrior" at all. Without the guidance of the old priest, he would never have been able to take the position of leader.

The period following his father's death was the most painful time of his life for Risobben, and also a crucial turning point in his journey to maturity.

……

The tribe was not large to begin with, and the struggle for leadership further damaged it. Several brave warriors died in the infighting, and after Lisoben became the leader, he went through a very difficult period.

It was around that time that ambition began to swell within him, and he first conceived the ambition to avenge his father, and even to annex all the rival tribes and unify the entire island.

For capable people, ambition is a driving force that propels them forward.

However, for those who lack sufficient ability, overly lofty ideals are undoubtedly a form of torment.

For many years afterward, Risoben pondered how to strengthen the tribe, but he didn't have many great ideas for reform. Even in managing the tribe, he had to rely on the old priest.

This state of "wanting but not getting" lasted for a long time until the Spanish landed on the island.

These seemingly heavenly creatures brought a whole new opportunity to Risobben.

He was desperately searching for a way to realize his dream, and he tried everything he could, shouting and gesturing, and finally managed to have a preliminary exchange with the outsiders and understand the needs of the Spaniards.

……

All the previous aspirations were fulfilled one by one after the help of the Spanish.

Those people possessed profound wisdom and unpredictable methods, and were far more capable than the old priest. With their help, Risobben finally saw the dawn of realizing his dream.

However, this period of peace was short-lived. Ever since the tribe embarked on a path of expansion, the old priest had been frequently arguing with Risob.

Lisobben always trusted the old priest, but he did not agree with the old priest's views—

The old priest was too old and somewhat stubborn. Although the tribe was growing larger with the help of outsiders, it was showing signs of unifying the entire island.

However, in the old priest's view, this was not entirely a good thing, just as he had witnessed the outsiders treating the tribe members like animals.

Such unequal exchanges cannot last long. One day, when the tribes are unable to provide what the other party needs, the false prosperity will collapse in an instant.

After the two leaders of the tribe disagreed, the relationship between Risob and the old priest became increasingly distant.

Although he still needs the old priest's help to consolidate his position and handle affairs within the tribe.

But the old priest had his own ideas and was no longer willing to obey Risobun's orders. After leading several sacrifices, this old and stubborn man actually went to that remote island himself and never returned.

……

Lying on the soft animal hide, all you can smell is the stench of the earth baking in the dry season, the putrid smell of rotting food, and the sweet aroma of wine bottles emanating from inside the house.

Lisoben's mind was foggy.

After a night of heavy drinking, he could no longer feel that blissful, euphoric joy. His head felt heavy and slightly throbbing, making him a little dizzy.

Memories of the past flashed through my mind; the tribe's rise and fall happened in just two short years.

He couldn't understand why everything had gone downhill after the old priest disappeared.

He remembered asking the old priest if there truly were gods, and the old priest's answer was no.

Perhaps there really is a God, but God has never responded to him.

If there is no God, why would a tribe act as if it had been abandoned by God after the death of someone who communicated with God?

Or is it that those outsiders are gods, and once their relationship with him weakens, he can no longer be invincible...?

Thinking about these questions made Risoben's head ache even more, and he forced himself to get out of bed to reach for the wine bottle beside the bed.

However, when he grabbed them, one bottle was empty, and both were empty too. Not a single drop of the wonderful nectar could be found in those beautiful bottles; only air. He cursed in tribal slang, then stumbled off the bed, before awkwardly scrambling to his feet and rummaging through the wooden box.

The Spaniards hadn't given him any gifts in a long time; the wooden crates that had been full of wine were now completely empty, and even the large wooden barrel in the corner of the room couldn't be filled with a single drop of wine.

He muttered something offensive.

Because of the lack of drinks, Lisoben had lost his awe of the outsiders and instead began to curse them.

He grew more and more enraged with his insults, soon including the missing old priest in his tirade. This anger then extended to his deceased father and even those who had competed with him for the leadership position.

After being cursed at, the dead man, Risoben, became increasingly unable to control himself. He grabbed a charred fish from beside the bed, tore off a piece of the fish, and hurried out of the house, intending to find a member of the tribe to vent his emotions.

However, just as he was about to step out of the house and into the sunlight, he suddenly heard a clear clap of thunder from the distant hillside.

The sound sounded familiar to him, vaguely reminding him of the strange noises that came during the time when outsiders helped him win the conflict.

The irritation in his heart suddenly stopped because of this sound, and Lisoben had a vague sense of foreboding.

His steps were still a little unsteady after drinking, but reminded by this feeling, Lisoben turned around and went back into the house to look for the weapons the stranger had given him.

……

His slightly swaying figure disappeared from the hut. Not long after, a series of dense "thunder" sounds rang out from the distant highlands, followed by the sounds of native warriors charging and the fleeing figures of the Terrorists appearing one by one.

