I had expected the enthusiasm of the villagers to last at least a week. Maybe two. Instead, by the morning of our fourth house, half of them were lying on the ground like fallen soldiers, groaning as if we'd just marched them through three wars and a famine.
One of them even waved a hand weakly at me.
"Chief… my spine is no longer part of me."
"Your spine is fine," I said. "You just worked hard for once in your life."
He made a pained sound that suggested he disagreed.
Menko leaned in with his usual calm expression. "It appears they've reached their limit."
"No," I whispered. "They've reached my limit. If they stop, I will have to stomp clay myself."
Menko blinked. "Ah. So it's an emergency."
Exactly.
I gathered the villagers in the center of the construction area.
"Your suffering has inspired me," I declared. Some perked up. Mistake. They thought I was about to say something generous.
"You complain that clay stomping is painful, messy, tedious—"
"Because it IS," someone said.
"Yes. Which is why…" I smiled, "…we will no longer stomp clay with our feet."
Hope spread like a virus.
A woman asked carefully, "Then how will we stomp it?"
"With a machine," I said proudly.
Menko tilted his head. "A machine? Are you sure you're not overhyping—"
"Menko," I whispered sharply, "never interrupt a man performing miracles."
He sighed through his nose. "My apologies, O Great Miracle Performer."
I led them to the riverbank and drew a big rectangle in the dirt with a stick.
"This is the main box," I said.
A circle in the middle: "This is the axle."
Paddle shapes: "These churn the clay."
A long bar sticking out: "This is the part you geniuses push."
The villagers observed the drawing with deep academic seriousness.
One finally asked, "So… we just walk in circles pushing that bar?"
"Yes."
"So instead of stomping… we become the turning force."
"Yes."
"…so we're the animals?"
"No," I said indignantly.
Menko murmured, "Yes."
I kicked his shin.
"Ow. You see? You are the animal trainer."
But they understood the idea, which was enough.
We gathered materials. I pointed at the trees.
"Bring me long logs." They sprinted off.
I pointed at branches.
"Cut these into paddles." They nodded like I'd assigned sacred duties.
I pointed at a tree trunk. "This becomes the axle."
"Chief, this tree is thick."
"Yes. Like your skull. Cut it."
Menko gave me a look. "Tone," he said.
"Fine. Cut it… please."
"Better," Menko said.
By afternoon, the clay churner stood completed: a wooden box, a thick vertical axle, angled paddles, and a long handle.
The villagers stared. One whispered,
"It looks… dangerous."
"It looks efficient," I corrected.
Menko crossed his arms. "It looks like you built it in a fever dream, but… admittedly, it might work."
We shoveled clay and water into the box.
"Alright," I said, handing a man the long bar, "start walking."
He pushed the bar. The paddles churned the clay with a thick gloop-gloop-gloop sound.
A woman gasped. "It's mixing!" Another leaned in. "It's actually smoothening! Look at that!"
A third villager stared into the box like he'd just seen divine revelation. "This… this will save my ankles."
I folded my arms proudly. "This is innovation. "
Menko muttered, "This is wood rotating in mud."
"It's advanced wood rotating in mud."
Within minutes, the clay was perfect: soft, even, consistent.
The villagers burst into excited chatter.
One shouted, "Chief! With this, we can work more efficiently!"
Another said, "This will speed up everything!" A third yelled, "My feet will know peace again!"
Menko looked at me sideways. "You're enjoying this too much."
"What? I'm simply happy for their renewed motivation."
"You're happy because now you don't have to do anything." said Menko.
And just like that, the village's enthusiasm returned—not through rest, not through inspiration.
The next problem was obvious: logs.
Cutting logs by hand was slow, messy, and involved an alarming number of villagers aggressively gnawing at wood with bone tools like oversized beavers. One man had proudly shown me a "perfectly split log." It was… not split. It was just a very sad dent in the wood.
"Why is it dented?" I asked."I hit it with a rock," he said confidently."Just once?""No. Seventeen times."Menko whispered, "Please be gentle."I nodded slowly. "It's… impressive endurance."
But this was ridiculous. So we built a log splitter.
I gathered thick logs, long stakes, sturdy vines, and a huge smooth wedge-shaped stone."We are building something," I announced, "that will split wood cleanly with far less effort."A woman raised her hand."What does it do?""It splits logs.""…ah."
I hammered two tall posts into the ground, fixed a horizontal beam on top, then tied a heavy wedge-stone beneath it with thick rope. The whole thing looked like a guillotine's friendly cousin.
"When you pull the rope," I said, "the wedge rises."They pulled; the wedge rose."When you let go—"
The wedge slammed down with a thunderous THUNK! that made the ground tremble.
Everyone jumped.
A man swallowed hard."Is this… safe?""Only for the people who stand here," I said, pointing to the safe zone.Nobody dared step anywhere else.
