Chapter 213 – A King Should Rule Like a Neighborhood Auntie
"Your Majesty, the great King of the Cobras, ahead lies the territory of the Shalk Tribe. They worship the Fire God and are an extremely wicked people."
The shaman bowed his head and pointed toward the native settlement in the valley below.
"I think you're just trying to get back at them."
Allen cast a sly glance at the shaman, seeing through his motives, and said casually, "But I don't care. I'm going to conquer them all—make them kneel and sing Conquer."
"Your Majesty, I am loyal to you with all my heart, wholly devoted to serving your greatness," the shaman flattered with a servile smile.
"Spare me the flowery nonsense."
Allen said bluntly, "If you're going to compliment me, just say I'm handsome—like dashing, devastatingly good-looking, unbelievably hot, or crazy ridiculously good-looking."
"Very well then, unbelievably hot Your Majesty," the shaman immediately adapted.
"Mm…"
Allen nodded with satisfaction. "Not bad. You're learning."
Up on the mountain, the natives lay on the ground, waiting for orders to obey the Cobra King's command to attack the rival tribe with whom they had grudges.
The main reason? Misery loves company. Since they had suffered, they wanted to drag others down too—so they offered up the location of the enemy tribe.
The shaman couldn't wait to pledge loyalty: "Please give the command, Your Majesty. Our warriors will immediately launch a raid, slaughter the men, and seize the women and food!"
On the New Continent, tribal wars revolved around women and food. Men and boys were always killed.
The reason: grown men might rebel, boys would grow up to rebel, and women were seen as breeding tools.
Of course, in the central regions of the New Continent, where conditions were more livable and city-state empires arose, conquered men were often enslaved to build temples and palaces.
"Use your damn head. Ever heard of tactics?"
Allen gave the shaman a look of disdain. "I don't care if people die in a head-on clash, but what about the wounded?"
"…"
The shaman was speechless.
In such living conditions, wounded people were a huge burden.
Not only could they not hunt, they'd need others to take care of them—only to die anyway. Most tribes would abandon the wounded to die alone in the wild.
And to make matters worse, their tribe's Night God had died, and they now worshipped a hellhound—Erha.
Problem was, Erha couldn't grant powers to its followers. As mere mortals, going up against a rival tribe blessed by a Fire God would come at a steep cost.
"Crazy ridiculously good-looking Your Majesty, please instruct your ignorant subjects," the shaman said awkwardly.
"Simple. You'll clean up the battlefield."
With that, Allen squinted toward Hisius, coiled in a tree.
Seeing Allen's control over the serpent race, the natives completely dropped their resistance. They knew this guy wasn't someone you could afford to provoke. In fact, following him seemed like a great opportunity.
Thus, the once-defiant shaman did a complete 180 in attitude.
"What?"
Hisius suddenly felt a chill down her spine, sensing imminent doom.
"Queen, hear my command."
Allen's expression turned solemn as he declared, "I hereby name you the Grand Vanguard General of the Spear Banner. You are to launch a solo raid on the enemy stronghold. Upon success, you will be awarded VIP mount status."
"I'm not going."
Hisius turned away flatly.
Still just a mount. No real upgrade.
"You dare defy a royal decree?"
Allen's gaze turned perverse and his tone mischievous. "That's not up to you."
"What are you doing? Don't come any closer!"
Hisius recoiled in alarm, wrapping herself tighter around the tree trunk.
"Just bear with it—it'll be over soon."
Allen grinned wickedly, closing in.
The native warriors looked on with odd expressions. Their king seemed... unusually uninhibited. Was he really going to do that in front of everyone?
For adults here, entertainment was scarce. If it involved a man and a woman, it usually meant "boom-chicka-wow-wow."
But in truth, their thoughts were way dirtier than reality.
Allen yanked Hisius off the tree and spun her around by the tail like a fan blade.
"Stop! Ahhh!"
Hisius screamed as her body straightened out mid-spin like a flying fan blade.
"Addy's magic spin-a-roo~ Thinkin' of you from dusk till dawn~"
"Ahhh!"
Allen sang joyfully as he spun in place.
