Chapter 32: Primitive World II

Noah immediately traveled to the nearest Tratos tribe settlement.

Covered by the Invisibility Cloak, he descended from the skies unseen. From above, he observed a rudimentary city built upon a large hill. The houses were made of white stone, with curved roofs crafted from a shiny plant fiber resembling glass that reflected sunlight intensely.

Despite its primitive appearance, the settlement displayed remarkable organization.

Noah passed through the defenses with ease and made his way to the highest point: there stood a building larger than the rest, adorned with carved symbols and guards stationed at the entrance.

The leader's mansion.

Once inside, he moved silently through the corridors. He avoided servants and soldiers, descending into the private quarters where the leader's son had his room.

The interior was austere. Smooth stone walls, a simple bed, and several clay jars with medicinal liquids. The young man lay resting, his breathing weak. He appeared around eighteen years old, with marble-like pale skin, white hair with bluish highlights, and folded white wings at his sides—somewhat atrophied.

Noah had already activated a paralysis spell before entering. The youth couldn't even blink when Noah approached.

Without making a sound, Noah raised his palm. The skin distorted, his fingers lengthened, and his hand transformed into a grotesque black mass of flesh and nerves, extending like the jaws of a giant dog.

The creature completely engulfed the youth's body and absorbed it in an instant. There was no blood or noise—just a contraction, then silence.

The hand returned to its original form.

For a few seconds, Noah's body trembled slightly. His skin took on a lighter tone, his features shifted, and his bones cracked as they adapted to the new structure.

When the process ended, the polished copper mirror no longer reflected Noah, but the young Tratos.

His body was slender, with a delicate face, prominent cheekbones, and pale blue eyes. The white wings, though still a bit weak, now unfolded smoothly behind him. Every gesture, every microexpression matched perfectly with the memories Noah had just assimilated.

This was the power of The Thing, and since Noah's body was now essentially an optimized copy of that creature, he could perfectly use its assimilation and shapeshifting abilities to impersonate another person.

Sitting cross-legged, Noah began sealing himself.

First, he sealed his mana core entirely.

Then, he sealed the dimension of the Eye of Truth, and finally sealed off his chakra outputs, making it impossible to cast Jutsus—he could only use his kekkei genkai in their most rudimentary forms.

Next, he sealed his physical body to reduce his strength and endurance to match the level of the young man he had just absorbed.

He sealed all his kekkei genkai completely—except three.

The first two he had just acquired from absorbing the youth.

The first was Light Release, a fusion of the Yang and Lightning elements.

The second was the ability to telekinetically control the feathers of his wings like flying daggers.

The third and most important, the reason he went through all this trouble, was his Sharingan.

A red, three-tomoe Sharingan glowed in his left eye before fading back to normal.

Taking a deep breath, Noah moved on to the most important step.

The seals delved deep into his mind and began sealing his memories.

Little by little, he forgot everything—until finally, he forgot who he originally was.

Now, he was Enoc, son of Pakur, the leader of the village of Ikarus.

Noah—now in his Enoc personality—stood from the bed unhurriedly and walked toward the exit.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows of the mansion in a warm glow. A few servants passed nearby and greeted him with respect. He replied with a slight nod. Everything about him appeared natural.

No one noticed anything strange.

Instinct, mental programming, and an internal structure designed to operate efficiently—even without memory, Noah—now Enoc—moved step by step within a plan he no longer remembered writing.

Thus passed his first day under his new identity.

---

The next day...

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, bathing the village of Ikarus in a soft light that illuminated the green hills and the wooden houses scattered across the land.

Enoc, son of the leader Pakur, awoke in his room, morning light streaming through the window and onto the blanket that covered his body.

Despite the luxuries and respect that came with being the leader's son, Enoc didn't feel especially privileged. Rather than enjoying the comforts of power, his mind was focused on a future he felt was near—but uncertain.

He sat on the edge of his bed, looking around. The room was simple, with rustic wooden furniture. The furnishings were decorated with details that reflected his family's character: paintings of village landscapes, war tools, and ritual items.

"Today will be another day to learn," he told himself as he stood up.

Enoc wasn't a warrior like many in the village. He lacked the strength of the tribe's men and the agility of the younger fighters, but his mind was sharp—always seeking information, analyzing, learning from others.

Inside, he believed that the true key to ruling did not lie in muscles or weapons, but in intelligence and cunning.

However, that philosophy was far removed from the mindset of most villagers, who valued strength above all.

As he walked through the mansion's corridors, he greeted the guards with a slight nod, without much enthusiasm. His father's house was full of activity—people preparing for the day. Some warriors trained in the courtyard; others sharpened their weapons. The atmosphere was one of constant readiness—a silent watchfulness in the face of the ongoing Gurka threat.

Pakur, his father, was in his office—a spacious room with walls decorated with trophies from past battles. Enoc entered quietly, finding his father standing in front of a table filled with maps and documents.

Pakur was an imposing man, broad-shouldered, with white hair and majestic wings that spread like a hawk's. He wore a thick beard and had eyes that reflected years of war and leadership experience.

"Father," said Enoc, his tone respectful but firm.

Pakur turned slowly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at seeing his son.

"Ah, Enoc. How are you today?" Pakur offered a slight smile, but his gaze was calculating—as if he were always assessing his son.

"I'm well, Father. I was thinking about how we might improve our defenses. Don't you think we should reinforce the eastern border? The Gurka attacks have been more frequent lately."

Enoc tried to sound casual, as though it were part of a daily conversation, but inside, he paid close attention to every word Pakur might say. Their relationship was distant, but the mutual respect was unwavering. Enoc didn't doubt his father's capabilities, but he also knew that Pakur's leadership, while strong, was being challenged by internal and external tensions.

Pakur nodded slowly, though his gaze was hard—almost distant.

"The Gurka are a constant threat. But we also have our own problems here, Enoc. Not everything can be solved with more strength. Sometimes… patience is the best weapon."

Enoc watched his father, noticing the fatigue on his face—something he had never seen so clearly before. Despite his imposing figure, Pakur was no longer the invincible man he once was. The battles, the decisions, the weight of responsibility—they were all starting to take their toll.

"I understand, Father. Maybe… maybe we could think of something more strategic. There are resources in the south; if we manage to access them, we could..."

Pakur raised his hand, interrupting him. "You worry too much about such things, son. Leadership is not just about strategy. It's knowing when to fight, when to negotiate, when to stay calm. And you're not yet ready to make decisions like that."

Enoc fell silent, his gaze fixed on the map on the table. His mind kept working, processing his father's words, searching for a way to prove he too was capable of making important decisions.

Pakur sighed. "Don't worry about that now, Enoc. You still have much to learn. Your time will come."

As he left the room, Enoc thought about those words. His time… when would it come? Despite his father's restrictions, Enoc knew he had to prepare for the moment he would need to take control. Pakur's leadership was being challenged—from both external threats and internal ones—and Enoc knew he would be the one to take over.

As he walked through the village, watching the daily activities, Enoc began to think about his future. He could become a great leader, one who would guide the tribe into an era of peace and prosperity. But to do that, he would have to act with cunning and patience. He couldn't rely on his name or bloodline alone. He needed to earn respect—from his people and others.

In his mind, a vision of a brighter future began to take shape—one where he would be the one to lead Ikarus, to take his people beyond internal strife and into a final victory over the Gurka.

But first, he needed to gain power. Intelligence, cunning, and above all—patience.

Enoc was not a warrior, but in time, his mind would be more than enough to conquer whatever he set his sights on.