We positioned a log beneath the raised wedge."Let go."
They released the rope.THUNK!The log split neatly in half with a beautiful crispness.
Silence.
Then—
"IT SLASHED THE WOOD!""A SINGLE STRIKE!?""NO MORE BITING THE LOGS!"The last man looked genuinely emotional.
Next was splitting the longer logs
Menko watched me pacing with purpose."You already have an idea," he said."I always have ideas," I replied."That… is not always comforting."
We gathered the villagers and I began carving the shape of a massive trough into the dirt.
"This," I said, pointing at the drawing, "is where the log goes."A villager raised a hand. "Why is it lying down?""Because splitting vertical logs with a falling weight is inefficient for building beams this large."He blinked. "Ah. Yes. Of course."He had no idea what I meant.
The real masterpiece was the plunger — a giant wooden piston carved from a straight, thick trunk. We sanded the sides smooth with stone scrapers until it slid through the trough like it was born for this role.
A heavy triangular wedge stone was installed at the far end, sharp and menacing. Menko ran his hand along it and said, "This looks dangerous.""Yes," I replied proudly. "That means it will work."
The villagers examined the massive device once it was assembled.
"…This is a huge push-stick," one said."Yes.""For a huge log-stick.""Yes.""So we… push the stick… into the sharp stone?""YES."
We loaded our first real test log — the type thick enough to serve as a house frame. Nothing else could split something this heavy. The log sat neatly in front of the wedge stone, ready for execution.
I placed my hands on the plunger."Everyone behind me. Do NOT stand in front unless you want to be flattened into a cultural cautionary tale."
The villagers formed into two neat pushing rows.
"On my signal," I shouted. "Push!"
The plunger drove forward.The log scraped ahead, protesting like a stubborn beast.
"Again!"
GRRRRNNNNKKK—KRAAAAACK!
The sound tore through the air as the log split cleanly from end to end.
Gasps.Cheers.One man fell to his knees as if witnessing a divine revelation.
"IT CUT THE TREE IN HALF!""WITH PURE FORCE!""WE ARE… THE PRESSURE!"
Another villager puffed his chest."Let us do more!"
Menko crouched and inspected the split."Straight cut. No dangerous recoil. Stable force. This is… actually safe.""Exactly," I said. "Controlled power. Efficient power."He stared suspiciously. "You're smiling again.""I like when things obey me," I said.
Soon they were splitting logs rhythmically, like a very loud cult of wood destruction. The plunger slid back and forth, villagers pushing with enthusiasm that frankly worried me.
One man shouted, "WE ARE THE PISTON!""Yes," I said, "but stop yelling it so loudly. People will think we're strange."
The syringe splitter worked brilliantly.
Horizontal.Powerful.Safe — assuming nobody stood in the death zone.
A perfect tool.
By the time the sun had dipped low, the village had transformed into a full-scale wooden industry. Between the clay churner, the small log splitter perfect for firewood, and the monstrous syringe-log-destroyer, the place looked less like a peaceful paradise and more like a construction cult with impressive productivity.
The villagers worked with a strange combination of pride and terror — the best combination, in my opinion.
Someone shouted, "MORE LOGS!"Another added, "MORE PISTON!"I pretended not to hear that one.
Menko wiped some dust from his arms."We'll need a faster way to carry logs," he said."I know," I replied. "Dragging them by hand is slow. And inefficient. And watching them trip over roots is painful."
"What do you suggest?"
"A pulley system."
Menko nodded as if that made perfect sense. Thankfully, he had stopped questioning my ideas hours ago.
We set up two tall wooden posts with a horizontal beam connecting them. Thick vines twisted into strong ropes, looped through smooth stone rings hung from the beam. The counterweight basket was placed on the other side — filled with stones, earth, or whatever the villagers decided to dump into it.
Once balanced, the system worked beautifully.
A single villager tugged the rope, the counterweight dropped, and a massive log rose into the air like it weighed nothing at all.
Gasps.Awe.Someone whispered, "Magic…""It's not magic," I corrected. "It's physics."Another villager repeated my words to the others as if delivering sacred scripture:"He calls it… fi-ziks."
Menko watched as a log glided smoothly down the transport track."This will speed up construction," he said."Yes," I replied. "And it will keep them motivated."He squinted at me. "…You mean it will make them work harder.""Same thing."
We tested it again.Perfect lift.Perfect drop.Perfectly impressed villagers.
By sunset, every tool was in place.Every worker energized.Every log moving like it finally accepted its destiny.
Tomorrow, we would begin building entire rows of houses — faster, larger, and sturdier than anything this village had ever imagined.
And with these tools?
They'd practically build themselves.
I folded my arms, satisfied.Menko sighed, knowing that expression far too well.
The chapter of raw labor was over.The age of engineered efficiency had begun.