Forty containers sit under cranes at the quay at the port outside Mombasa.
Two black tribesmen carrying rifles stepped forward, pulled out a plastic box of ammunition from the open container, and used their rifle butts to savagely smash the outer lock. Looking at the orange bullets inside, their green bean-like eyes suddenly A flash of joy flashed through, and he cheered and whistled.
"Twenty boxes of military supplies are here, where are our people?" Feng Yuan did not look at the two black men, but his eyes were fixed on the Moorish tribe envoy standing in front of him.
He noticed that when he saw the military supplies in the forty containers at the port, a trace of obvious greed flashed across the envoy's face. This greed is not directed at these materials, anyone standing here can feel it, it is directed at them.
One hostage can be exchanged for a box of arms.
This deal is really profitable.
"Don't worry, the hostages are all in the truck. I guarantee with the totem of the Gangya tribe that everyone is safe and sound." The burly Duamang coughed, opened his arms, and looked at the messenger of the Morsi tribe, " According to the agreement, you let him go."
The envoy bowed respectfully, showing much more respect for the great chief than for these outsiders.
Soon, twenty-two messengers stepped off the truck, because the NAC people were quite happy to pay the ransom, and these people had not suffered much abuse.
Two of them were private guards who survived. Their injuries were obviously serious and they were wrapped in bandages. Seeing Feng Yuan at this moment, the two of them looked ashamed and lowered their heads.
Seeing the injuries of the two men, the faces of the NAC soldiers standing behind were filled with anger, and they stared at the Moorish tribe envoy with murderous intent in their eyes. However, he didn't know whether he was arrogant or fearless. The messenger from the Morsi tribe raised his chin slightly and glanced at the soldiers with an arrogant look.
Feng Yuan stretched out his hand to suppress the muzzle of the gun that was almost raised next to him, shook his head at the soldier, then greeted the medical staff and walked towards the two wounded soldiers.
"Please raise your head, you have nothing to be ashamed of. What should be ashamed are those cowards who took the deposit but left their employer behind and ran away. Over here, even the most despicable mutants don't bother to associate with such scum. .You and your comrades fought until the last moment, even if you were outnumbered in the end, you were worthy of the glory you held."
Feng Yuan did not control the volume of these words, but the expression on the chief's face was not very good. After all, he was the one who introduced the tribe that escorted the NAC transport team to Feng Yuan. The Morsi tribe was one of his most ferocious vassal tribes, so it was normal that the mercenaries did not dare to fight with them.
However, seeing the twenty containers that belonged to him, the great chief wiped out his dissatisfaction with this sentence and pretended not to hear the rude words.
On the other hand, the messenger of Morsi was very direct, said nothing, made a contemptuous gesture, and then turned around and left the port with his two followers.
In their tribe, that gesture means coward.
"You shouldn't pay the ransom." After all, the native wizard Lu Sambo shook his head and reminded Feng Yuan kindly, "Did you see the expression on the chief's face? He was happy. Just acting as a middleman for the handover of hostages, I earned twenty boxes of military supplies. This is simply more profitable than the slave trade... "
There was one sentence Lusambo didn't say.
If the Gangya tribe was still dissatisfied with the vassals in the territory attacking the development zone before, from now on, I am afraid that the chief would like his vassals to rob these Asian settlements, and then act as a middleman to make a profit from them. Pen.
"The employees of Future Development are not slaves. Moreover, they will soon pay the price for their stupidity." Feng Yuan smiled coldly, staring closely at the back of the Morsi tribe leaving, word by word. Said the last words.
Soon, they will realize painfully that the ransom is not so easy to get...
…
"Here's to the mother of Morsi!"
"Oh oh oh!"
Sparks popped out of the bonfire, and the tribesmen around the bonfire beat joyful drums and danced weird and mysterious dances around the bonfire.
On this continent, the culture of each tribe is different. In addition to the shared totem worship and ancestor worship, all cultural differences are reflected in the appearance of totems, the rhythm of dances and drums.
The wizard recited the incantation as if rapping, reached out and grabbed a handful of powder in the bone vessel, and threw it into the bonfire. As a group of people screamed and cheered, the flames made a crisp sound and exploded with green fire.
If you want to use one sentence to describe the people living here, it would be to coexist behind the advanced.
The villages of the Moorsi tribe are large, and most of the buildings are tents. This is to adapt to the hunting life on the prairie. As the deer herds move and the surrounding fruits dry up, they will continue to migrate. However, primitiveness does not mean that they are absolutely backward. Like many survivor settlements in the surrounding areas of Wanghai City, they can use modern weapons and are no stranger to some high technologies that are only available in Mombasa.
Two tribal soldiers carrying rifles brought two slaves whose hands and feet were tied. The two of them have light skin and bulging muscles. One is probably Central European and the other is probably Slavic. In this era, the relationship between the two can almost be described as blood feud.
"knife."
Speaking rudely in French, the black soldier gave each of them a knife and then loosened their shackles. The remaining tribesmen formed a circle around the two men, shouting strange words excitedly.
With two low roars, the two slaves rushed forward, and both sides saw despair in each other's pupils.
No one can survive.
The weak are killed and the hearts of the strong are sacrificed.
This is to celebrate a good hunting harvest and to pray for the next hunt. The containers filled with ammunition were placed not far from the totem pole, before opening the "gifts" given to them by these Molsi ancestors.
In order to offer sacrifices to the ancestors and obtain the blessings of the ancestors, every molsi will be present at this moment.
Finally, the duel was decided, and the Central European's knife had been knocked away. The Slav pressed him down and stabbed his throat with the knife in his hand.
"We are dead, we are all dead." Despair flashed in his pupils. The Central European man grabbed the blade with both hands and watched the blood dripping down drop by drop. He gasped and said in a hoarse voice, "They I will first drain your blood, then dig out your heart in front of you and put it on an altar... "
At this moment, there seemed to be a burst of noise in the air.
Of course, the two people surrounded by thousands of tribesmen couldn't 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 our ancestors, he is teaching us."
Someone said so.
At an altitude of two thousand meters, two Aurora-20s, one behind the other, were cruising in the sky.
"This is Hunter-1, signal source detected..."