FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 181: Chapter 181: I am the Industrial Revolution

“Evolution,” Sol whispered, the word tasting like wine on his tongue.

He stood there for a moment longer, basking in the sheer, gluttonous potential of his future. The idea of becoming a cosmic apex predator by simply… enjoying himself…was almost too good to be true. It was the kind of plot armor he used to criticize in forums for being “too OP,” but now that he was wearing it? It fit perfectly.

But of course, transformation wasn’t just limited to physical, as he had fucked a literal goddess, the epitome of existence, even though she was in weakened state and without divine power, but a goddess was still a goddess.

So, next was the time for mental transformation, and unlike the physical transformation which had been violent… a cracking of bones and a burning of skin. The mental transformation arrived in silence.

He was standing in the center of the dais, staring at the stone he had just transmuted into wood, back to being a stone. He waited for the mental fatigue to set in. He waited for the headache that usually accompanied high-level focus. He waited for the brain fog that had plagued him since his transmigration… the hazy, corrupt files of the original Sol’s trauma mixed with the fading, dream-like recollections of Earth.

But now?

Strangely, the fog didn’t come.

Before, his mind had been a messy attic… cluttered with the fragmented memories of the original Sol and the hazy, fading recollections of his past life on Earth. Trying to remember specific details from his old life had been like trying to grab smoke; he knew the general shape of things, but the edges were blurry. He remembered concepts, feelings, but rarely the fine print.

The world inside his head… seemed to click, like his mind was a room where someone had just switched on a thousand lights.

It was a strange physical sensation. As he felt his neural pathways reconfiguring, snapping into a grid of perfect, crystalline order. It felt like a camera lens snapping into perfect focus after years of being slightly blurry. It felt like a messy room suddenly organizing itself, books flying onto shelves, papers stacking into neat piles, dust vanishing into the ether.

He closed his eyes, intending to rest for a moment. Instead, he fell into a library, yes a literal library with thousands of books.

He was shocked and confused at first and jumbled around trying to figure it out, and just then seeing it he remembered reading about a powerful mnemonic strategy called Memory Palace, that uses familiar spatial environments to store and recall information. In this method, by mentally placing items you want to remember along a route or inside a place you know well, you can later retrieve them by “walking” through that space in your mind.

Even though this one seemed a bit different from that one, as it used a familiar place to store memories, but without doubt, the concept was almost the same.

He looked around and really, It wasn’t a physical space, but a mental construct that formed instantly. And with it, the fog that usually shrouded his past life cleared with a violent snap.

Even though he didn’t know why or how it happened, but he knew that it was definitely related to sleeping with a goddess.

So, he decided to test it. He reached back into the murky depths of his past life, looking for something trivial. Something useless. And more importantly, something he should have forgotten years ago.

In his past life, Sol had been a degenerate consumer of content. He had spent thousands of hours doom-scrolling, binge-reading trashy web novels, and falling down 3 AM YouTube rabbit holes. So, finding something like that wasn’t very difficult. He randomly thought about a web novel he had read three years ago, as he particularly remembered reading it after seeing thousands of five star reviews and everyone recommending it.

But man, only after reading it, he realized It was a generic, trash-tier cultivation fic about a guy with a broken dantian who finds a ring and a dragon grandpa. Even then he had binge-read 1,500 Chapters in a week during a bout of insomnia and as usual promptly forgotten the plot ten minutes after finishing it.

Access.

The fog cleared instantly, and he felt like walking across the massive library until he reached an aisle labeled as Trash Fics.

A book named “Conquer The Nine Heavens” got out and expanded.

It wasn’t a vague recollection. It was a PDF file opening in his brain.

He could see the generic cover art… the bad Photoshop of a dragon wrapping around a sword. He could read the first paragraph as if the text were scrolling in front of his eyelids. He could recite the specific, nonsensical mantra the protagonist used in Chapter 42 to refine the “Nine-Sun Pill.”

“’Gather the qi at the huiyin point, rotate three times counter-clockwise, exhale the turbid air through the meridian…’” Sol muttered aloud, his deep voice echoing in the silent temple.

He blinked, stunned.

“I remember the typos,” he whispered, horrified and delighted. “I remember the author’s note shamelessly begging for power stones and gifts at the bottom of the page, even though he knew he wouldn’t receive any gifts. (just like me).”

