Food, shelter, and weapons.
Maslow's first level in the hierarchy of needs, survival. Technically, he had shelter now. The whole village had seen to that, carrying his hut across the land like it was just another Tuesday. It wasn't a high-rise condo, but it was sturdy, dry, and raised off the ground to keep the creepy crawlies out. Good enough.
Clothing? That was covered too. The Datu had given him a new set of warrior's garments. Not exactly a tailored suit, and definitely not the soft cotton T-shirts he was used to, but it would do for now.
Food? Evan glanced inside the hut. Stacked neatly in one corner was a varied stockpile, about a week's worth of rice, dried fish, oysters, sugarcane, mangoes, and bananas. Nice. At least I won't starve right away. But once that ran out, he'd have to figure something out. Hunting? Fishing? Bartering with the villagers? He had no clue how the local economy worked yet, but he'd have to learn fast.
Evan exhaled. Shelter, food, clothing, check. Now, he just needed to make sure he wasn't completely defenseless.
He had nothing to defend himself with, yet. That would have to change. But what to focus on?
A sword? It had the appeal of a classic warrior's weapon, but mastering it took years. And Evan wasn't exactly a shonen protagonist who could spend an entire training arc swinging the same sword in the same stance until he unlocked some mythical Dao of the Blade.
A bow? It had range, always a plus when trying to stay alive. But Evan had tried archery before, back when those trendy archery ranges were all the rage. His results? A pristine, untouched target, a bruised ego, and a sore arm from the bowstring snapping against his skin. Not exactly promising.
A spear? Seemed simple enough, stabby-stab, keep enemies at a safe distance. But he knew better than to assume it was easy. If his isekai knowledge taught him anything, it was that the Dao of the Spear was just as demanding as the sword. And considering every warrior he had seen so far carried one, it had to be effective.
Maybe a crossbow? As far as he knew, it was easier to aim than a conventional bow, and if those YouTube shorts he'd watched were anything to go by, bamboo crossbows were totally a thing. His hut was already made of bamboo, surely there was enough lying around to make one, right?
Well, spear it is. Every warrior carried one, which meant it was both practical and proven. It would serve as a reliable weapon while he figured things out, and in the meantime, he could start asking around for bamboo to maybe try his hand at making a crossbow.
First things first, Evan approached the two women, forcing a friendly smile. He had no idea how to navigate this situation, but politeness seemed like a good place to start.
"Hello, ma'ams. I'm Evan. Nice to meet you." He extended his hand, his right hand, out of habit.
The moment he did, his stomach dropped. Oh, crap.
Realizing his mistake, he tried to pull it back. "Oh, sorr–"
But before he could retract it, the one-armed woman, Binalig, grasped his hand firmly with her remaining left hand. Her grip was strong, almost crushing, and her eyes locked onto his with an unreadable intensity.
"Hello, Aso" she said, her voice steady, deliberate. "I am Binalig, and this is Hunyak." She tilted her head toward the other woman, who had shrunk slightly behind her, visibly tensing.
Hunyak's face burned with embarrassment, her fingers tightening around Binalig's arm as if she wanted to disappear. She cast a quick, awkward glance at Evan before lowering her gaze, clearly mortified by his blunder.
Evan quickly tried to pull his hand free from Binalig's iron grip, but it was like trying to yank himself out of a snare. Her fingers remained locked around his, unmoving, unrelenting.
"I am so, so sorry, Binalig," he stammered. "I wasn't thinking."
She said nothing, just stared at him with those same ferocious eyes while letting go of his hand. Evan wasn't sure if she was assessing him, judging him, or just waiting to see if he'd squirm. Probably all three.
Unsure of what else to do, he dipped his head slightly in an awkward bow and tried again. "Hello, Binalig. Hello, Hunyak."
Binalig remained silent, her gaze steady and unwavering, but Hunyak shrank further behind her, gripping her arm tightly, as if hoping she could just disappear into the ground.
Evan felt a drop of sweat slide down his back. He had no idea how to navigate this. What the hell am I supposed to say? The tension hung between them, thick and suffocating.
Desperate for an escape, he blurted out, "Uh… do you two want to have lunch?"
Binalig says nothing at first. Her gaze remains steady, unreadable, but Evan can see the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. Beside her, Hunyak shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting between them, unsure of the weight of the question that has been placed before them.
Evan doesn't press. Instead, he rises and makes his way toward the hut, seeking out the materials needed to prepare their meal. He moves with purpose, taking a bamboo segment from the neatly stacked pile near the side of the dwelling. The stalk is thick, green, and sturdy, the kind that would hold up well against the heat of a fire.
Evan has cooked rice countless times before. Living alone, he's mastered the basics, rice, bacon, and eggs (both soft-boiled and scrambled). But cooking rice in bamboo? That's something he's only seen on TV. They always rave about how it turns out more fragrant than rice from a cooker, and he hopes to get the same result.
He pieces together what he remembers. First, the rice, he scoops a portion from a woven basket, the small, polished grains a soft off-white against the deep green of the bamboo. Next, the water, he dips a clay pot into the large earthen vessel outside the hut, the cool liquid sloshing gently as he lifts it. Measuring by instinct, he follows the same method he's always used: the water should reach the first line of a finger when placed over the rice. He just hopes it works as well in bamboo as it does in a rice cooker.