In this critical moment, the representatives of the various small groups, who were outwardly united but inwardly divided, finally remembered that they still had a leader.

One by one, the natives responsible for delivering the message mustered their spirits and strode straight toward the Lisobun residence.

Even though the natives, suffering from hunger and exhausted, had to find their weapons and obey the orders of the priests or chiefs to go to the place where "thunder was rolling" to provide support.

The entire tribe was like an ant colony encountering a flood, going from lifeless to chaotic.

The panicked voices of the natives, their hurried footsteps, their anxious inquiries, and the cries of children blended together—

At times like these, no one wants to face a brutal conflict. No one wants to die; they want to live—it's a biological instinct.

……

Chaos reigned in the center of the tribe. Whether it was the natives who fled back from where the gunfire started or those who were carrying wooden spears and holding bows and arrows and preparing to rush to the highlands, they could not have imagined what kind of terrifying enemy their comrades fighting on the highlands would face, and what kind of one-sided massacre they would be greeted.

Under Sunday's command, all the sailors lined up in formation.

The Chen rifles had already fired a volley, and the native warriors who launched the first attack all fell into pools of blood.

Having witnessed the enemy's might firsthand, the natives had long since dropped their weapons and fled back into the dense forest.

On Sunday, knowing that his side did not have a numerical advantage, he did not order a pursuit. Instead, he continued to set up his formation on the hillside, relying on the terrain, and waited for the natives to launch an attack.

Having participated in tribal conflicts more than once, he knew very well what the indigenous people's fighting style was like.

Small-scale skirmishes cannot destroy a tribe; the only decisive factor is when both sides unleash their full fighting power.

The battle is decided as soon as most of the warriors in the tribe see their comrades fall like weeds cut down with wooden swords.

Now, he has announced his arrival to the tribal chief with the sound of gunfire, and is just waiting for that guy who is said to be the "warrior chosen by the gods" to lead his brave warriors to meet him.

……

A giant vine shield, large enough to cover most of his body, stood in front of him, like a low wall, high on the hillside.

Not far below the vine shield, the natives who had been shot lay on the hard, dry ground. Most of them were dead, and the few who were still alive were incapacitated and on the verge of death.

Their prized weapons—sharpened wooden spears and honed wooden knives—were lying around them.

This time, however, the weapons were stained not with the enemy's blood, but with their own.

A gentle breeze blew through the dense forest, passing through the gaps in the woven wicker shields, carrying the stench of enemy blood to the sailors' faces.

From this smell, they rediscovered memories of their primitive life in the tribe.

Death, hunger, and strife turn people into beasts; only by abandoning kindness can one gain the right to survive.

Perhaps because they learned so much after arriving on the island, the sailors now find that time in the past somewhat hazy and unfamiliar, as if it happened in a previous life.

"Don't be distracted!"

Noticing that the sailors were somewhat distracted due to the monotonous wait and the scorching sun, Sunday quickly reminded them—

This is not a training exercise, or a relaxing game of chess at sea; this is a small-scale war.

Even if their weapons and personnel quality can overwhelm the enemy, "a lion will use its full strength to hunt a rabbit."

In this operation, he not only wants a resounding victory, but also to win glory.

If even one of these carefully selected warriors is injured or dies in an accident, the leader will be unable to explain himself to the chief.

After all, the chief had told him that a well-trained team of twenty men, armed with rifles, with ample ammunition and the advantage of terrain, could easily defeat several thousand primitive people wielding wooden spears and knives.

He is now facing far fewer than a few thousand enemies, and if something goes wrong, he doesn't know how he will face his friends on the island.

Especially those three brats, Chen Fu, Chen Lu, and Chen Shou, they've been eyeing the Steel Bone for quite some time now.

Given the opportunity, they will definitely volunteer to take on maritime work.

……

After pulling the sailors back from the brink of distraction, Sunday peeked out from behind the vine shield and raised his binoculars to continue observing the situation in the woodland.

Just as he had expected, in the face of the enemy's attack, the leader, who was said to be very brave in battle, summoned all his trusted warriors as quickly as possible in order to maintain his prestige.

This group of naked, chest-baring native warriors, some carrying metal longswords given to them by the Spanish and others wielding traditional tribal weapons like wooden spears, gathered in a chaotic manner and headed straight for the high ground.

The trees obstructed the view, making it impossible to see each individual indigenous person clearly. On Sunday, they could only make a rough estimate of the number of indigenous warriors.

As the largest tribe in the archipelago, even in its decline, the tribe could still muster more warriors than Sunday had imagined; a rough count revealed over a hundred.

Although these people had no decent equipment and were all naked, when they gathered in a group and charged forward, they still looked quite intimidating. (End of Chapter)