But this one wasn’t enough, he excitedly moved around different shelves, looking for something else. Something he had enjoyed but hadn’t thought about in months.

He accessed a book labeled: “Urban System in America.”

The narrative flooded his mind. He didn’t just remember the plot; he remembered the mechanics of it. The ruthless climb from a haggard orphan in a neon-lit nightclub to the “Male God” of Los Angeles. He recalled the way he navigated a modern jungle of old-money aristocrats, corrupt professors, and street-level predators, not just with the raw force of a Divine Physique, but with cold, calculating System management.

“I remember the rhythm of the schemes,” Rex murmured, a dark, melodic appreciation coloring his tone. “I remember how he leveraged every daily sign-in and mission reward to monopolize the very flow of the city’s resources.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing with the soup,” he realized. “The tribe isn’t so different from the urban jungle in that book. Vurok was just a low-level thug. The Elders are the corrupt officials. The Soup Stall? That is his startup business.”

He tried something else. He thought about a high school physics textbook he had skimmed during detention a decade ago.

Page 142. The principles of leverage and torque. Diagram A.

It appeared in his mind’s eye with the clarity of a 4K screen. He could see the equations. He could see the coffee stain on the corner of the page. He could see the doodle of a penis he had drawn in the margin.

He was roaming around looking for something useful, but seeing a shelf named “cultured” collection, he couldn’t help but stop. It was definitely not because it was smut or anything, it was for research, yeah research. He picked a smut novel he had read once, late at night, featuring an elf princess and a very enthusiastic orc.

The text appeared. Every adjective, every moan, every description of “jade-like skin” and “throbbing cock.” It was high-definition erotica projected directly onto his cortex.

“Damn! I could inscribe these divine treasures, be hailed as the Smut God, corrupt these primitives… but alas, they don’t even have a proper writing system. So on lonely nights, I’m stuck as the world’s first and only porn scholar.”

…

Anyways back to topic, “Eidetic memory,” Sol whispered, a shiver running down his spine. “No… It’s more like Total Recall.”

The sex with the goddess hadn’t just reinforced his muscles; it had optimized his neural pathways. It had defragmented his hard drive and upgraded the RAM. His brain was no longer a biological organ; it was a supercomputer.

And that meant…

Sol’s eyes widened. A slow, greedy grin spread across his face, wider than the one he wore when he looked at Evara.

“The archives,” he breathed, as he had more than just stories in his brain.

He was a man of the Information Age. He was a creature of the internet. He had spent thousands of hours in his past life procrastinating. He had fallen down the 3 AM YouTube rabbit holes more times than he could count. He wasn’t picky and watched it all, the “Primitive Technology” channels where silent guys built swimming pools in the jungle with a stick and some mud.

The survivalists who made concrete from wood ash and seashells. The backyard engineers who built hydraulic presses to crush soda cans. The chemists who made gunpowder from urine and charcoal. The history buffs who explained the mechanics of a Roman aqueduct or the gearing of a windmill.

At the time, it was just entertainment. It was background noise while he ate instant noodles or procrastinated on work. It was useless trivia.

But here? In the Stone Age?

“It’s a treasure trove,” Sol laughed, tapping his temple., that “wasted time” was the ultimate treasure. It was a grimoire of lost technology.

He closed his eyes again, diving deep. He navigated the library of his own mind, pulling books off the shelves of his subconscious.

Shelf: Construction.

He pulled up a video he had watched once at 4 AM… “How to build a log cabin with interlocking joints.” He watched it play in his head. He paused it. He zoomed in on the notch technique. He understood the load-bearing physics instantly.

The Osari tribe lived in huts made of mud and woven grass that leaked when it rained, smelled of rot, and collapsed when the wind blew too hard. They were glorified nests.

“I can build a fortress,” Sol realized. “I can build a two-story house with insulation, a chimney that actually draws smoke out, and a drainage system so we aren’t sleeping in damp earth. I can build a kiln to fire real bricks.”

He saw the blueprints for a mortar mixture… lime, sand, water. He saw the design for a roof truss that could support heavy snow or the weight of a prowling beast.

He went further. He accessed the deep lore of his procrastination. The engineering channels.

Shelf: Mechanics.

