Al thought about it. For Sisters with such firm willpower and promising potential, he couldn't just use Chaos power to brutally corrupt them; he had to adopt a strategy that attacked the mind.
So he gathered the Shaman priests, asking these wise men of the tribe to brainstorm a reliable method together.
It just so happened that a considerable problem was currently placed before Al:
Their food reserves were running low.
Although the Piña Forest was a largely undeveloped virgin woodland, and the tribe had never lacked food in the past through hunting, gathering, and farming, the sudden influx of nearly 200,000 Estalian refugees, including the people of Cerebrio, was a significant burden on the tribe.
After all, even if the land had enough carrying capacity, it took time to develop.
Relying solely on hunting and gathering was not a long-term solution. During this period, the tribe's operational range had already expanded by nearly half, precisely for the purpose of acquiring resources.
To promote relations between the two races, Al had mandated centralized distribution of supplies. The grain reserves were depleting rapidly, and the resources gained from daily hunting and gathering couldn't make ends meet. He had to find new sources and reduce expenditure as quickly as possible, otherwise, while people might not starve to death, "malnutrition" and "emaciation" would be unavoidable.
Therefore, a Sagegor suggested delegating the power to distribute essential supplies, handling Beastmen and humans separately.
This wasn't an excuse to be harsh on the Estalian refugees, but rather to prematurely plant the inevitable conflict over supply shortages squarely on the human side.
The Estalians were not as honest and simple as the Beastmen, who had the righteous cause of the Four Gods' faith. Let alone everyone being a selfless, noble warrior, things like corruption and abusing power for personal gain were absolutely considered "rare" among the beasts.
Al thought it made sense, but embellished it a bit.
First, he had to ensure the refugees wouldn't direct their anger over going hungry at Al. Second, he would tacitly consent to, and even secretly support, the inevitable corruption of those who held the power of resource distribution. He would indulge them in stirring up trouble and chaos, ideally making the refugees turbulent and their hearts divided.
Relying on his absolute martial superiority and moral high ground, Al would sit by and watch, stepping in only at the critical moment.
This way, his goal of drawing people in and preaching his faith could proceed much smoother. At the same time, it would give the Grand Sister an opportunity to gain more authority within the Sisterhood...
"Good!"
Al smacked his fist into his palm, finalizing the arrangements.
"Recall Simon and Wind. I'll communicate with them personally. Misha, you handle the arrangements for the main tribal camp. Also, remember to assign extra hands to secretly keep an eye on them... If necessary, protect them so they aren't overthrown too early."
Al reckoned that even the greediest vampire wouldn't turn into a demon the second the sun went down, so he had to increase the temptation for these hidden, unexposed leeches, or...
Amplify their greed.
The Reveler's soft chuckle echoed, clearly knowing Al was about to start causing trouble.
Speaking of which, being constantly voyeured 24/7 always made Al feel a bit uncomfortable, even though he could now unabashedly chat with the Reveler while going at it.
If the boy suddenly had a brain fart while mating and injecting his seed, and tried to make a cross-planar call to the Bloodmother, his hot-tempered mom would definitely deliver a cross-Realm backhand slap straight to his face.
As for the All-Knowing Mom, she seemed to always be busy. Whatever Al wanted to know, she just dumped a pile of information on him and told the boy to look it up himself.
And the Loving Mother went without saying. Al had always held a reverent, "admire from afar but do not profane" love for his "Merciful Earth Mother," so naturally, he wouldn't pull a stunt like that.
When it comes to corrupting human hearts and tempting them into degeneracy, naturally the most classic and adept at it is...
Slaanesh (just kidding)!
After giving his orders and finishing his business, Al had someone invite the Grand Sister over. He chatted with the Minotaur girl for a while, establishing his presence as her little father, before getting bored and sneaking back to his royal tent.
"Speaking of which, always living in a tent... hmmm, maybe I should consider building a mobile palace or something first?"
The enterprise is barely founded, still on the rise, and he's already considering massive construction projects—giving off the vibe of an emperor about to lose his kingdom (tragic)!
While pondering, Al slipped into the tent. As soon as he entered, he smelled the thick scent left over from the intense battle earlier. The Beastman maids had already cleaned up once. The goat mom was draped in one of Al's coats. Given the boy's stature, his clothes worn on the goat mom—plus the severe fabric consumption of the massive breasts on her chest—were obviously far too short.
From the chest down, more than half of her breasts were exposed on either side of her cleavage. Aside from Al, no one else—not even his scions like Misha—would rashly enter this room without permission, so it didn't matter even if she stayed naked in here.
The widow had already fallen into a deep sleep. She had borne the brunt of the boy's firepower earlier, and even with the goat mom sharing the load beside her, it was simply too much to handle.
A sexually starved body suddenly meeting an incredibly torment-inducing Chosen of Revels—the result went without saying. It felt amazing, yes, but the exhaustion was also beyond ordinary.
Al walked over, lifted the newly changed blanket, and squeezed in. Outside the floral path between the beautiful widow's thighs, the semen the boy had left behind still lingered.
The scene of the boy carrying the beautiful widow's long legs, thrusting his spear against that pair of fat, beautiful, fleshy buttocks, and creating ripples of flesh waves still made him savor the memory.
But the widow was already asleep, and Al didn't plan to continue tormenting her.
Her body seemed to have developed an instinctual reaction. As soon as Al touched her, the woman groaned softly in her throat, draped her leg over him, and her crotch began to rub against him slightly. It almost made Al think she was awake and asking for sex, nearly making him mount her and start sleep-fucking.
But he held back; Al had to exercise restraint.