Carefully, he tilts the bamboo segment, pouring the rice in first before adding the water. A few grains stick to the sides, but otherwise, it settles well. He watches as the water slowly absorbs into the grains, knowing it will take time, heat, and patience for it to fully cook.
The next step is the fire. He glances at the two women. "Do either of you know how to light a fire?"
They are still both frozen where he left them but Hunyak moves first. She steps forward, retrieving a pair of fire-starting tools, a hardwood stick and a flat, notched plank. Evan recognizes the technique immediately. Friction fire. A survivalist's nightmare and a seasoned native's everyday skill. He watches as she presses the stick into the groove of the plank, rolling it rapidly between her palms. Smoke curls up almost instantly, the fine fibers catching the first embers. She feeds it patiently, adding dry leaves, then thin twigs, until the flames take hold. Evan is quietly impressed.
With the fire started, he sets up a simple prop for the bamboo tube. Sticks driven into the ground form a cradle, holding the bamboo at an angle so the contents can cook evenly. The fire crackles beneath it, licking at the surface, heating the liquid inside until bubbles form, steam beginning to escape from the open end. The scent of rice cooking fills the air, mingling with the woodsmoke.
By the time the rice is ready, the tension between them has eased somewhat. The rhythmic sounds of the village surround them, voices carrying on the breeze, the distant thud of tools against wood, the ever-present rustle of leaves.
They settle around the meal, but the moment Evan cracks open the bamboo, he knows something's off. The rice is unevenly cooked, some grains still firm, others sticking together in stubborn clumps. He takes a bite, trying not to let his expression betray the disappointment. It's... edible. Barely.
Binalig is the first to snort, covering her mouth as laughter bubbles up. She takes one look at his struggling expression and lets out a low chuckle. "You call this rice?" she asks, shaking her head.
Evan sighs, chewing with effort. "Hey, it's my first time cooking in bamboo. A little credit?"
Hunyak only laughs harder. "Next time, I will do the cooking."
Evan takes the opportunity to ask the questions that have been weighing on him. "How do you cultivate rice here?" he asks, keeping his tone casual.
Binalig watches him for a long moment before answering. "This land is fertile. We plant during the rainy season, when the water feeds the soil. The seedlings grow in the mud, and when they are ready, we harvest them with blades."
Evan nods. It makes sense. No irrigation systems, no artificial fertilizers, just nature, time, and careful tending.
He wasn't sure what season it is but given that it just rained a few days ago, hopefully whatever they plant will still grow. "How long does rice need to grow?"
Hunyak glances at Binalig before answering. "I don't think it will be ready in time for the tribute. The next tribute is in three full moons, but rice takes closer to four or five to fully mature."
Oof, so much for that. "What about sugarcane?"
Hunyak leans forward slightly. "It grows wild in some places, but we also plant it. We cut the stalks and press them for their juice. It can be used for drink, or boiled to make something sweeter."
Evan asks again: "How do you press it?"
Hunyak tilts her head, considering the question. "We use large stone presses. The stalks are fed between them, and as we turn the rollers or press down, the juice is squeezed out. The juice is then collected in jars or pots. If we want to make sugar, we boil it until it thickens into syrup or hardens into cakes."
Evan makes a mental note. Tsk tsk, that's pretty much all I know how to make with sugarcane. Didn't expect them to already have a stone-press method. I thought the Spaniards brought that here. He exhales quietly. Unless I experiment with refining it into actual sugar cubes, there's probably no advantage I can bring to the table with sugarcane.
Evan presses further. "And how long does sugarcane take to grow? Can we use it for the tribute?"
Hunyak furrows her brows in thought before answering. "Sugarcane takes time. If planted from cut stalks, it can be ready in about eight to ten moons, sometimes sooner if the rains are good and the land is fertile." She shakes her head. "It will not be ready in time for the tribute."
Evan exhales, rolling his shoulders. So much for that idea. That's even worse than rice. "What about what's already growing? Can we harvest some of it now?"
Hunyak nods slightly. "Maybe. Some stalks grow wild near the river, and there are older plants in the fields. But sugarcane is not usually used for tribute unless it is already processed. A whole stalk is not as valuable as its juice or sugar."
He sighs and shifts the conversation. "Who is the blacksmith here?"
Binalig tilts her head, studying him. "You ask many questions."
Evan shrugs. "Well, I was counting on the rice or sugarcane to cover the tribute, but since that's not happening, we need to think of other ways to pay it." He leans forward slightly. "What happens if I don't give that tribute? Does the rajah personally come over to spank me?"
Hunyak snorts, covering a small laugh, but Binalig remains serious. "The datu increases your next tribute. If you fail again, the debt grows. After two or three failed tributes, the datu sells you as a slave to the rajah for not fulfilling your duty."
Evan opens his mouth to ask if that's how they ended up as slaves, but one look at Binalig's unwavering expression makes him think better of it. He shuts his mouth and swallows the question.