Chapter 398 - 172: Butterfly Wings (Part 2)
...
However, things have unknowingly developed to the current state.
Chen Zhou must admit that due to his various actions, the challenge has severely deviated from the right track.
He can no longer, like Robinson, peacefully guard this isolated island, farming and raising animals for himself, living a reclusive pastoral life for 28 years.
Killing this Spaniard will lead to another Spaniard, and killing this group of natives will only bring the next group of natives.
Unless he can truly drive these people away or take Sunday and hide deep within the island, destroying all traces left over the years and be a turtle hiding in its shell.
Otherwise, one wave of invasions after another is inevitable.
...
He originally planned to leave all the daily chores to Saturday and Sunday.
So he could focus entirely on creating facilities that could improve the quality of life, such as water wheels, windmills, and even water-powered forging furnaces.
Then, he planned to build barns needed for sheep and free up time to alone construct several beautifully designed and comfortable villas in scenic places like the River Valley Plain and Fruit Tree Valley.
It seems now that before resolving external threats, these projects to enjoy life have to be put on hold.
...
Facing the natives with their numerical advantage and the potentially aiding Spaniards, Chen Zhou felt his biggest shortcoming was lacking manpower.
Even if he was given just twenty warriors like Sunday, brave, decisive, and trustworthy, he wouldn’t feel this anxious.
Two well-trained teams of ten are better than hundreds of unruly mobs, not to mention that Chen Zhou’s side holds an absolute advantage in weaponry.
Unfortunately, aside from Sunday, who is still quite young, and Saturday, who isn’t suited for combat, Chen Zhou doesn’t have extra manpower.
Even the only two available are entangled in the island’s affairs.
Especially after capturing a batch of hostile natives, not only do they struggle to help Chen Zhou alleviate pressure, they might even need his help.
...
Unexpected events have always been the factor Chen Zhou hates most.
He disliked having his plans disrupted.
But plans can’t keep up with changes. Since things have developed to this point, for the sake of future life, he cannot choose to evade but must face the imminent threats head-on.
...
Sitting in front of the desk, Chen Zhou took out a stack of A4 papers—on which were his previous plans for island development.
Now, all those plans can be declared null and void.
He has to redirect the island’s development from agricultural focus to military.
The island needs more lookout towers, more beacon towers, more defensive facilities.
He must also consider whether to hand over more advanced weapons to Saturday and Sunday, and whether they are trustworthy.
If he is to teach them how to use firearms, which kind should he provide?
Should it be the matchlock gun which meets the 17th-century mainstream weapon standards, or the modified flintlock gun he once used, or his newly made Chen Family rifle, with far superior performance beyond the era...
...
The sound of the pen scratching the paper echoed softly.
The sun gradually set amidst these intermittent sounds, and the oil lamp in the cave was lit.
Chen Zhou’s brows furrowed at times and relaxed at others.
The white A4 paper gradually filled with orderly text, rows and columns, clearly recording Chen Zhou’s deeply pondered thoughts.
...
Before the entire island was completely plunged into darkness, Sunday knocked on the cave door.
After receiving permission from Chen Zhou, he entered the small courtyard.
"How’s it going?"
Hours of high-intensity thinking left Chen Zhou somewhat fatigued. He sat in the courtyard chair with his legs crossed, asking expressionlessly.
Sunday, accustomed to daily warmth and tolerance, often joking with Chen Zhou, seldom saw him with such an expression, and couldn’t help being a bit nervous.
His hands subconsciously pressed tightly against the sides of his pants, standing straight, he answered Chen Zhou’s question seriously and slowly.
...
The natives, accustomed to submission, mostly possess a notable admiration for power.
Facing brutal and violent fellow tribesmen, they behave even more docile than in their own tribes.
Mutual language understanding saved a lot of communication costs.
Though the native language has a limited vocabulary, under Sunday’s strict discipline, all the natives quickly grasped the tasks they needed to perform.
