Now he knew that to further modify and improve the insect, he needed live specimens and had to observe for himself how the bug behaved inside a host and what uses it might have. So he decided to spend his income to hire guards—five or six men who were extremely loyal to him because he had saved them from death and other dangers. These guards could be called his death warriors.
Finally, after some time, he obtained a license to a Realm. This Realm contained humanoid creatures about 3 meters tall, with four arms, four eyes, and powerful bodies. Since the Realm was newly introduced, these creatures had been enslaved by the Orcs. The Realm was not yet integrated into the main world and it would take decades before it was fully accepted.
After three to four months, he entered this new Realm. It was essentially Stone Age–like: the creatures lived in tribes and hid among themselves. He decided to establish a base in a cave. As he passed through the dungeon into the Realm, he felt a slight headache and dizziness. When he opened his eyes alongside his six death warriors, he found himself in a wild land of trees and primitive life—no modern conveniences, nothing but raw nature. The creatures fought one another as tribes.
He moved to a cave near one tribe of about one thousand people. He stayed with this tribe for seven days and observed their monotonous life: men went hunting, women looked after the home, and children played. Raul knew that if he were discovered, he would become their prey—these creatures did not distinguish between human and nonhuman; anything unlike their species could become food. Rahul instructed one of his death warriors. He provided him with ten specimens that had been created and told him to contaminate the well inside the tribe. Yes, there was a well that supplied water to the tribe. The death warrior knew his duty and was ready to sacrifice himself for Prince Rahul.
In the dead of night, he moved toward the tribe. Since most of the individuals were asleep, he was able to bypass the guards and approach the well. He carefully opened the specimen container and threw the insects into the water.
However, as he was retreating, he was caught by one of the four-armed humanoids who had silently followed him. With a firm grip on his head, the creature applied pressure, and the death warrior's head was crushed like a water balloon. He died instantly.
The four-armed humanoid then took the body to the tribe's warehouse where food was kept. Afterward, it went to the chief's house and relayed the entire incident in their own language. The chief, however, only instructed them to take extra precautions and increase the guards for the night. Nothing else occurred during the night, and the chief assumed the attack might have been caused by an animal or a strange individual. He had never seen this type of creature before and didn't realize it had intelligence. Nevertheless, he decided to strengthen the guards for several days.
Meanwhile, Rahul was waiting for the return of his death warrior. When the warrior didn't come back, he realized that his loyal servant had likely sacrificed himself. He was unsure whether the goal had been achieved. Instead of sending another warrior, he decided to wait for some time and observe.
The next day, the Red Warriors followed their usual routine. The men went out to hunt, a group of 100 people divided into four groups of 25 each, heading in all four directions. The women began their daily chores, fetching water from the well, while the children played.
As one woman carried water back to her home, the specimens from the well spread into different houses. In one house, a woman was giving water to her child, unknowingly passing some specimens along with it. The same happened in other houses—three in one house, two in another, and two more in another. A few households were lucky and did not receive any specimens, while others were unlucky, unaware of the danger awaiting them.
The day continued like this. Rahul watched, waiting for any signs or information that might confirm his experiment was working. He decided not to intervene, as he only had five remaining death warriors and needed to be cautious.
By evening, the men returned from their hunt, carrying the day's rations. However, they soon noticed that about ten children in the tribe were suddenly feeling sick, complaining of stomach discomfort. Since this was a Stone Age–level society, they had little medical knowledge. The children were given some food and allowed to rest, as the tribe could do little else. As night fell, a heavy silence settled over the tribe—but it was broken by the first coughs. One child, then another, began hacking violently. The families panicked. They offered water, shook them gently, whispered comforting words—but nothing helped.
Minutes passed, and the coughing worsened. The children's breathing grew shallow, ragged. Their tiny bodies writhed, faces twisted in pain. Parents clawed at their hair, shouting, crying, doing everything they could to save them.
Then it began—their stomachs started to swell unnaturally, bulging as if something inside was struggling to break free. Panic erupted among the adults. One mother screamed, another fell to her knees, while the others rushed to separate the sick children from the rest of the tribe.
Someone ran to fetch the Hapim, the tribe's healer, a man whose knowledge was crude but respected. The Hapim arrived, eyes widening at the sight. He examined the children and murmured to himself: something was moving inside their stomachs. Perhaps they had eaten something bad… but he had no words, no knowledge, no explanation for what he was seeing.
Acting on instinct, he ordered that the children be kept in a separate room. That decision, though simple, would likely save the rest of the tribe from whatever horror was unfolding.
Then, without warning, one child vomited. At first, it was just blood—but within it, tiny movements caught the Hapim's sharp eyes. Hundreds of tiny eggs wriggled in the crimson fluid, minuscule yet alive, crawling and twisting as if sensing the room around them.
Most of the adults didn't notice. Some were frozen in shock. But the Hapim recognized the danger immediately. He barked orders, grabbing water, shaking others into action. Buckets and bowls were thrown at the eggs, the liquid splashing, crushing hundreds of the tiny, wriggling invaders.
The children screamed as their bodies convulsed, the eggs writhing in blood and water, some slipping away in the chaos. The Hapim fought with all his might, knowing that the life of the tribe—and perhaps the very survival of their village—depended on stopping these creatures before they could spread.
Outside, the night was silent again, but in the small chamber, a terrible struggle had begun—one that none of them could have imagined.