He stood there for a moment, watching it all. The laughter, the rhythm, the strange beauty of it.
"Not bad," he muttered. "For the middle of nowhere."
He crouched down to fill his jar. The cool water rushed over his fingers, clean and soft, it’s the cleanest water he had ever seen, even better than that sold for thousands of dollars.
Well, being in primitive world also has it’s own merit, at least he doesn’t have to worry about pollution.
Suddleny, behind him, someone called his name.
"Sol!"
He turned to see a tall young man waving...broad shoulders, rough clothes, easy grin. The memory about him, rushed forward and he remembered who he was. Taru.
The only guy in the tribe the original Sol actually got along with. Closest thing to a friend here.
Skinny, wiry, looked like he hadn’t slept properly in months, but had that annoying grin like life couldn’t kill him even if it tried.
"You’re walking around already?" Taro said, grinning wide as he jogged over. "Thought you’d end up with the ancestors by now."
"Spirits really like you, huh?
"Yeah, yeah, disappointing everyone as usual," Sol said, shaking his head.
Taru grinned wider. "Good. Stay like that, or else Vurok and those piss-heads will think they won."
Ah. Them.
He remembers those piss heads in his mouth, by a novel’s standards, they are the minor villains of everyday life. The kind who didn’t kill you, but always wished they could. In simple terms, loud, arrogant, useless pricks living off their families’ reputations.
And if he remembered correctly they always made fun of him and ostracized him as mu h as possible and they were the ones who instigated his previous self to take the hunting rite without even training.
And just by the extent of haters these memories carried he knew how much those fuckers tormented the previous self, even though all he wanted to skin those fucker alive and toss them in wilderness for monsters to eat, the last shred of rationality forced him to calm down, as he had just transmigrated and even though he had almost all the memories, they were still from the previous self’s point of view, not necessarily the reality. So there was great risk of bias and there was even more of the stuff he didn’t know, which required him to explore himself.
So he just snorted. "They can eat shit. I’m not in the mood."
As for taking revenge and stuff, there will definitely be, but not yet.
Taru clicked his tongue, lowering his voice. "Well, don’t give them attention. But did you hear, they’re already sniffing around, bragging about how they’re gonna ’get first pick’ today."
Sol froze. "First pick of what?"
Taru leaned closer, eyes darting around like he was passing classified intel. "Hunters. They’re coming back today."
Sol raised a brow. "Really?"
"Yeah. Heard it from Koru’s wife," Taru whispered, very seriously, as if Koru’s wife was some kind of oracle. "She said she saw the smoke signal from the ridge. Means they’ll return before soon."
Sol nodded slowly.
"And you should be ready," Taru added, voice dipping even lower. "You know how they are... they’ll pretend nothing’s left again."
Hearing this, a few more memories flashed in his mind and instantly anger rose in his chest.
He remembered the original Sol’s memories... standing in line for the meat distribution, stomach empty, watching those bastards laugh as they took the best cuts and left the smallest pieces for them.
Even now, just thinking about it made his jaw tighten.
Taru noticed and jabbed his shoulder lightly. "Hey. Don’t look like that. They’re waiting for you to make a scene."
Sol huffed a bitter laugh. "Make a scene? If they try that shit again I’ll shove a bone down—"
"Yeah, yeah," Taru cut in quickly. "Just... be careful. The chief’s in a good mood whenever hunters return. Don’t get thrown out or something."
Sol smirked. "Relax. I’m not stupid."
Taru raised both brows. "You say that, but last week you got angry by them and went for the hunting rite and came back half dead.
"Well..." He was speechless, he couldn’t say that it was previous Sol not him. So, he kept his mouth shut.
"Anyways remember, you fight, you die. You stay quiet, you eat another day. That’s the way things work."
Sol looked down at the water again, watching how his reflection distorted every time he moved. The river flowed steady, calm... not caring who starved or who feasted.
They stood there for a moment, watching villagers pass by. A woman carrying a basket gave Sol a warm smile. A kid stared at the clay jar like it was some legendary artifact. A pair of young guys gave him that up-and-down look — the "why aren’t you dead yet" kind.
Taru shoved his hands into his ragged waistcloth and exhaled. "Anyway... good to see you well."
Sol nodded. "Good to be well."
"Don’t get killed."
"No promises."
Taru barked a laugh and slapped his back before heading off, probably to flirt with a girl who’d pretend she didn’t see him.
Sol sighed, lifting the jar again.
Hunters returning meant food. Meat. Real food that wasn’t just some weird fruits and even weird roots and wild vegetables.
But it also meant conflict.
And those pricks weren’t going to let him just stand in line and walk away with a fair share.
He already felt that simmering frustration building in his chest.
That raw, burning sense of injustice.
How much his aunt and the girls suffered.
How this tribe treated the weak like trash.
How powerless the previous Sol had been.
Well... he wasn’t the same Sol now.
He tightened his grip on the jar.
"Come," he muttered to himself. "Let’s see if today’s the day I break someone’s teeth."
He turned to leave, his mind still chewing on the earlier conversation, the sound of the rushing water fading behind him.
Something deep in his gut told him... that "quiet" life this tribe had?
It wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.