As expected, it wasn't just this warrior who refused to be constrained.
Just when Sunday thought these natives hadn't heard him clearly and was about to repeat himself, a middle-aged native with pitch-black skin and a face full of wrinkles stood up.
He was one of the few natives who carried metal blades.
The contact with the "Civilized World" gave him some confidence. Holding a metal blade, he believed himself to be far stronger than these two little kids standing in front of him.
He felt it was necessary to properly question these peculiar-looking little things who had suddenly appeared—
What gives you the right to command us? And what gives you the right to represent the will of God?
...
As he rose, the native, feeling his experience and age were enough, instinctively raised the long saber in his hand, as if this could give him some confidence.
No matter how much he usually looked down on those outsiders, looked down on the Leader who cooperated with them.