"I'm gonna hurl… Stop, I'm gonna black out!" Hisius shouted in terror.
"Don't stop now!"
Allen's grin widened. "Damn, didn't think you'd be so wild. But hey, I'm spoiling you."
"That's not what I meant!"
Sadly, the whooshing wind drowned out her protests.
Meanwhile, Erha barked excitedly nearby, looking eager to join.
The native warriors stood frozen in shock.
Is that... humanly possible?
The six-meter-long serpent queen was spinning like a jump rope.
"Incoming!"
Ahhh...!
With a release, Allen flung Hisius like a javelin straight toward the enemy camp below.
"Don't forget to use the Drowsy Smoke!" Allen reminded.
Woof woof woof!
Erha barked in agreement—then whimpered.
"Awooo…"
Allen grabbed Erha by the limbs and hurled him too. "Go get 'em, you dumb dog!"
One snake, one dog—airmailed straight into the enemy tribe.
The natives looked at Allen in fear, praying he wouldn't toss them next.
They were mere mortals. A single bump could kill them. Those two were launched like weapons.
Allen scanned the crowd—everyone avoided eye contact.
The fawning shaman shrank his neck and silently chanted, You can't see me, you can't see me…
Nearby, Gu Yi and Agatha both thought Allen had clearly lost it.
Shalk Tribe Camp.
Over six hundred people went about their daily lives.
Men butchered prey, women washed fruit or wove fibers into rope.
Ah—!
A terrified scream tore through the sky.
Everyone froze and looked up.
A long figure plummeted straight toward their camp.
What is that?
Why is that long thing flying without wings?
"On guard!" a veteran hunter shouted, grabbing a nearby weapon.
Boom!
Hisius crashed into the center of camp.
Men approached cautiously, weapons drawn.
Women watched from a distance; children peeked from behind.
Puff…
A cloud of pink smoke billowed upward.
A curious hunter sniffed the pink gas—
"Ugh! It reeks!"
Thud!
He passed out with a groan after inhaling just a bit.
Woof…
Before the tribe could react, another figure crashed into the wooden totem shrine.
That moment's hesitation had allowed the smoke to spread silently.
One by one, Shalk tribespeople began to collapse.
Boom!
A wooden hut exploded.
Fire burst out, engulfing the area in flames.
In the blinding blaze, a dog and a crow were tangled in fierce combat.
The Shalk Tribe's totem spirit—a flame crow that granted fire powers—was no match for Erha, born to wield hellfire and immune to regular flames.
Up on the mountain, Allen saw his plan working perfectly.
"Our two mighty generals have struck at the heart of the enemy, catching them off guard!"
Allen raised his arm high and shouted, "Warriors, for Noxus!"
Yee-haw!
He leapt down the mountain.
Seeing Allen vanish, the natives rushed to check the cliff.
There he was—running along the steep mountain face as if it were flat ground.
"How do we get down?"
"My legs are shaking."
"I'd rather take the long way."
"…"
No one dared follow.
They all knew Allen wasn't a normal person. Even lifelong forest-dwellers couldn't scale such a cliff without dying.
Allen, oblivious to their hesitation, landed gracefully with a midair flip.
"This moment deserves applause."
Arms outstretched, eyes closed, Allen waited for the cheers.
Only a breeze blew by.
No applause. Just a mocking crow cawing overhead.
"Where is everyone?"
He opened his eyes—alone at the bottom.
Looking up, he saw a row of heads peeking over the cliff's edge, watching him silently.
"Damn. Forgot to assess how dangerous the cliff was."
Seeing the terrain, Allen understood their hesitation. It was nearly vertical—climbing it was a death wish.
With a wave, he summoned a portal and transported his troops down.
When they arrived, Erha had already defeated the Fire God and devoured its divinity. The white mark on its forehead glowed even brighter.
Thus, the Shalk Tribe was easily subdued.
In the New Continent, lacking a totem god meant having no protection.
Even a lone puma in the wild could kill you. Wandering alone, no tribe would show mercy.
Allen's following now exceeded a thousand.
The original shaman was appointed administrator.