Even the only outlier, Werner, was no exception—
When Sunday’s stick fell, it didn’t spare its strength just because Werner was a Spaniard, perhaps even applying more force due to his previous acts of resistance.
...
When the natives were digging pits, Sunday paid special attention to whether they had any appetite for human flesh.
In the teachings of the "Celestial God," forbidding cannibalism was one of the most crucial rules.
Although Sunday had erred in the past, he had corrected himself. Having adapted to the current diet and subtly influenced by Chen Zhou’s teachings, he now abhorred cannibalism.
Even though Chen Zhou hadn’t instructed him to punish natives who desire human flesh, Sunday independently enforced this rule.
...
When the natives landed on the island, four followed Werner to search for traces of fellow tribesmen activity while the others stayed on the beach to start a fire.
They hadn’t had time to search for food when they fell under Chen Zhou’s sudden whirlwind assault, all with empty stomachs.
Under fear and dread, becoming captives, then driven by Sunday to bury corpses.
Body and soul extraordinarily exhausted, among the natives accustomed to eating human flesh, naturally there were some who couldn’t control their craving, wanting to sneak bites of human flesh when transporting corpses to stave off hunger.
As predicted, he received a merciless beating from Sunday.
Until the native was beaten so badly that his body was covered in wounds and his begging voice sounded weak did Sunday stop.
Blatantly expressing his disgust towards cannibalism through "fishing law enforcement" and showcasing his methods and ruthlessness, Sunday then told the natives—
"That’s the consequence of wanting to eat people.
If you actually eat people, you’ll be executed immediately, without a second chance."
The saying goes, "You can’t teach someone through words, but an experience makes them understand."
Seeing their companion covered in blood and struggling to walk, no native dared entertain the thought of secretly eating human flesh.
Even when burying the corpses, they tried to avoid staring at them for too long, afraid of being mistaken and killed by that clothed fellow tribesman.
After burying the corpses, the natives collectively dragged the Canoe ashore, desperately watching their only hope to escape from the island go up in flames.
...
When the flames on the Canoe gradually died down, revealing the hull below reduced to ashes and charcoal, not only were the natives in despair.
Even Werner, this sailor who had always feigned obedience, felt a chill.
He vaguely had a premonition—
He might never leave this island for the rest of his life, and the terrifying part isn’t the slave-like life ahead where he’d labor day and night, but the consequences his identity might provoke.
He feared he might not live as long as the other natives.
But he was powerless to resist.
Not to mention one of his legs was crippled, even if it weren’t injured, after losing weapons and working physical labor all afternoon, he couldn’t flee far.
Moreover, the only Canoe fit for leaving the island was burnt, where could he escape to?
In terms of understanding the whole island, could he compare to that tall, uniquely-looking, mystery-enshrouded "phantom"?
"If I don’t want to die, I have to appear more valuable..."
With his head down, limping along with the natives up the mountain, Werner’s mind raced.
He didn’t want to die, even if it meant barely surviving, licking others’ boots on the ground. As long as he could endure until Kilian, that bastard, arrived on the island, he could turn the tables.
Before that, he had to give everything he could, using lies, wealth, women, and promising prospects to placate that "phantom."
Werner thought, in this world surely no one would refuse a hefty sum of gold and silver treasures from the Inca Kingdom.
That was his heaviest bargaining chip.
He believed, even the most unique individuals, upon realizing the magnitude of the wealth, wouldn’t kill him, this "live treasure map," in their quest for its location.
Even noble lords might be tempted upon hearing the total sum of that wealth, perhaps even organizing expeditions personally.
Not to mention this "phantom" living on a secluded island.
"He surely will let me live for the Inca Kingdom’s treasure!"
...
Of course, at this moment Werner, having devised a plan and nurturing some confidence for survival success, couldn’t even imagine.
Due to his unique identity and the unshared language, in the "phantom’s" mind, he has long been sentenced to death.
All his current efforts to seek survival, once Chen Zhou extracts all his value, will transform into a farcical performance mocked by the circus clowns.