Although he would never get tired of smut, perhaps this would prevent the scenario he worried about: Fucking women -> Losing interest in women -> Fucking men -> Losing interest in men -> Fucking Trolls!
How terrifying!
But there were also negative factors, like because the smut felt too good, he might become addicted to carnal lust, lying amidst the beautiful flesh, legs, and breasts of seventeen or eighteen older sisters every day, and decadent in his debauchery?
But with the Four Mothers able to deliver a cross-realm slap at any moment to knock some sense into their degenerate son, the likelihood of that happening should be very small... right?
So Al snuggled into the widow's embrace, resting his head on those plump, lactating—lactation is super highly rated—breasts, intending to catch some more sleep.
Dizzy and
just about to drift off, he was suddenly interrupted by someone.
The Grand Sister rushed in like a whirlwind.
The Griffon girl curiously poked her head into the tent, saw that Al appeared to be sleeping, pulled her head back, flapped her wings, and flew away.
Startled awake, Al, who was still immersed in the widow's beautiful flesh, got up and dressed at the speed of light.
The Grand Sister was decisive in her actions. Al hadn't specifically brought it up with her, and the bodyguards naturally wouldn't stop the "Bloodmother's Chosen" they were already very familiar with.
A little awkward.
Al had the Grand Sister follow him, and the two walked back outside.
In the distance, the Minotaur girl smiled at her little father, turned around, and went off to busy herself with who knows what.
Al, still unaware of the exact situation, scratched his head and put his mask on, so no one would notice his blushing face.
Then Al discussed his ideas with the Grand Sister: handing over a portion of the resource distribution rights to the Estalian elites, and then watching the corrupted mess they would inevitably cause. (If they don't mess up, or don't mess up badly enough, we'll help them mess up!)
In the end, amidst public outrage, he would deploy troops and insects with the support of the people. The Grand Sister could use this to prove the correctness of her path to the Sisterhood, and alongside Al, win over the hearts of the people, indirectly strengthening her own faction.
Strengthening her faction wasn't the Grand Sister's most pressing need right now. After all, she ultimately belonged under Al's command; no matter how strong she got, could she surpass a legion of ten thousand Khorngors?
The main task was, first, to pull away all her companions in the Sisterhood—kicking Sigmar to the curb, ditching the Empire, and running off to join their little Bloodmother mom.
Second, to develop commoner believers, accumulating experience and manpower for future uprisings in Bretonnia or even back in the Empire.
Grand Sister Helen von Johnson had now become an extreme anti-Imperial, or rather, a radical opposed to the old Imperial order. To her, there was nothing more detestable in this world than not only carrying out naked, industrialized, assembly-line murder, but also hanging plaques of noble, sacred, and inviolable justice on the vampire butchers doing it.
The Sigmarite faith and the Church of Sigmar had become accomplices to the Empire's tyranny, corruption, and the brutal exploitation of the Imperial people. Whether the God-Emperor Himself was powerless to stop it or knew about it but did nothing, He was no longer fit to bear the welfare of His subjects!
Only through the inspiration and call of the Mad Mother of Rage, pouring the blood of warriors into the chest of every exploited person, and overthrowing the brutal and corrupt nobles, priests, and insatiably greedy factory owners, could the people of the Empire have a better, more just world!
This could be called a summary of the Grand Sister's current ideology. Al found it very inspiring upon first hearing it, but upon closer inspection, he realized it still lacked the most crucial part: what to build after overthrowing the old order.
But that had nothing to do with Al right now.
And he didn't have the ability to help the Grand Sister fill in those gaps anyway.
He planned to use the upcoming series of actions in Estalia to figure it out as they went along, serving as teaching by example to point out a path for the Grand Sister.
When the time comes...
If it really doesn't work out, he welcomes all compatriot believers who are willing to convert to the Four Mothers and be free from oppression (only oppressed by me) to come join the Everchosen's Promised Land in the South!
After the Grand Sister left, Al thought to himself, feeling it was quite strange.
The immediate issue was still the tribe. Although he planned to use the food problem as a tool to buy people's hearts, it was ultimately still a major issue.
The tribe's further development and construction schedule were imminent.
Currently, the combat-ready troops of the tribe—although they lost seven or eight hundred in the Battle of Cerebrio—could mobilize nearly ten thousand soldiers if they gritted their teeth and ignored production. A crazy ratio of nearly three to one, which was also the Beastman race's advantage over humans.
Among them, the Bloodmother Khorngors, acting as the absolute main force, numbered close to eight thousand, and that number was continuously rising.
There were also the 200,000 Estalian refugees. If logistical needs were ignored, they could conscript a legion of at least ten thousand. Although the global average after the Great War was a state of "civilian complacency and military laxity," in the danger-ridden Old World where martial virtue was abundant—or even if not abundant, would eventually be crushed if it wasn't—humanity was still a martial race.
If they gritted their teeth, the silver-haired (elders) and youths could also step onto the battlefield.
Thinking about it this way, if he could subjugate these refugees, Al would have an elite standing army plus reserves of at least thirty thousand men. That was already a considerable scale.
The Eight Banners of Khorngors... The Khorngor Vanguards, with Al personally taking the field, could conservatively take on three mortals or two Greenskins each without a problem.
Treating military strength as simple numbers opened up his train of thought.
Thinking about it this way, he only felt a four-word summary:
The advantage is mine!
Develop, develop, then F2A all at once!
Mm!
While Al let his thoughts run wild, he was suddenly grabbed by a bunch of pale, tender arms. Flurries of hands and feet dragged him toward a small room.
The boy was instantly struck by inexplicable panic!