HLM – Chapter 189 Establishing Authority Through Violence

Seeing the timid look on the tall, burly tribal chief, the Commander widened his eyes. After realizing what was going on, he smoothed his feathers with his beak and muttered, “Ah, Little Wang? This is Little Wang?”

In its eyes, this tribal chief was like a human version of Little Wang—at least in terms of personality, they were exactly the same. Little Wang, despite his sturdy frame and large build at a young age, was ridiculously timid and cowardly—so much so that even a tiny Rottweiler could bully him.

Wang Bo, the fiercely protective town mayor, had always shielded Little Wang in the castle. Out here, he would stand up for his subordinates. Though he didn’t approve of the tribal chief’s cowardice, the man was working for him—and Wang Bo would never let someone insult his people with impunity.

He raised his arm, sending the Commander flying, and then strode over with a dark face and barked, “Hey, asshole! If you want to make money, then get your ass to work. If you don’t want to work, then get the hell out!”

Aside from the outlier Aturu, the rest of the Maori men were hot-tempered, the kind who’d rather throw fists than words. Hearing Wang Bo’s words, one of the big men’s eyes bulged with fury and he roared, “You want your skull smashed too?”

The other men stopped working, crossed their arms, and began watching with amused expressions. Hani wanted to step in and calm things down, but Charlie pulled him back. Alongside Juan and Bowen, they also crossed their arms and laughed as if watching a show.

Aturu was the same, laughing like it had nothing to do with him. He had seen firsthand how deadly Wang Bo could be in a fight.

Wang Bo rolled his neck, and a few crisp cracks came from his spine. He clenched his fists, and his knuckles popped like firecrackers.

After that pre-battle flourish, Wang Bo planted his feet in a horse stance, extended his right arm and gestured with a mocking beckon. “Come on, dumb ox! Taste my fist!”

In New Zealand, “dumb ox” was preferred over “dumb pig” or “dumb ass” when insulting someone. This was due to their environment—cattle raised for meat were docile and stupid, while the local pigs, often wild, were much fiercer.

Being called that, the big man felt thoroughly insulted. He roared like an enraged bull and charged, throwing a punch straight at Wang Bo’s chest.

Wang Bo twisted his waist with lightning speed, dodged the punch with precision, grabbed the man’s arms, twisted his waist again, and used his shoulder to slam into the man’s chest. With a loud shout and full-body effort, he hurled the big guy away.

“Clang!” With a dull thud, the man landed in a freshly dug tree pit.

Wang Bo made the toss look as effortless as dumping a sack of flour. He dusted off his hands and looked around at the glaring Maoris, sneering, “What? Not satisfied? Come at me, all of you!”

The Maoris weren’t just muscle for show. That big guy was tough—he actually climbed out of the pit, even more enraged. “I’ll kill you!” he roared.

Wang Bo’s face darkened, and he switched to offense. In a single burst, he sprinted forward, stomped hard, and launched into the air, unleashing a double flying kick. “Bang! Bang!” Two dull thuds rang out in quick succession as the big man, who had barely gotten up, was sent flying again.

Naturally, he landed hard once more. But Wang Bo hit the ground back-first and didn’t feel a thing. With a swift kip-up, he jumped to his feet, ran over, grabbed the man, and delivered an over-the-shoulder throw—“Clang!”—slamming him down once again.

Charlie and Bowen whistled at the sight. Juan clapped excitedly and shouted, “Boss, that was awesome! War god! War god! War god!”

Aturu pumped his fist and cheered, “Yeah yeah yeah! That’s it! Give that son of a bitch another one!”

Wang Bo shot them a glare—damn it, were they just here to watch a show?

The other Maori men were stunned. They had never seen anyone fight like this. In their world, a fight was just two people throwing punches and kicks until someone gave out. But Wang Bo’s display of combat technique looked straight out of a movie—utterly unbelievable.

The beaten man was dazed, muttering incoherently in Maori. Wang Bo couldn’t understand a word.

Two Maoris rushed over and dragged the man away. Another approached awkwardly, chuckling nervously, “Mayor, don’t be angry. Taka’s just hot-headed—he’s not a bad person.”

Wang Bo pointed at him coldly and said, “When he wakes up, tell him he’s done here. Pay him out and send him packing. I’ll give him 500 bucks. I don’t want to see him on my crew again.”

The Maori quickly pleaded, “No, Mayor, please give Taka another chance! He’s got a terrible temper, yes, but his wife died in the earthquake. Please, forgive him just this once.”

A Maori woman nearby wiped her tears and added, “Yes, yes, Mayor. Taka only acts like this because he’s grieving his wife. Please forgive him.”

The Maoris backed down partly because they were awed by Wang Bo’s strength—but also because his wages were just too good. Taka getting 500 bucks for this kind of job? Losing that would be a huge blow.

Wang Bo was taken aback—some of these people had lost loved ones in the quake? His expression softened. He turned to Aturu and said, “Your people, your call.”

Aturu was overjoyed. He rubbed his hands together and stepped forward, mimicking Wang Bo’s posture with hands behind his back. “I understand Taka’s situation. Though he just charged at me—cough, and the boss, our mayor—I and cough, of course, the boss too, are both broad-minded folks. We’ll forgive him.”

Wang Bo shook his head. The Commander snorted and muttered, “Tsk, not as good as Little Wang!”

At least Little Wang didn’t suck up or act like such a showoff.

Around noon, the Maoris began lunch. Someone came to invite Wang Bo: “Mayor, come eat with us? Tonight we’re making Hangi—we hope you’ll join us too!”

Hangi was a traditional Maori dish. Wang Bo had tried it once at a restaurant in Wanderers’ Town, along with that potent “Deadly Force” white liquor. It had tasted pretty good, so he was happy to join.

The Maoris’ lunch was simple: steamed sweet potatoes, boiled potatoes in salt water, massive burgers, that sort of thing.

Their appetites—regardless of gender—were astounding. A sweet potato weighing nearly a kilo would disappear in three or four bites. Wang Bo could only stare and gulp.

After lunch, they resumed work. This time, the Maoris were much more motivated. Ironically, Taka—the one who got beat up—was the most diligent. He worked solo on one tree pit, drenched in sweat.

Wang Bo nodded in approval. Damn, these brutes really do respond to fists. Civilization and reason meant nothing to them.

By 3 p.m., the Maoris were getting excited—it was time to prepare the evening feast: Hangi.