Leo did not announce himself as a god.
He did not descend in flame or thunder.
He walked into the tribe's territory openly, hands empty, movements calm.
The barbarians reacted instantly.
Spears were raised. Shouts echoed. Warriors formed a rough line between him and the settlement. Their bodies were thick with muscle, scarred by hunts and war, eyes sharp with suspicion.
Leo stopped at the edge of their range.
He bowed slightly.
A simple gesture.
Universal.
Minutes passed.
Then an elder stepped forward—older than the rest, bones wrapped in hides and bone charms. He studied Leo's posture, his breathing, the way the wind seemed to avoid him.
This was not prey.
Nor was it an enemy.
The spears lowered.
Contact was slow.
At first, Leo spoke little. He hunted with them, moved with them, bled with them. When a massive horned beast charged the settlement one night, Leo killed it cleanly—one strike, no wasted motion.
Respect followed.
Then curiosity.
Then learning.
Leo began with fire.
He showed them how to control it—not just burn, but use it. Kilns replaced open pits. Hardened clay vessels replaced crude gourds. Stone tools became sharper, more consistent.
Next came structure.
Frames reinforced with joints. Roofs angled for rain. Drainage carved deliberately instead of by chance.
The tribe changed.
Not overnight.
But permanently.
Then Leo taught them how to move.
Not techniques at first.
Posture.
Breathing.
Balance.
The warriors laughed when he corrected them—until they felt the difference. Until their strikes carried more weight. Until fatigue came slower.
"This," Leo said, demonstrating a simple stance, "is martial training. Not fighting—foundation."
The tribe listened.
They had strong bodies—stronger than modern humans, forged by survival. What they lacked was refinement.
Leo gave them that.
Under his guidance, hunting drills became combat drills. Spears gained rhythm. Shields learned timing. Groups moved as units instead of mobs.
The elites rose quickly.
Too quickly.
Leo noticed it during sparring.
When a tribal champion struck, the air trembled.
"…Interesting," Leo murmured.
They had reached something close to Core Formation—
But only externally.
Their muscles, bones, and tendons had been pushed beyond human norms, yet their internal energy remained crude, unrefined. Powerful—but unstable.
"Stop," Leo ordered one day, halting a spar.
The ground beneath the champion's feet was cracked.
"You are strong," Leo said, voice calm. "But strength without control will destroy you."
The warrior knelt.
As the tribe grew stronger, Leo felt his own realm shift.
Teaching forced clarity.
Explaining principles refined his understanding.
His spirit circulated endlessly, smoothing impurities, compressing essence.
He could feel the boundary now.
The limit of his current realm.
Just ahead.
Not yet broken.
At night, Leo stood outside the settlement, divine consciousness spreading over the flickering fires and sleeping warriors.
"I didn't plan this," he admitted quietly.
But the seed had been planted.
A civilization—primitive, violent, alive—was beginning to take shape.
And when it grew—
The world would notice.