Tribal Warfare

Less than a hundred meters from LaRee, the center pole of the cage was bare. A loose grey cord dangled from the top of that pole. And the supposed captive was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn it!" LaRee barked in frustration, catching the arrows that fell from his stunned, hanging jaw. "I wasted time!"

LaRee forced his mind back to the most important task: the safety of the village. He took off, sprinting toward the battle at the village's edge. Then, after fighting to survive, LaRee would seek out Ayse to hold the foreigner accountable.

On the battlefield, one man stood out above the rest.

All five elders were holding their own, regardless of their gender. Each of the tribe's veteran warriors was locked in combat, trading blows with at least one enemy. The grey and white wolves were holding their own territorial war, on top of it all.

But it was a man with a black bow that drew everyone's attention. In particular, it was the first few shots of that black bow that attracted eyes from all directions.

"Chief!" his tribesmen cried in fervor.

Those of the enemy tribe had a different name for LaRoe. They all glanced or stared at LaRoe standing atop a hut on the village's edge. And each cannibal stared at him with a prayer in their heart, that they wouldn't be the next target in LaRoe's sights.

"Death Arrow!" the enemy tribesmen all shouted one by one, talking over each other to alert their comrades of the undeniable threat who had appeared.

LaRoe, on the other hand, didn't care who called out to him or what he was called. All LaRoe cared about was loading his bow, finding someone in range, and picking off enemies that were giving his tribe the most trouble.

Within his first minute of joining the battle, LaRoe stationed himself atop a hut to shoot down almost a dozen cannibals and grey wolves.

"YAOOOH!" someone cried out in maniacal laughter.

Just as LaRoe had down, another figure rushed onto the battlefield atop a massive grey wolf. He emerged from the jungle with a wicked grin and a thrown spear. On each cheek, the man had blood-painted arrows pointing up at his eyes. Above each eye, he had another arrow pointing up at the sky. And his tongue hung out the side of his mouth like a rabid dog eager to bite into his enemies.

"Chief! Chief!" The cannibal tribesmen chanted as their leader entered the battlefield atop the pack leader of the grey wolves.

The defending tribe cried out in fear as they tried to back away from the approaching enemy, "Blood Spear!"

LaRoe quickly inhaled to keep his thoughts steady while leaping off the hut. His joints and bones briefly screamed in pain upon landing, but Chief LaRoe didn't waver whatsoever.

Under his bandages, LaRoe's bruises were mostly healed. All thanks to his mother's care and the powerful herbs of the jungle, though LaRoe was still sensitive in those areas. The fractures and strained joints, however, weren't healed so quickly. It would still take a couple weeks of rest and constant herbal treatments to fully recuperate.

So Chief LaRoe ignored the pain as he ran toward the cannibal chief.

By simply running into battle, two paths were instantly cleared. No one, from either tribe, wanted to get in the way of the chiefs' imminent battle. Nor did anyone want to get caught in the crossfire.

"LaRoe! You come to die?" the cannibal chief cackled while hurling a spear.

In response, LaRoe fired an arrow, splitting the spear down the middle. "It is you that chooses death, Oybar!"

They were seconds away from colliding.

Oybar licked his lips while grasping two short spears from his back. He hopped off his wolf with a roll, splitting to flank the wolfless LaRoe as a tag team.

LaRoe effortlessly folded his bow in half, doing so out of habit and years of experience.

The unique, black bow had a joint in the center. It folded forward, in the direction opposite the drawstring. Prongs were jutting out from the jointed handle on opposite ends of the bow's folded limbs. Such a design was used to stabilize and interlock with the bow's limbs while unfolded, giving the joint added strength so it didn't rely on its unique material alone for strength.

LaRoe attached the bow to his back via a leather strap across his chest, the same one holding his quiver at the hip. In that same motion, LaRoe pulled out the two tomahawks from his side.

Even with injuries, standing before both Chief Oybar and the grey pack leader, LaRoe showed no fear. No hesitation.

"You have surrendered your life!" LaRoe declared. He extended a tomahawk to each side, pointing at the wolf and cannibal chief.

Oybar offered a hysterical chuckle as he and his wolf circled the injured LaRoe. A bit broader and taller than LaRoe, Oybar licked the ends of his short spears. "Oh… I must thank Sky God for this day. For the day I drink your blood. I will become the greatest chief! Consuming your strength!"

All eyes on the battlefield were locked on their enemies, with all spare glances given to the dueling chiefs.

So no eyes were available to notice the arrival of a bare-chested man covered in grime and dirt. Even though he wore strange pants and shoes, as well as a weird blindfold.

Ayse was squatting over three cannibal corpses, who had been assigned to sneak into the village from the west. But all they managed to do was offer Ayse a few bodies to loot in search of weapons.

"I guess this will do…"

Crack. Snap.

Ayse broke their spears about a dozen centimeters below the spearheads. Now, Ayse had three makeshift knives and he was feeling far more comfortable. He didn't have his jacket so Ayse held the spare blade in his mouth for now. And he twirled the flinthead daggers to get a quick feel for their weight.

Disregarding all the grime on his body, as well as his hunger and thirst, Ayse dashed into the battlefield with a dauntless grin.