HLM – Chapter 975 Little Wang the Monster

After capturing the dreadlocked chief of the Māori, the rest of the situation became difficult to handle.

There were two main charges involved: illegal trespassing and kidnapping.

For illegal trespassing, all the Mountain Māori were implicated, but convicting them wouldn’t be easy. Sunset Town might be Wang Bo’s territory, but it was still a town—people were allowed to come and go.

The Mountain Māori had entered with weapons, which was enough to classify their entry as illegal. But not everyone carried weapons, and it was impossible to determine exactly who did.

The kidnapping case was even trickier. Wang Bo and Atulu had indeed been kidnapped, and that could be pinned on the dreadlocked chief, as he was the one who led people to abduct them.

But what about the other six abducted victims? The scene had been chaotic, and those men had been so terrified they literally wet themselves—how could they possibly remember what the kidnappers even looked like?

More and more journalists and media outlets arrived. The situation grew wildly out of control, attracting national attention—and even Australia had begun reporting on it.

Wang Bo hurriedly ordered his men to seal off Highway No. 8. The town was chaotic enough already. With so many media personnel swarming the area, he wanted to minimize further trouble.

Sheriff Smith was getting a headache. He asked, “Wang, do you have any idea how to handle this? We definitely can’t throw more than two hundred people into prison. But you don’t want two hundred ticking time bombs wandering around freely either.”

The Mountain Māori were one of New Zealand’s wild tribes. They didn’t accept the leadership of the NZ government, didn’t recognize Parliament, and didn’t accept NZ social welfare.

They survived by hunting, their children didn’t attend school, they followed traditional Māori teachings, and they had no understanding of modern laws. Leaving them freely wandering outside truly was like leaving a pile of explosives on standby.

Wang Bo hadn’t figured out an appropriate legal method yet, but he had thought of a way to make the Māori extremely uncomfortable.

After all, Sunset Town was his private property. As its value increased, plenty of people were already eyeing it like a juicy piece of meat. He needed to handle this well—those Mountain Māori who provoked him absolutely could not be let off lightly.

Now that their chief and the warriors had been captured, the remaining Mountain Māori grew anxious.

They saw heavily armed police at the foot of the mountain, along with furious town residents. They didn’t dare charge downward, so they thought about scattering and leaving the area first.

Wang Bo released Zhuang Ding, Little Wang, Queen, and the Princes onto the mountain, letting the Black Mountain Wolves experience the terrifying presence of real beasts.

But before doing that, he first gathered up all the firearms in the Māori camp.

They had plenty of weapons: bows, spears, long and short knives, and even some civilian versions of AK-74Us and AR-series rifles.

Wang Bo quietly collected all the guns and hid them in the castle while the carriers weren’t paying attention.

That move alone sent the Māori into chaos. When they discovered the guns were missing, they suspected that the special forces had sneaked in and taken them. Panic spread as they debated whether to flee.

In the afternoon, a group of Mountain Māori trudged dejectedly along the mountain. They were the tribe’s warriors, sent to search for a new campsite.

“Hasapura, the chief has been captured. What do we do? Run away like cowards and weaklings, then elect a new chief?”

A tattoo‑faced man said sternly, “Of course not. The Black Mountain Wolves have no cowards! We will take revenge—we will make that yellow‑skinned chicken tremble… but not now… oh—my god!”

“What’s wrong?” The others were getting fired up when they suddenly noticed the tattooed man’s facial tattoos twisting unnaturally.

Instinctively, they turned around—and a nightmare descended.

A beast they had never seen before slowly emerged before them. Over two meters long, with a steel‑rod-like tail, two forelimbs thicker than the posts used to hold up their houses, and a thick lion’s mane around its neck. Its body was striped like a tiger, its head massive, its eyes gleaming cold—and even moving lazily, it radiated overwhelming ferocity.

“Th-th-this is a lion? A tiger?” a man stammered.

New Zealand had no lions or tigers. The Mountain Māori weren’t as ignorant as outsiders imagined—they had books, they learned, they recognized lions and tigers.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have named their tribe “Black Mountain Wolves,” especially since New Zealand didn’t even have native wolves.

The creature appearing before them was Little Wang.

Wang Bo was in the car, monitoring the Māori camp through the sand-table display, constantly adjusting the positions of Little Wang, Zhuang Ding, Queen, and the Princes so they could maintain psychological pressure.

Little Wang wasn’t aggressive. He had a gentle temperament. Earlier, he had been wandering around the mountain out of boredom. When he spotted the Māori warriors, he simply wanted to run over and play.

But the Māori didn’t know that. Seeing such a beast charging toward them, they were so terrified they could barely hold onto their spears.

The tattooed warrior was braver than the rest. He forced himself to raise his spear and shouted, “Stand close to me! We’ll fight it!”

People who have never faced a liger don’t understand how terrifying such a beast truly is.

These Māori were no cowards, but as Little Wang closed in, one of the men’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.

Little Wang, however, was sensitive. Seeing the sharp spears, he realized they weren’t toys and stopped himself from rushing in.

He circled around them instead. The Māori trembled violently, encouraging each other to hold on.

Little Wang quickly figured it out—they didn’t want to play with him. The naturally playful creature felt dissatisfied and opened his mouth to howl:

“Awwooo!”

What he meant was: Why are you all being so unfriendly? Let’s play together!

But how could the Māori understand that?

One of them began leaking from his crotch—Little Wang’s roar scared him so much he wet himself.

Little Wang circled them, howling repeatedly: Fine, don’t play with me then. I’ll go find Zhuang Ding. But hey—do you know how to get down the mountain? I’m lost.

The Māori, overwhelmed by his howls, were on the verge of collapse.

Finally, the tattoo‑faced man couldn’t bear the constant pressure of hovering between life and death. He turned and ran toward the camp.

Once he ran, the rest followed.

Little Wang thought they finally agreed to play with him and happily bounded after them.

This was basically leading a monster right into the camp.

When Little Wang appeared, several children who had been playing screamed, wailing as they scrambled away in terror.

“Where are the guns?!”

“Hurry! Kill that monster!”

“My god, what is that thing?!”

They desperately needed firearms to fight Little Wang—but where were the guns now?

Nowhere to be found.