It seemed there was nothing much left to do today.
The boy stood up, swept a glance over the ashes on the floor, gave a few casual instructions, and immediately found an opportunity to start slacking off.
Al did not return to the rear chamber, where his harem and his usual resting quarters were located.
After all, even the most delicious feast gets a bit tiresome if eaten every day. When the opportunity allows, one must go out for a proper stroll.
Sitting in an open-top carriage, touring the tribe, and feeling the loyalty and passion of his subjects—which grew firmer by the day—wasn't that also a great pleasure?
In Al's old world, there was a beautiful man named Pan An. Every time he went out, young girls, older sisters, and even elderly women would throw flowers and fruits into his carriage to show their love, a scene known as "showering the carriage with fruit."
There was also Gao Changgong, the Prince of Lanling from Northern Qi, who possessed military talent and received the same treatment. History says every time he "freeloaded" fresh fruit like this, he would always share it with his subordinates.
Al considered his own appearance. While perhaps not quite at the level where he would think "I am too ugly to lead a great nation" like Chancellor Cao Cao, he surely matched the rank of "looking like Pan An."
Plus, there was the charm bonus granted by the Reveler.
Unfortunately, as he wore his mask and strolled out with his bodyguards, while there were plenty of people bowing and paying their respects from a distance, not a single person came forward to play out a scene of "respecting the wise" or "being one with the people" with the Everchosen.
Al pondered this and concluded it was because wherever he went, the Khorngor bodyguards crowded him tightly. The majestic Bloodmother Vanguards, clad in heavy armor and wielding weapons, stood there like pillars.
To mortals, awe was greater than proximity.
"Isolating the internal from the external... this is a precursor to losing power!" Al let his thoughts wander into nonsense.
He specifically had the bodyguards adjust their formation, walking at the very front himself, with only a Sagegor advisor closest behind him.
The advisor held a book, ready at any moment to be struck by inspiration from the Everchosen. They had to be prepared to record everything truthfully and modify it slightly to serve as a heavyweight weapon for internal and external propaganda.
God knows who else would actually read those things besides Beastmen and humans who had already defected to the tribe.
As it turned out, the stroll remained the same. Whether they were Beastmen or humans, everyone treated him with absolute reverence. Their speech, expressions, and actions were genuine, but it differed slightly from what Al had envisioned.
Children, however, lacked such restraints and hearts of awe. They seemed very interested in Al, following the Everchosen's entourage at a moderate distance, chirping and playing in a huddle.
Whenever Al looked at them, they would scatter in a flurry, hiding in the surroundings.
Al felt that, unknowingly, his perceived age had trended toward "youthful" once again. Being watched by a group of children with curious and admiring eyes gave him immense pressure.
It felt like being stalked by a pack of beast cubs that weren't very dangerous but were extremely destructive.
He quickened his pace. Along the way, the Everchosen pulled people aside to ask questions, inspecting the people's condition.
He pulled over passing men and women, humans and beasts, asking things like:
"How is life? Are you eating your fill? What difficulties have you encountered? Blah, blah, blah."
This counted as fully listening to public opinion.
Then he clapped his hands.
"Good!"
"Very good!"
"This is crucial. Someone send this immediately to my eldest daughter, the Master of your First Legion and the head of all scions, Misha Theseus. I order my daughter to handle this!"
Then he would move to the next location, leaving behind a reputation of: "The Everchosen is always watching us! He is one with his subjects!"
When there is work to do, slacking off feels great.
When there is work to do and you can dump it on someone else to solve it through their hard work, slacking off feels the absolute best.
Al sighed with emotion as he wandered along.
It had to be said that Misha, his eldest daughter, was indeed incredibly useful.
When she was still young, the little "cow-girl" showed signs of turning into a stubborn donkey. But once Al founded the army and divided the military and civilians into four parts for his four scions to lead into the wilderness, Misha turned all her work passion and her sense of responsibility—shone upon by fatherly love—toward her duties.
After Al's successful campaign and the influx of refugees brought back to the forest, he frequently—and later permanently—recalled his scions to stay at the main tribal camp to run errands and handle affairs for him.
As for the branch bases, it was just the same old business anyway. Besides, at their current scale and distance, things hadn't reached the point where a powerful authority had to be stationed there to maintain operations. Leaving them to the stay-behind administrative and military forces to manage and expand was enough.
And Misha truly did not fail Al's high expectations. She remained diligent and hardworking, just like the source of the other half of her bloodline, "plowing" this fertile soil that Al had waiting to be developed.
