I am a Primitive Man 591

I am a Primitive Man

Chapter 591 – Shaman, where is your integrity?

The heavy snow ceased, and everything remained covered in a white blanket. The temperature did not rise. After the snow stopped, it became even colder.

Under the vast expanse of snow, the world was silent, with few signs of movement. Only a few starving birds could be seen scratching away at the thin layers of snow in search of grass seeds to sustain themselves.

In the distance, small black dots began to appear, slowly growing larger as they approached. Gradually, it became clear that these were people trudging through the snow, struggling to make their way forward.

Wrapped in thick animal skins, their breath visible in the cold air, their eyebrows, beards, and the hair above their foreheads covered with a layer of frost, they were weary. Some held weapons under their arms to keep warm.

Despite the cold, Blackstone and the people of the Blackstone tribe were in high spirits, for they had brought enough food back to their village. Others—more numerous than their group—were also trudging along.

These people were primarily women, with a few older children, some adult men, and even infants being carried. They were not as well wrapped in fur as the Blackstone tribe but carried bundles of animal skins containing leftover food from their cave’s stockpile.

Now, these supplies, along with the people themselves, were being driven toward the place where the “evil” people lived. Many would likely meet the same fate as the food they carried—eaten as nourishment.

Yet, they did not dare resist. The people who had dared to oppose the invaders in the past were all dead. They had no courage left to fight, for the weapons of their captors, made of black stone, were so sharp they could easily sever their weapons.

While pushing the captives forward, the Blackstone tribe members also dragged the corpses of the men they had killed—victims of battle, starvation, or the harsh journey—along the way.

If it were a time of plentiful food, the Blackstone tribe would never have resorted to eating those who looked like them. But now, with winter upon them and no surplus of food, the little they had taken from the conquered tribe was not enough. They would not hesitate to consume these people for their survival.

After all, if they did not eat them, the tribe would starve, or even worse, people would die of hunger.

In previous years, during food shortages, those who perished from hunger were discarded, their bodies divided among the tribe. After all, if they didn’t, more would die.

When hunger becomes overwhelming, everything else is cast aside—humanity, ethics, and law all pale compared to food. In times when societal restraints existed, such tragedies were still possible, even more so in an era without formal codes of conduct.

“Flap-flap…”

The approaching crowd startled the scavenging birds.

After the people passed, the birds returned to their feeding, digging through the snow again to find food. Their hunger left them too weak to fly much further.

Inside the Blackstone tribe’s cave, the flames roared, and the air was filled with joyful laughter.

The leader, Blackstone, smiled as he watched the scene. He had brought back enough food to ensure the tribe would not starve this winter.

His gaze shifted from the feast and the jubilant people to the black stone weapons nearby, and a sense of powerful confidence grew within him.

With the weapons bestowed by the gods, he was certain he could lead his tribe to acquire even more food and strengthen his people.

No tribe would be able to challenge its own, and those tribes daring to resist would end up like the other two tribes.

Their weapons and bodies would be cleaved apart by the black stone of their tribe!

A sense of overwhelming confidence spread throughout Blackstone and all the members of the Blackstone tribe, and everyone firmly believed in this.

The now-dead Da Chong and its lives had awakened the tribe, granting them awareness of their own strength. With divine weapons from the gods in their hands, they had divine weapons.

Far away in the distant Green Sparrow tribe, the landscape was also white.

The thick walls, watchtowers atop the walls, and thatched roofs with black tiles were all covered in snow.

However, unlike other places, the snow on the rooftops was not heavy, and icicles hanging from the eaves had water droplets dripping down.

In every room in the Green Sparrow tribe where people lived, a heated platform kept the rooms warm so the snow didn’t accumulate for long on the roofs.

The cold wind, now weakened beyond the walls, blew past, causing the icicles hanging from the eaves to sway. The broken straw hats on snowmen were blown askew, and the icicles, which served as wind chimes, rang out with a crisp, clear sound—like tinkling bells made of transparent ice.

During this, chickens could occasionally be heard clucking, proudly announcing their recent egg-laying feats.

With enough food, some of the chickens had broken their natural cycles and began laying eggs even in winter.

When full, even chickens act just like people!

In a nearby pen, geese had their feathers plucked…

Someone carrying a stick appeared and began tapping the icicles hanging from the eaves. After a crisp sound, a pile of broken ice fragments fell to the ground.

The young ones cheered and rushed over, squatting down to pick out their favorite pieces of ice.

The younger children, wrapped up like little rice dumplings, clumsily stumbled toward the area, waddling in pursuit…

In the winter courtyard of the Green Sparrow tribe, there was less bustle than usual, replaced by a sense of leisurely warmth and comfort that made anyone who looked at it feel at ease.

If one could open the door to the three rooms where the respected divine son and the shaman resided, they would undoubtedly feel their mouths water and curse aloud in hunger.

In the middle room, used as a living room, white steam filled the air.

The stone table in the center of the room, which once had been just a table, had somehow become a small stove made of bricks and mud.

The stove, about one-meter square and one meter high, had a large ceramic pot about 30 cm in diameter in the center.

Inside the stove, flames danced, casting a red glow on the fire pit while the water in the pot bubbled and gurgled.

Looking at the almost empty pot, a smiling Han Cheng turned around and grabbed a plate from a nearby wooden rack. The plate contained thin slices of lamb, cut so finely they were almost translucent.

With a swift motion, Han Cheng poured all the lamb slices into the pot. A group of people, who had worked up a bit of sweat from eating, said nothing but fixed their eyes intently on the pot.

The thin slices of lamb cooked quickly as Han Cheng picked them out with chopsticks. The rest of the senior members of the Green Sparrow tribe grabbed their chopsticks and bowls, quickly diving in. In the blink of an eye, the entire plate of lamb that had just been added to the pot was completely devoured.

Food lovers, a bunch of gluttons!

While eating, Han Cheng couldn’t help but marvel at their appetite.

The shaman, who had clearly forgotten his words when Han Cheng invited him to eat earlier, now held his chopsticks with precise, firm movements, scooping up half a bowl of lamb slices with each stroke.

He didn’t fall behind the younger people in speed despite missing a few teeth.

In a whirlwind, he devoured the lamb in his bowl, and without Han Cheng lifting a finger, he had already placed another plate of lamb into the pot, along with half a plate of frozen tofu.

Han Cheng stared in stunned silence.

Weren’t you not hungry?

Didn’t you say you just wanted to taste?

Shaman, where is your dignity?