Al continued his exchange with the envoy. The other party showed great enthusiasm; talking face-to-face with such a beautiful young man was an absolute delight no matter how you looked at it.
The boy had already planned in his heart to dig the pit the Northern Council dug for themselves even wider and deeper, completely burying the trust of over two hundred thousand refugees in the tomb forged by their own stupidity. As for those two hundred thousand angry, disappointed, and helpless hearts...
Naturally, the Everchosen would harvest them for the Four Goddesses!
"Hey, hey, hey, hey!"
The line moved!
Al acutely sensed the fishing line sink downwards!
"A bite! I got a bite!"
He immediately pulled up hard, hooking the fish. A heavy sensation instantly traveled up the fishing rod to Al's hands.
Ignoring whatever the envoy was saying, Al gripped the rod with both hands, gently pulling up while letting it run.
Then, a behemoth slowly surfaced from the water.
First came the bald, slimy forehead, fish-like ear fins, beady little eyes, a hideous appearance, and a pungent, fishy stench radiating from its entire body.
A River Troll that had been resting at the bottom of the river.
Al's hook had caught on its ear fin.
It shrieked and groaned as it floated up from the water, then saw Al gripping the fishing rod with a face full of shock.
Its fierce expression went blank for a moment before it flopped down with a splash, kicking up a massive spray of water.
Despite its ugly appearance, it raised its head submissively, looking up at Al with its beady eyes.
The boy wiped his face, expressionless, and reeled in the rod.
Holding it horizontally in front of him, he raised his left leg.
Crack!
"If I can't catch fish, what use are you to me!"
Smash!
"Didn't I designate the water source as off-limits to Trolls!"
He turned his head to question the Sagegor advisor holding a book. The cover bore five marks—symbolizing the Four Gods and Al's unification of Chaos—with a very grandiose title: "The Book of Genesis." In reality, it was just a mishmash of myths primarily showcasing the mighty power of the Four Mothers and Al, destined to rule nations and conquer myriad realms:
A children's book.
Fairy tales meant for cubs.
Al's scions loved it very much. One of their biggest forms of entertainment outside of training and work was pestering their older siblings, or those in "elder" positions, to read it to them.
The Sagegor scratched the feathers on its forehead with its claws, stepped forward, and used the beast tongue to ask the Troll why it had violated the rules.
The Troll, who had splashed Al with water, looked extremely aggrieved. Under Al's training and conditioning, these brainless monsters—whose intellect was even lower than Greenskins—had finally shown a bit of intellectual growth. Compared to the past, they could understand things faster and express more emotions.
Its little eyes conveyed an emotion called "pitiful and wronged." This surprised the envoy; a stupid creature like a Troll was actually voluntarily submitting to an individual who looked so much "weaker" than itself, even restraining its wild nature perfectly before even getting beaten down.
Then, with a bunch of weird grunts and squeals, Al managed to understand its meaning through the All-Knowing blessing and the Sagegor advisor's interpretation.
"I was sleeping at the bottom of the river, suddenly came out of nowhere, my ear itched, I got up to look, and saw the Boss..."
Al jammed the broken rod into the soft mud on the bank like a broken sword into its scabbard, formally invited the envoy into the camp for a detailed discussion, and then turned his head, stomping back angrily.
There was no way he was going to catch any fish today.
Halfway there, his footsteps stopped.
His expression was unreadable.
Al thought to himself, if he came out to fish and caught nothing, it would be just like those men who went out hunting or gathering and came back empty-handed—too disappointing. In the long run... it would be bad for the Everchosen's reputation!
So he stopped, looking left and right, scanning his surroundings to see if there was anything he could take back that could count as "prey."
Finally, he spotted a few bushes standing in the woods that looked like berries.
His eyes lit up.
The envoys followed behind, watching as those majestic, fierce-looking beast bodyguards ran off to do farmers' work, chopping down berry bushes, harvesting them, and carrying them in their arms.
Al contentedly put his mask back on, sat in the palm of the Blessed Gorebull Alestar, and headed back toward the tribe.
"Lord Harold, why is the quota reduced again today?"
The man unloaded the large bundle of firewood from his back, bent over with his hands on his knees, wiped the sweat from his face panting heavily, and shook his hands. After the companion in front of him left angrily, he stepped into the position.
The person responsible for calculating the received goods sat in a chair, scribbling in a notebook with a pen. His nonchalant expression formed a stark contrast with the disheveled man.
He pulled out a sweat towel, wiped his forehead, picked out three long wooden sticks from a box beside him, thought for a moment, put one back, replaced it with a short one, and handed them to the man.
Lucius's face instantly flushed red. He straightened his back, was about to speak, but paused, then bent down slightly, trying to control his tone and voice: "Lord Harold, there are three adults in our family, and two children..."
"Why are you telling me this?" A look of astonishment appeared on Harold's face. This made Lucius even hallucinate whether he had said something wrong. He gritted his teeth, "The children have been crying from hunger since the day before yesterday. If..."
The man suddenly stood up. Lucius was startled and involuntarily took two steps back.
The short supply officer looked much taller than him, and the expression on his face was even more imposing.
Harold frowned, using a dissatisfied, reprimanding tone to lecture Lucius:
"Alright, you don't need to say anymore. I know."
"Things are difficult everywhere right now!" Supply Officer Harold suddenly raised his voice, clasped his hands behind his back, walked out from behind the desk, and paced back and forth, his face dark, his paunch jiggling slightly.
"Here, at least everyone has something to eat. In several other settlements, the poorer ones have even started running out of food! They're barely hanging on relying entirely on the main camp's support, otherwise people will start starving to death very soon!"
Harold's words caused fear to secretly rise in Lucius's heart. He couldn't help but grip the two long and one short sticks in his hand tightly, feeling uneasy.
"What about the Kingdom? I heard the Kingdom's aid has arrived. Can we leave the forest and go to Bilbali or somewhere else..." Lucius asked tentatively. Harold merely sighed, looking as if he wanted to say something but stopped, and waved his hand.
"You go back first. Hurry up and take the grain back. Come find me after sunset. I have something to discuss with you."
The supply officer's words sounded absolutely irrefutable, so Lucius had no choice but to uneasily quicken his pace and run to the warehouse. After completing the registration with the guards, a yawning man walked out carrying a sack, stuffed to the brim.
Lucius took it from him gratefully, untied the rope right in front of the guards, and carefully inspected it under their somewhat mocking gazes. He had stumbled once before; the sack he took back had fucking several rotten fruits stuffed inside, completely inedible.
Taking it back to exchange was impossible. The grain was already distributed; if it was rotten, it was none of their business. He could only silently curse these idiotic warehouse guards for neglecting their duties, letting easily perishable things like fruit rot before distributing them.