Wherever there is wind, there are clouds.Wherever there are people, there is conflict.
That's human nature.
One man alone plays it cool.Two men start infighting.Three men reenact the Three Kingdoms.Four men plan a revolution.
Humanity had barely survived twenty-plus years under Adam's leadership—barely crawled out of the gray, womanless era—when the grand goal was achieved.
And the moment that goal vanished, so did unity.
Humanity's worst instincts surfaced immediately.
Under Eve's corrupt, pleasure-driven ideology, the virtues Adam had painstakingly built—frugality, discipline, restraint—collapsed overnight.
The social atmosphere took a sharp turn downhill.
People began talking about market economies.About reallocating limited resources toward enjoyment.Some even proposed mining something Eve called a "hard currency."
Gold.
Adam, of course, refused.
Was this a joke?
Why abandon a perfectly good planned economy for market chaos?Was a new dress really more important than a new cannon?
Absolutely not.
And so, with no hesitation, Adam issued a ban.
In the past, a single order from Adam carried absolute authority.
From the very beginning, he had been humanity's banner—an all-knowing, all-capable sage, almost godlike.
But now?
Now there was Eve.
Equally knowledgeable.Equally persuasive.
And that changed everything.
When people asked Eve how to deal with Adam's ban, she left them with a single sentence:
"Do your own thing. Let Adam suffer for it."
It was an explosive statement.
The phrase "make him suffer" dominated conversation for days,publicly exposing the rift between Adam and Eve.
Meanwhile, Adam—still holed up at home, working tirelessly to get Irina to eat an apple—knew absolutely nothing.
By the time the rejected men stormed his castle, Adam finally realized how serious things had become.
Too late.
When he ordered an investigation, the results were obvious—
Subordinates were complying on the surface and resisting underneath.
"So this is how God felt," Adam muttered bitterly.
The apes had learned fast: deceive upward, exploit downward.
The storm arrived swiftly—and violently.
One night, the mobs revolted.
They stormed Eve's residence seeking her endorsement.Then stormed Adam's chambers, demanding he sign documents establishing a constitutional monarchy.
How did they even know that term?
Please. Even a knee could guess—it was Eve.
They demanded Adam surrender governing power while retaining his symbolic status,to balance factions still loyal to him.
At moments like this, Adam demonstrated the dignity expected of a novel protagonist.
He raised his head proudly, defiant and unyielding.
Like a martyr.
Power could be stripped.Blood could be spilled.
But his will would not bend.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—death had not yet been invented.
Neither had torture.
Unable to kill him, the rebels made a catastrophic mistake.
They exiled him.
When Adam was kicked off a speeding carriage, he vaguely saw Irina smiling—at the worst possible time.
"You're smiling?" Adam roared, scrambling to his feet."Are you kidding me? You couldn't help me out?"
His clothes were torn, but his body was unhurt.Primitive human genetics were remarkably durable.
"The Lord forbids intervention in human affairs," Irina replied calmly.
"Are you even an angel anymore?" Adam snapped.
"Aren't I?" she tilted her head.
Adam was speechless.
She didn't even understand the classifications.
Angels were created by God.Those who ate apples became Lost Angels—their glow fading.Those who fully betrayed God became Fallen Angels—wings, hair, eyes all black.And those who embraced Hell became demons.
Even Adam knew this.
Irina didn't.
After tricking her into eating the apple, Adam had never followed through.
Guilt stayed his hand.
So the Lost Angel followed him—why, to what end, even Adam didn't know.
Now here they were.
Exiled.In the wilderness.
Sure, Eden had plenty of fruit.But wandering around with a half-awakened Lost Angel wasn't exactly a plan.
Luckily, he didn't have time to think.
A force of two hundred men came running toward him.
"My lord, what do we do?" the leader asked.
His name was Steel Sixteen—Captain of Adam's personal guard.
Broad-shouldered, wild-haired, and wearing banana leaves thick enough to qualify as armor—a proud product of decades of military-first policy.
Adam grinned.
"What do we do?""We take it back."
Eve had supporters.
So did Adam.
Heavy guns and big cannons were eternal masculine romance.Every era had its militarists—sometimes fewer, sometimes more.
Adam led his men straight toward the city's outer armory.
"Split up!" he commanded."One group—secure the weapons!"
Adam and a hundred men crawled into position while the other hundred charged.
Chaos erupted.
But the battle was… underwhelming.
Bullets were pointless.Immortal bodies laughed at ranged attacks.
Cold weapons would've worked—but Adam had never encouraged blade production.Even kitchen knives were scarce.
So despite possessing firearms, combat devolved into clubs and fists.
Broken limbs regenerated like lizard tails.
Victory meant knocking people unconscious.
Soon enough, an enemy messenger escaped.
Reinforcements were coming.
"Should we push and finish it?" Steel Sixteen asked.
Adam shot him a look.
Why rush?
There was no death here.No fear of dying.
"Let their reinforcements come," Adam said calmly."Then we retreat and hit the main city."
The armory contained guns, ammunition, and a few cannons—Adam's entire military reserve.
If they wanted it so badly, they could keep it.
Urban combat favored close quarters.
And Adam had only one real target.
Eve.
As long as Eve was in his hands, how much trouble could these people really cause?
A textbook feint.Draw the enemy out.Strike the heart.
Why would it work?
Simple.
Adam had never taught strategy.
No Art of War.No tactics.
Humanity numbered only a few thousand—there was no room for two commanders.
All strategic civilization still lived inside Adam's head.
In short—
Overdeveloped ambition collided with underdeveloped scheming.
Less than two hours later, enemy reinforcements arrived.
The armory was still locked in endless, painful brawling.
Adam smiled.
Then led his force straight to the city walls.
Yes—walls.
Built purely to look like a city.
Useless against angels or demons, who could simply fly over.
But for civil war?
Perfect.
Ironically, they were now being used against their creator.
Torches burned along the wall, illuminating everything.
But guards were scarce.
From the forest outside, Adam stared at the wall and laughed coldly.
"These idiots still wearing banana leaves think they can beat me?"
"I'll show you what real strategy looks like."
Moonlight.Wind.Maniacal laughter.
And just like that—
After Newtonian mechanics,another cornerstone of human civilization was plagiarized.
The Art of War.