Key reason: he knew how to read and write, knowledge traced back to Mayan civilization. Though the script and grammar had evolved over time, he retained basic literacy.
Allen didn't stop his conquest, wiping out tribe after tribe.
But managing it all became a serious issue.
Sixteen tribes, over ten thousand people—many had deep grudges or even blood feuds.
Food disputes during hunts sparked constant conflict. Unity was a pipe dream.
Outwardly they obeyed Allen, but infighting was endless.
Sixteen shamans argued nonstop inside a thatched hut, blaming each other.
Allen's dominion was vast, and further expansion meant longer campaigns.
So he paused and began forming an army.
Now, he sat in the seat of power.
His accommodations weren't far off from the tribal chiefs.
On his head, a cobra-styled straw hat adorned with sixteen feathers—each representing a tribe.
"Your Majesty, please uphold justice! The Shagoliu Tribe can't let the Pizino Tribe bully us! The old grudges are behind us, but now they're stealing our hunting prey again!"
"You liar! That's nonsense!"
Another shaman barked back, "Your Majesty, a wild bull fled into their territory after being wounded by our hunting team, but they insisted it was their kill!"
"I demand justice! The Shalk Tribe defecated upstream, polluting our drinking water!"
"That's slander! You deliberately blocked off river branches—downright malicious!"
"…"
With open war forbidden, the tribes resorted to petty sabotage for revenge.
Not enough to cause serious harm—but enough to be disgusting.
Before, they'd dig ditches and fill each other's trenches.
Now that decisions were made collectively, naturally, there were also avenues for people to play the victim.
The scene was in utter chaos. The endless bickering gave Allen a splitting headache. This was nothing like what he had imagined being a king would be like.
He felt more like a community mediator auntie than a monarch.
"Silk Pawnshop!"
Allen spoke up to halt the disorder.
All the shamans turned to him with reverent gazes.
"The first law: destruction of livelihood resources is prohibited. If either side violates this law, the punishment will be food equivalent to feeding one hundred people for ten days."
As soon as he said this, the shamans fell silent.
In a primitive tribe with no currency in circulation, food was the only viable basis for penalties.
Food for a hundred people over ten days was a crushing burden.
In truth, most of the friction between the tribes was instigated by the shamans behind the scenes. They could easily restrain their own tribespeople if they wanted to.
Allen's decree was a clear message that the shamans could no longer act recklessly.
"The final ownership of prey belongs to the hunting team of the respective hunting zone. Unauthorized poaching in others' territories is forbidden. Medicinal herb gathering is permitted, but if this rule is violated, the offending tribe's hunting zone will be opened to the opposing party for ten days."
This rule sent a chill down the shamans' spines.
If other tribes were allowed into their hunting grounds, it would be like a sweeping autumn wind stripping the trees bare—any huntable prey would be wiped out.
Hunting zones were essentially private property for the tribes. Any encroachment was intolerable.
"There will be a Hunt King Tournament once a month."
Allen thought it over—he couldn't let them bottle up all their grievances, so competition could serve as an outlet.
"Your Majesty, what is the Hunt King Tournament?" someone asked.
Allen lazily explained, "It's simple. Each tribe sends one hunting team. Teams draw lots to hunt in another tribe's zone. The team with the most prey wins. The winning team receives one-tenth of the other teams' food haul. And of course, whoever takes down the biggest prey will be awarded the title of Hunt King."
"I support this! Our tribe's warriors will definitely earn the Hunt King title!"
"Our tribe has taken down black bears and cougars—we'll definitely claim the title!"
"Who knows if that's even true? Anyone can talk big."
"…"
The Hunt King Tournament was scheduled for three days later.
Since it would be held in unfamiliar hunting zones, this also served to prevent teams from scouting locations and cheating.
In an age lacking entertainment, hosting such a large-scale event fired up the passion of the young and able-bodied. Who didn't want to become famous, charm a few young women, and spend entire nights sowing their wild oats?
The only recent accomplishment was Erha ascending the peak of the Shadow Crown, and the people now regarded him as a living guardian deity.
Many had personally witnessed Erha defeating divine beings, so naturally, they came to see him as one.