"You are truly the Chief Spirit," the Chief of Ceremonies declared, his voice trembling with reverence. "On behalf of all the warriors, I thank you for bestowing the wisdom of the spirit world upon our tribe."
Ki-woo smiled warmly, though his eyes remained calculating. "What are you talking about? I am also a member of the Creek tribe. It is only natural that I share this knowledge with my family."
"That is right!" an elder shouted from the crowd. "The Chief Spirit is our family!"
A chorus of enthusiastic agreement swept through the tribal meeting.
It had been a little over a year since Ki-woo's arrival, and he had spent every single day laying the foundation for a revolution. He had mastered their language, introduced modern agriculture, engineered primitive spinning wheels, and built the continent's first blast furnaces. He had personally trained the first generation of native blacksmiths, weavers, and carpenters.
From the tribe's perspective, these were miracles. He had summoned new animals, transformed the harvest, and pulled hard, lethal metal from worthless scraps. As a result, the Chief of Ceremonies and many warriors now followed him with a blind, zealous faith.
'I haven't rested in a year,' Ki-woo thought, suppressing a sigh. His muscles ached, and mental fatigue weighed heavily on him. But this was no time to pause. The crude wrought iron they were currently smelting from scavenged scrap metal was brittle and far too scarce. He needed real ore.
He raised a hand, and the murmuring crowd instantly fell silent.
"I have a reason for calling this gathering today," Ki-woo announced. "I am going to the Great Mountain."
The warriors erupted.
"A sacred hunt!"
"Let me join you, Chief Spirit! I will fight until my blood waters the earth!"
Ki-woo maintained his composed expression, though internally, he scoffed. 'Hunt?' He had no intention of risking his life against wild beasts. He carried the blueprint for humanity's survival in his mind; dying to a stray bear or mountain lion would be the ultimate failure. Safety was, and always would be, his top priority.
"We are not going to the Great Mountain to hunt," Ki-woo said, his voice cutting through the cheers. "We are going for iron."
Smart Head, a young and perceptive warrior, tilted his head in confusion. "Iron? But we already have it." He pointed toward the distant, rising smoke of the village furnaces. "Why travel so far?"
"The metal scraps we gather now are weak and few," Ki-woo explained, lifting a newly forged pickaxe for all to see. "At the foot of the Great Mountain, there is stone that bleeds true iron. We are going to dig it out with these."
Understanding dawned on Smart Head's face. The other warriors, trusting Ki-woo's wisdom, nodded in agreement.
"I understand," Fierce Buffalo spoke up, his brow furrowed with concern. "But must you go yourself? If the Chief Spirit leaves, many of our new works will halt."
"Is there anyone here who knows how to pull iron from solid rock without my guidance?" Ki-woo countered.
Fierce Buffalo closed his mouth. The concept of mining was still completely alien to them.
"I must lead this," Ki-woo continued. "And with me—"
"I will go!"
"Take me!"
Dozens of warriors surged forward. The reason for the expedition no longer mattered; the chance to march alongside their living god was an honor they would fight for.
Ki-woo gestured to a towering, deeply muscled man near the front. "Choosing the party is not my duty. Swiftfoot, as Chief of Hunting, you will select the men."
Swiftfoot merely gave a curt nod. True to his nature, the tribe's greatest tracker never wasted words.
With the logistics settled, Ki-woo realized the meeting was winding down. But he needed more than just their obedience; he needed their absolute, burning devotion for the grueling labor ahead. Developing a mine was a monumental undertaking.
He stepped forward, his expression hardening. "Until now, the Creek tribe has merely survived, hiding in a small corner of this vast land." He let the words hang in the air, capturing their absolute attention. "But since my arrival, your lives have changed. Are you content with simply surviving?"
The warriors exchanged uneasy glances.
"If you are satisfied, reflect on your lack of vision!" Ki-woo's voice boomed across the gathering. "Must we not leave a glorious history for the sons and daughters who will run upon this sacred earth?"
"Yes!" a warrior roared in response.
"This expedition to the Great Mountain is our first step!" Ki-woo shouted, his own pulse quickening as he swept his gaze across the fired-up crowd. "On this vast continent, we will not be just another tribe. We will be the sole victors!"
Silence hung over the meeting hall for a fraction of a second.
Then, the explosion came.
"Woo! Woo! Woo!"
Spear shafts slammed against the packed dirt. Feet stomped in a synchronized, thunderous rhythm that shook the ground. Caught in the raw energy of the moment, Ki-woo clenched his fists and joined the chant.
Looking back, Ki-woo would mark this exact moment as the day he ceased being just a spiritual figurehead, and became the undisputed leader of the Creek people.
***
The Appalachian Mountains loomed in the distance, a day and a half's march from the central Creek settlement.
Ki-woo led a procession of two hundred elite warriors. The Creek tribe boasted a population of roughly twenty-five thousand, spread across numerous smaller villages along the Chattahoochee River. Mobilizing two hundred of their finest fighters was a massive logistical strain.
To survive the march, Ki-woo was forced to commandeer food from the smaller, subordinate Creek settlements they passed. He felt a pang of guilt requisitioning their hard-earned supplies, but he kept his demands strictly to what was necessary. The villagers, faced with two hundred heavily armed men led by the Chief Spirit, surrendered their grain without protest.
As the foothills of the Appalachians finally rose to meet them, Ki-woo called the vanguard to a halt.
"Attention!" he shouted. The battle-hardened warriors immediately snapped to order. "We will build a stronghold here. To pull the iron from the mountain, we must stay for a long time. Build it strong from the very first timber. Understood?"
"Yes, Chief Spirit!"
For the next week, the air rang with the sound of iron axes biting into wood.
Ki-woo directed the labor with ruthless efficiency. Teams were divided to fell trees, scout the mountain slopes for iron ore veins, and lay the foundations. Within seven days, a functional, highly organized wooden outpost stood at the edge of the wilderness.
Walking through the neatly divided zones of the new village, Ki-woo analyzed the structures. 'Wood and packed earth won't last long-term,' he thought. 'I need to introduce brickmaking and cement.' The Appalachian region was rich in limestone, the core ingredient for cement. He knew exactly how to manufacture it. The only thing holding him back was a lack of available labor. It would have to wait until the mine was operational.
"Chief Spirit!"
Ki-woo turned. Big Rock was sprinting down the freshly cleared central path, his chest heaving. In his calloused hands, he was tightly clutching something.