He pulled up a diagram of a water wheel he had watched an animation of once. He saw the gears. He saw the transfer of kinetic energy from lateral motion to vertical force.

The tribe cracked nuts and roots by hand, smashing rocks together for hours. It was back-breaking, inefficient labor that fell mostly on the women.

“I can build a mill,” Sol muttered, his fingers twitching as he traced invisible blueprints in the air. “I can harness the river. Automatic grinding. Automatic trip-hammers for forging. I can build a bellows system that gets a fire hot enough to melt iron, not just copper.”

He thought about the “pulley.” A simple concept, unknown to the Osari. With a pulley, he could lift heavy game, move stone blocks, and build walls higher than any ladder could reach.

He pulled up a documentary on early industrialization. He saw the schematics of a water wheel. He saw the diagram of a basic blast furnace.

“I thought I was just strong,” Sol laughed, the sound echoing in the ravine. “But this… this is the real cheat.”

“But let’s forget gunpowder and shit, not like I remember it.”

He then remembered a video about the “Ram Pump”… a device that uses the force of flowing water to pump water uphill without electricity.

“Indoor plumbing,” Sol breathed. “I can give Lyra running water in the kitchen. I can irrigate the crops.”

He hurriedly checked the shelves he was most concerned about, as they would be incredibly helpful until he became strong enough.

Shelf: Weaponry.

He remembered his bone dagger. It was sharp, sure, but it was primitive. It relied on brute force and close range. It was a tool for a savage.

He accessed a memory of a compound bow. The pulley system. The mechanical advantage that allowed a weaker man to draw a string with the force of a giant. He accessed a video on how to make a repeating crossbow—the Chu Ko Nu—using bamboo and sinew.

He accessed the design for a trebuchet. A ballista.

“With this, I think I don’t even need Divine Skills,” Sol whispered, a terrifying light igniting in his crimson eyes. “I have Science. I have Physics. I have the accumulated knowledge of five thousand years of human history.”

The Titans had their World-Forge. The Elves had their sung-wood palaces. The Elementals had their raw magic.

But humanity? Humanity had leverage. Humanity had gears. Humanity had the ability to take the laws of the universe and bend them until they screamed.

Sol stood up and began to pace the dais, his mind racing at a million miles an hour. He felt like a god who had just remembered where he left his thunderbolts.

He thought about the trap the tribe used. Before, it was relying on a simple ambush… a rock, a snake, a stab in the dark. It was risky. It was messy.

But now?

He recalled a video on “Ancient Vietnamese Traps.” The figure-four deadfall. The torsion spring snare. The spiked pit with a counterweight cover that reset itself after the victim fell in. The Malay tiger pit.

He could turn the jungle into a machine of death. He wouldn’t be hunted by others; he would be engineering their demise. He could create a kill zone where even a massive beast would be dead three times over before he even realized he was under attack.

And it wasn’t just violence. It was comfort.

He thought about the girls… Lyra, Arelia, Veyra, Liora. They spent their lives in dirt, cold, and darkness. They bathed in the river because they had no plumbing. They froze in winter because their huts had no insulation and their fires were inefficient.

He accessed a video on “Roman Hypocaust Heating Systems.” Underfloor heating using hot air channeled from a furnace.

“I can give them hot floors,” Sol realized, his heart squeezing with a strange mix of ambition and affection. “I can give them a toilet that flushes. I can make soap that smells like lavender instead of pig fat. I can build a loom that weaves ten times faster.”

He could be the King of Comfort.

In a world where comfort was the rarest resource of all… rarer than food, rarer than safety… he would be a god. The women wouldn’t just love him for the soup or the sex; they would worship him for the hot water.

This wasn’t just about survival anymore. This was about domination.

With the Attribute Exchange, he could alter materials, he had the strength to lift the logs, the speed to gather the resources, with the Silver energy, he could enforce his will. And with his Memory, he knew exactly what to build.

He could advance the tribe by a thousand years in a single generation. Or, he could build his own tribe. A city of stone and iron, lit by oil lamps, protected by ballistae, and ruled by a man who knew the secrets of two worlds.

He stopped pacing. He looked at his hands… the hands of a killer, now the hands of an architect.

“I am the Industrial Revolution,” Sol said to the empty void.