HLM – Chapter 976 Ice, Fire, and Smoke — Even Immortals Would Faint

Little Wang ran to the edge of the Māori camp. Seeing so many people running around and shouting inside, it thought they all wanted to play with it.

Especially those teenage boys—since they were very close, Little Wang became excited and jumped over, wanting to play with them.

One boy reacted quickly and immediately lay on the ground, playing dead. The other boys instinctively backed away.

Little Wang saw people inside holding knives and guns and instinctively sensed those weren’t good things. So it sat outside the camp, stretched out a paw, and poked at the boy pretending to be dead—just like a child playing with a doll.

The boy didn’t dare make a sound. Tears leaked silently from the corners of his eyes; he thought he was going to die here.

Little Wang played for a while, then lost interest. It stood up, wagged its tail, and left in disappointment.

Only then did two people rush out and drag the boy back inside. He had already fainted from fear!

And it wasn’t just the boy—every Māori present was terrified. Those who originally wanted to leave the camp no longer dared to move. None of them wanted to go out and face the beast outside.

Of course, with their current combat strength, they couldn’t possibly stop this beast. But after all, there were many people in the camp—so even if the beast ate humans, the chance of being eaten themselves felt smaller.

Soon after, Zhuang Ding, the Queen, and the Princes showed themselves. Unlike Little Wang, they attacked directly. If anyone pointed bows or weapons at them, they would immediately strike!

By the afternoon, more than a dozen people in the Māori tribe were wailing miserably. Their legs and arms were covered in hideous bite marks—courtesy of the dogs.

Now they not only didn’t dare leave, they didn’t even dare stand guard outside the camp. The big dogs wandered around freely, attacking unpredictably, and the Māori had no way to defend themselves.

But if they thought staying inside the camp meant they were safe, they were dreaming.

At dusk, the sun set, and late autumn brought a sharp chill.

The Māori prepared campfires for cooking and warmth.

Everything was under Wang Bo’s control. He guided flames toward the Māori wooden sheds and huts, poured diesel, and the fires roared to life.

At the foot of the gold mine mountain, campfires burned as well—the AOS team, police, media, and the Sunset Town residents still eager for revenge all lit fires to stay warm.

The townspeople were supporting voluntarily. Wang Bo couldn’t let them stand up for the town for nothing, so he had Cousins take the cowboys to the icehouse to bring out beef and mutton—they were fed well.

Of course, he also provided food for the media and police. Feeding people cost little, but these groups could provide tremendous help—especially the media. A slight tilt of their pen could create anything.

For example, during the Southwest China terror attack, certain clueless French media even wrote: When people can’t voice grievances through normal channels, they sometimes have no choice but to resort to violence.

Wang Bo feared that similarly brainless reports might appear in New Zealand, saying: When Māori cannot secure their rights through formal means, they sometimes have no choice but to resort to violence.

Mackson roasted a piece of veal and shared half with him. Wang Bo was just about to eat when Mackson looked up at the mountain with a strange expression: “Hey, guys, come look—looks like the mountain’s on fire?”

Wang Bo already knew—because he set the fire.

The blaze spread wildly, igniting a chain of wooden huts, forcing the Māori to flee in panic.

Atulu, tearing a turkey leg with immense satisfaction, glanced at the mountain—and suddenly stood up. “Damn it, they’re not trying to start a forest fire, are they?”

The Māori police officer’s loud voice echoed, and everyone nearby heard him. The fire atop the mountain quickly drew everyone’s attention, and combined with that speculation, emotions surged.

If Wang Bo hadn’t orchestrated this, he truly would’ve feared the highland Māori might actually do such a thing.

Autumn was dry—if they started a forest fire, the destruction would be enormous.

Fire chief Marion rushed over with the firefighters. “Chief, should we attempt firefighting operations?”

Wang Bo pretended to hesitate and looked toward Sheriff Smith and Officer Sam from Dunedin.

Sam was PNT—a police negotiator. He also held another role as an AOS commander, which was why Wang Bo’s generous offer back then didn’t sway him.

Sam looked through a telescope at the mountain. The fire raged fiercely, spreading wide, flames dancing violently in the dark.

“Can the fire truck reach that area?” he asked.

Marion estimated. “Barely… our ‘Megalodon’ fire engine’s max range is 300 meters. I think it’s doable.”

“Then start suppression with the high‑pressure water cannon,” Sam ordered. “What do you think, Mayor Wang?”

After all, for now, Wang Bo was the highest-ranking administrative commander here.

Wang Bo turned toward the media filming everything and said: “Dear friends, you can see we’re using the fire truck out of necessity. The highland Māori might be attempting to burn the mountain—we can’t allow such a disaster!”

“Stop talking, chief! Let’s go shoot them!”

“These bastards are disgusting!”

“They want to destroy the Southern Alps?”

“At the very least they want to destroy Sunset Town—our paradise!”

The fire truck had been stationed near the mountain for precaution—that was why Wang Bo had felt confident burning the huts.

A reporter hesitated: “Mayor Wang… could this be a misunderstanding? If they really set the mountain on fire, they wouldn’t outrun the flames. Would they commit suicide?”

Mackson glanced sideways at him: “How about this—you go up and check if it’s a misunderstanding?”

The reporter fell silent.

After coordinating with Sheriff Smith and Sam, Wang Bo signaled for the Megalodon to move to the mountain’s base.

The fire cannon rotated its barrel, aimed at the burning spot. The dual-drive pumps roared, and with a thunderous blast, a stream of water shot into the air!

The highland Māori finally witnessed high-tech gear. This wasn’t even a weapon—just a firefighting cannon.

Just imagine—when governments use fire hoses to disperse riots… and this was a full-blown water cannon.

The mountain was already filled with smoke and flames. The Māori were roasting alive up there.

With the added deluge of icy water, they froze miserably.

After all, winter was approaching.

The clash of ice and fire, plus the fact that water landing on wooden debris didn’t extinguish the flames right away—instead producing even more smoke—created suffocating fumes.

The Māori on the mountain couldn’t withstand it. Smoked dizzy, burned, frozen, and choking, they had no choice but to flee downhill…