The open field lay silent beneath the midday sun, broken only by the slow, heavy breathing of a colossal beast.
At its center stood Old Chief Thor.
He sat astride his blood lion, a towering five-meter-tall monster whose crimson mane shimmered like flowing silk under the light.
Each breath the beast released carried a faint metallic scent, as if the air itself remembered old battlefields. Its massive paws rested calmly against the earth, yet no one doubted that a single movement could turn the entire field into a slaughter ground.
James stood among the youths, his spine straight but his heart pounding.
Incredible…
No matter how many times he saw beings like this, his mind still struggled to fully accept the scale of power in this world. The blood lion was not merely a mount—it was a symbol. A declaration of dominance that needed no words.
Before them, the gathered people had been divided with deliberate order.
To the left stood the young—one hundred and twenty youths, their faces marked with anticipation, fear, ambition, and barely restrained excitement. Some clenched their fists. Others swallowed nervously. A few stared ahead with eyes already burning for power.
To the right stood fifty veterans—hunters hardened by years of bloodshed. Their bodies bore scars that spoke louder than any tale, their gazes sharp and steady. These were not spectators. They were the foundation upon which the future would be forged.
Old Chief Thor lifted his head.
"Listen up."
His voice was not loud—yet it rolled across the field like thunder, reverberating in James's chest. There were no instruments, no amplification. This was the raw authority of a Tier Four Totem General, a man whose will alone could bend the air.
James felt it immediately.
Pressure descended upon the field—not violent, but absolute. His breath grew heavier, his instincts screaming at him to bow, to kneel, to submit. Around him, several youths stiffened unconsciously, while the veterans merely straightened, as if acknowledging a familiar weight.
"You are the future of our tribe," Thor continued, his gaze sweeping across the left side. "One hundred and twenty sprouts. Raw. Untested. Yet full of possibility."
His eyes shifted to the right.
"And fifty veterans—men and women who have survived long enough to stand here today."
He paused, letting silence stretch.
"What stands before me is hope."
James's chest tightened at the word.
Hope.
"You may become the fruit of this land," Thor said, his voice steady, "nurtured by blood and sacrifice. Or you may rot before you ever ripen. The choice is yours."
James felt a chill crawl up his spine.
This wasn't encouragement.
It was a warning.
"You are the pioneers of this project," the old chief continued. "Do not disgrace the tribe. Do not disgrace your ancestors. Instead—strive."
Thor's grip tightened slightly on the reins of his blood lion.
"Accomplish the impossible. Forge legends that will echo beyond your lifetimes. Let your names be spoken by future generations, not as corpses, but as heroes."
James swallowed.
This isn't a camp, he realized.
It's a crucible.
"What you need is not resources," Thor said.
"Not opportunity. Those have already been given."
He leaned forward slightly.
"What you need… is resolve."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"No. That is not enough."
The pressure intensified.
"You need hunger."
James's pulse quickened.
"Hunger for power," Thor declared. "Not to bully the weak—but to protect what is precious to you."
James felt the words strike deep.
Faces flashed through his mind—his lost family, Sister Jean, the memories of Earth, the loneliness that had followed him into this world.
I need strength, he thought.
Not for glory. Not for pride.
"To walk the path before you," Thor continued, "is not to walk toward comfort."
His voice dropped, heavy as iron.
"It is a path of misery. A path of blood. A path of death."
Several youths visibly trembled.
"The training we have prepared will not give you strength," Thor said. "It will extract it—from the deepest part of you."
Silence followed.
"So help yourselves," the old chief finished.
"Before you try to help others."
He straightened, his gaze now turning toward the veterans.
"Now," Thor said, his tone shifting, "you adults will guide these youths."
Then—suddenly—his voice thundered.
"Youngsters!"
James flinched instinctively.
The command hit like a hammer.
"Yes, Old Chief Thor!" the youths shouted in unison, their voices rough but sincere.
Thor's lips curled into a brief, satisfied smile.
"From this moment onward," he said, "you will no longer address me as chief."
A pause.
"You are no longer merely Root Tribe youths."
The blood lion released a low growl, as if echoing its master's intent.
"You are blood soldiers. Hunters of the tribe."
Thor's eyes blazed.
"So call me—COMMANDER."
The field erupted.
"YES, COMMANDER!"
The shout rang out like a war cry, shaking James's bones. His throat burned from the force of it, yet something inside him stirred—a dangerous, intoxicating fire.
This was not a game.
This was induction into hell.
"Good," Thor said, amused. "Very good."
He gestured broadly.
"The adults beside you will serve as your instructors. Some will train you in combat. Others will teach you survival, cooking, and medicine."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"You will not starve—unless you wander outside the camp. And you may rest assured: broken bones and severed limbs are acceptable losses."
James stiffened.
"We have the best healers in the tribe," Thor continued casually, "capable of reattaching limbs and restoring function by the next day."
Several youths paled.
"So unleash yourselves."
His tone sharpened once more.
"Hells training begins now. You have one hour."
One hour.
"Choose your hunter path," Thor commanded.
"Question your instructors. Decide how you wish to survive—or die."
He turned his blood lion toward the wooden gate.
"Move."
"Yes, Commander!" the youths shouted again.
Without another word, Old Chief Thor dismounted. The blood lion lay beside the gate like a crimson mountain, while the commander himself stretched beneath the sun, closing his eyes as though the fate of over a hundred lives was nothing more than background noise.
James stood frozen for a moment.
One hour.
One choice.
This is it, he thought.
The first real step.
He clenched his fists.
Whatever path awaited him—blood, misery, or death—he would walk it forward.
Because turning back… was no longer an option.