The scions perfectly suited Al's desires. Loyalty, faith, ability, and passion—they lacked nothing. With Al at the helm, the ship of the tribe sailed steadily and swiftly with the help of his scion sailors.
Sometimes Al couldn't help but mutter in his heart:
"Is it a waste to use such 'superhumans' and 'demi-god angels' just for war? Shouldn't I put some of their superhuman energy and will into other directions, like administration?"
Thus Al grumbled internally about a certain Fifth Chaos God, that cold Sun (the Emperor of Mankind).
He felt he didn't possess the God-Emperor's transcendent omnipotence (fake sincerity) and his great love for the entire race—a love so resolute it couldn't tolerate a single shred of compromise or wavering.
But Al acknowledged he could do better in other aspects, such as the very important:
The innate cultivation and postnatal education of his scions.
He absolutely had to avoid a scene where Misha tearfully plunged a chainsword into Al's gut, sobbing: "Father, inherit the throne!" (Horus Heresy reference).
Or leading the rebellious brothers at the head of a corrupted legion, forming battle lines and screaming at her little father: "Death to the False Emperor!"
Just thinking about those images was terrifying. So, even though Al himself had only recently become a young man, he tried his best to "play" the role of a father and a guide. It was very necessary to add a layer of "fatherly love" insurance to the tribe's internal structure, beyond the factors of innate responsibility, emotion, and faith.
He also had to ensure his sons wouldn't hoist their eldest sister Misha up on a shield and publish a manifesto to crusade against their father.
As for dumping work... Al thought about it and decided that handing everything over to his "donkey"—no, his "cow-daughter"—to handle was a bit of a failure as a father.
He recalled that over this period, he truly had rarely worked alongside his daughter. Every day he was either running around, wandering everywhere under the banner of running around, or coming back to stay in the rear chamber to have smutty sessions with his collection of beautiful flesh.
So, he suddenly intended to take some people to visit his eldest daughter, then collaborate on governance to strengthen their bond.
Then he saw Misha coming his way with her staff and advisors, cutting off the slacking Al.
The little father stood before his eldest daughter. Her size grew much faster than Al's, likely due to the other half of her Minotaur bloodline. Her stature was nearly approaching that of a Centigor. Al only reached the area above Misha's belly.
His eldest daughter grew very sturdy and thick. She had everything she should, though she might have grown a bit too robust—he wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
But by Al's normal (furry-inclined) aesthetics, his eldest daughter's appearance was actually quite excellent. Her face always bore a faint, lingering smile, the kind that was very pleasant to look at.
Keywords:
Monster Girl! Cow Girl! Gigantification!
Feeling a bit guilty, worried he'd be caught in the act of slacking while planning to dump more work on her, he thought Misha was here to catch him and drag him back to work together. However, it turned out Misha wasn't aware of her little father's lack of morals; she was looking for him with actual business.
"The scouts have detected a large Greenskin force heading north. They have already approached the outskirts of the Piña Forest."
The intelligence brought by his eldest daughter made Al's expression turn stern. Straightening his mindset, he asked seriously: "Is it confirmed they are coming toward the forest?"
"It seems so. Coming in this direction, their only possible goal is to enter the forest."
"Also, the scouts found a large amount of human activity within the Greenskin army. They are transporting supplies and laboring for the Greenskins. They don't look like slaves; instead, they look like... allies."
Al's pupils shrank.
Mentioning a large number of "humans," Al first thought: It's not pirates. Salt-rats usually like to stay on their ships and rarely come ashore in foreign lands unless there's looting or profit to be had. According to the intel, the pirates fighting with the Greenskin coalition mostly provided only fire support, with the exception of an elite Pirate Bombardier unit deployed during the Battle of Guadaz River.
Al had a faint feeling that perhaps what happened in Cerebrio was repeating itself. His suspicions were coming true.
That Great Warboss with the strange name was also conquering—rather than just slaughtering and enslaving—humans to serve him.
The situation behind this event would likely be even more shocking than the defection of a single city like Cerebrio.
"Is there a rough estimate of the numbers?"
"Roughly forty to fifty thousand enemies. As for any follow-up, we don't know yet. This time, the Greenskin WAAAAAGH! field is stronger. The Shamans are having a hard time seeing through such an obstruction."
Al said nothing, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.
"Prepare for mobilization. Summon the scions. I will personally lead them onto the battlefield!"
"Inform the Estalians of this news. Their legions should get moving, too. Follow us, and stop losing every damn battle!"