At the port outside Mombasa, forty containers sat under the cranes on the dock.
Two black tribesmen with rifles stepped forward, dragged out a plastic box of ammunition from the open container, and brutally smashed open the lock with the butt of the rifle. When they saw the yellow bullets inside, their mung-bean-like eyes suddenly flashed with joy, and they cheered and whistled.
"Twenty boxes of military supplies are here. Where are our people?" Without looking at the two black men, Feng Yuan's eyes were fixed on the messenger of the Moorish tribe standing in front of him.
He noticed that when the messenger saw the forty containers of military supplies at the port, a hint of greed flashed across his face. This greed was not directed at these supplies. Anyone standing here could feel that this greed was directed at them.
A hostage could be exchanged for a box of munitions.
This deal was too profitable.
"Don't worry, the hostages are on the truck. I guarantee with the totem of the Steel Tooth Tribe that everyone is safe and sound." The burly Du Amang coughed, opened his arms, and looked at the messenger of the Moorish tribe. "According to the agreement, you release the hostages."
The emissary bowed respectfully. His attitude towards the Great Chieftain was clearly much more respectful than towards these outsiders.
Soon, twenty-two messengers walked down from the truck. Because the NAC people paid the ransom quickly, these people did not suffer any abuse.
Two of them were private guards who survived. The injuries on their bodies were obviously not light, and they were wrapped in bandages. At this moment, when they saw Feng Yuan, the two looked ashamed and lowered their heads.
Seeing the injuries of these two people, the NAC soldiers standing behind were enraged, and they stared at the messenger of the Moorish tribe with murderous intent in their eyes. However, perhaps it was because he was arrogant or fearless, the messenger of the Moorish tribe raised his chin slightly and glanced at the soldiers with arrogant eyes.
Feng Yuan reached out and pressed down the muzzle that was almost raised. He shook his head at the soldier, then he greeted the medical staff and walked to the two wounded soldiers.
"Please raise your head. You have nothing to be ashamed of. The ones who should be ashamed are the cowards who took the deposit but left their employers behind. On our side, even the most despicable mutated humans disdain to be associated with such scum. You and your comrades fought to the last moment. Even if you were outnumbered in the end, you didn't let down your honor. "
Feng Yuan didn't control his volume when he said that, but the Great Chieftain's expression didn't look too good. After all, he introduced the tribe escorting the NAC transport fleet to Feng Yuan. The Moors were one of his bravest vassal tribes, so it was normal that the mercenaries did not dare to fight with them.
However, when the Great Chieftain saw the 20 containers that belonged to him, he swept away the dissatisfaction in his heart and pretended not to hear that rude remark.
On the other hand, the emissary of Moses was very direct. Without saying anything, he made a disdainful gesture and left the port with his two attendants.
In their tribe, that gesture meant cowardice.
"You shouldn't pay the ransom." After all, Lusambo, the native wizard, shook his head and kindly reminded Feng Yuan, "Did you see the look on the chief's face? He was overjoyed. Just acting as a middleman for the transfer of hostages earned me twenty boxes of military supplies. This is even more profitable than the slave trade … "
There was another sentence that Lusambo didn't say.
If in the past, the Steel Tooth Tribe would still be dissatisfied with the vassals in the territory attacking the development zone. From now on, the Great Chieftain hoped that his vassals would rob these Asian settlements and then make a profit as a middleman.
"The employees of Future Development are not slaves. And, they will soon pay for their stupidity. " Feng Yuan smiled coldly, his eyes fixed on the back of the Moors leaving, and he said the last sentence word by word.
Very soon, they would realize that this ransom wasn't that easy to obtain …
…
"Cheers to the Mother of Moses!"
"Oh oh oh!"
Sparks jumped out of the bonfire, and the tribesmen around the bonfire beat the drums and danced a strange and mysterious dance around the bonfire.
On this continent, the culture of each tribe was different. In addition to the common totem worship and ancestor worship, all cultural differences were reflected in the appearance of the totem, dance, and rhythm of the drums.
The wizard chanted a spell as if he was rapping. He grabbed a handful of powder from the bone vessel and threw it into the bonfire. Amidst the screams and cheers of the group of people, the flame exploded with a crisp bang and green flames.
If one had to describe the people living here, it would be the coexistence of the backward and the advanced.
The village of the Moors was very large, and most of the buildings were tents. This was to adapt to the hunting life on the prairie. With the movement of the deer and the depletion of the surrounding fruits, they would constantly migrate. However, primitive did not mean that they were absolutely backward. Like many survivor settlements around Wanghai, they knew how to use modern weapons and were not unfamiliar with some advanced technology only available in Mombasa.
Two tribal soldiers with rifles on their backs led two slaves whose hands and feet were tied up. The two had light skin and bulging muscles. One was probably a Central European and the other was probably a Slavic. In this era, the relationship between the two could almost be described as a blood feud.
"Knife."
Speaking rudely in French, the black soldier gave each of them a knife and then released their shackles. The rest of the tribal people formed a circle around the two and excitedly shouted strange words.
With two low roars, the two slaves rushed forward. Both sides saw despair in each other's pupils.
No one could survive.
The weak would be killed, and the hearts of the strong would be used as sacrifices.
This was to celebrate the hunting harvest and to pray for the next hunt. The containers filled with ammunition were placed not far from the totem pole. Before the "gifts" given to them by the Moors were opened.
In order to offer sacrifices to the ancestors, in order to obtain the blessings of the ancestors, at this moment, every Moor would be present.
Finally, the winner of the duel was decided. The knife of the Central European had been knocked away. The Slavic pressed him under his body and stabbed the knife in his hand into his throat.
"We are dead, we are all dead." With despair in his pupils, the Central European grabbed the blade with both hands and watched the blood drip down. He gasped and said in a hoarse voice, "They will first let out your blood, then dig out your heart in front of you and put it on the altar …"
Just then, there seemed to be a burst of noise in the air.
Of course, the two people surrounded by thousands of tribal people could not hear the sound, but many people standing on the periphery of the crowd still raised their heads and looked at the dark night sky.
"Shh, listen carefully, that is the voice of the ancestor. He is teaching us."
Someone said.
At an altitude of two kilometers, two Aurora-20s, one in front and one behind, were cruising at high altitude.
"This is Hunter-1, signal source detected …"
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