"What? My grave?! You!..."

On the hills in summer, the sun shines very warmly, making people feel warm all over. And the three small dirt bumps and potholes are like the homes dug out by the Mexican Min Fox. If you look carefully, the potholes face south and the mounds face north, which is a thoughtful "sit north and face south". And on the soil bag, there are actually three abstract villains drawn, vaguely two big and one small...

The old militiaman Chihuaco was dumbfounded, his eyelids twitched, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He looked at the "Feng Shui Treasure Land" chosen by Chippawa, at the villain representing himself, and then turned his head to look at his son's sincere face. He raised his hand tremblingly and gritted his teeth fiercely, but he was still reluctant to hit him.

"Good son... Dad is still alive!... I guess right now, I don't need this place..."

"That's right! Father, since you are still alive, and my sister is also alive...then tomorrow I will level the graves of you and your sister..."

"you!…"

The old militiaman stared wide-eyed and trembled with anger. He was speechless for a moment, seeing the sincere joy on his son's face, suddenly felt sore, and sighed lowly.

"Forget it! Keep it all!..." Mu

The old militiaman turned his head and looked at the scenery on the top of the mountain. A hill that is neither high nor short, with mountain flowers blooming in summer. To the east is a large open lake, to the west is a densely populated campsite, to the north and south are flat fields and farmland...everywhere is the breath of life.

"There are mountains and rivers, flowers and fields... This land, the scenery is really amazing! Since you want to stay here, you'd better...keep a grave! Father doesn't know when and where he will die. You keep it here...in the future, it's just a thought!..."

With that said, the old militiaman turned around, lowered his head, and walked towards the lake at the foot of the hill.

"Father! Why are you going back? Red Crow City is to the west!..."

"Wait for me for a while! I'm going to get something from the boat."

The mountain is not high, and it is very close to the long boat by the lake. After a while, the old militia returned to the hill with some seeds of the Cuban tung oil tree. Then, he looked at his son who was standing there dumbfounded, and asked.

"Chipawa, the grave you dug for me... Is this hill your land?"

"Ah? Dad, there's no way to grow anything on this mountain, and no tribe occupies it. If I want to ask for it, it's just a matter of one or two sentences."

"Well...then you go and ask for it! Don't let our family's grave be flattened by others..."

The old militiaman Chihuaco nodded, then stretched out his hand again, beckoning Chippa to come over.

"What are you doing standing there? Don't you know how to dig? Come and help me dig a hole! ... Plant the seeds of these oil trees carefully around, each with a few steps apart ... The mountain is bare, with only flowers and no trees. It's a bit off..."

"Huh? Plant trees? Oh, okay..."

The wasteland warrior Chippawa squatted on the ground, digging a hole with an ax sloppily, and asked suspiciously.

"Father, what kind of seed is this? It feels weird to the touch? You just said, oil tree?"

"Yes! A tree that can bear oily seeds, a tree that can squeeze out oil! Father finally brought it back from the Cuban Snake Island in the east sea..."

"Ah! Can oil be squeezed out? Can it be eaten?!"

"Eat, eat, eat! You know how to eat! Remember, the oil squeezed from this seed is poisonous! It can be used, but it cannot be eaten."

"Inedible oil? What's the use of that?"

"Chipawa, if you want to lead people to fight, you need to use oil to maintain equipment... Apply oil to copper blades to prevent rust, apply oil to leather armor for reinforcement, soak gun shafts to strengthen, and apply oil to bow maintenance... This oil! It is to let you prepare carefully before going to war!...Don't wait, I won't use the grave you dug, but..."

Speaking of this, the old militiaman pursed his lips, unwilling to say the following words. The wasteland warrior Chippawa blinked, half understanding. The two worked like this for a long time, planting more than a dozen tung oil trees from Cuba. Then, looking at a row of newly dug small mounds, the old militiaman sighed faintly.

"That's it! Although it's not the rag wood in my hometown, the trees that can produce oil are still of great use... After I'm gone, you have to remember to take care of these trees... and take care of yourself..." Mu

"Don't worry! Dad! I'm brave, and I have a thick buffalo leather armor! Ten of the tribal warriors with stone spears can't hurt me!"

"You...you idiot!"

"ah?…"

After a brief episode, the longboat crew went down the hill and headed west again. They walked for a few miles, passed through the outer fence, and came to the Red Crow "city" full of shacks and huts, full of wilderness tribes. The wasteland warrior Chippawa took his father to the depths of the messy camp and came to his hut. He was triumphant, showed off some of the spoils of war, and received another round of reprimands. Then, Chief Alan's personal guard finally arrived.

The guard who led the way was a strong female wasteland warrior with terrifying tattoos on her face and her arms were twice as thick as the old militiamen. With her head held high and a spear and bow on her back, she looked indifferently at the group of "Mexicans" and asked, "Who is the leader?". Afterwards, she took the two leaders of the old militia, Chivaco and Priest Mecate, and went to the fortified chief's tent~lightnovelpub.net~ The wasteland warrior Chippawa wanted to follow, but was ignored by the wasteland female warrior... voice refused. He had to be a little worried, watching the two people's backs go away, step by step, into the tall tent in the center of the camp.

In the big tent, there was a flickering bonfire, and there was also a faint smell of herbs. More than a dozen red-haired dog hunters looked fierce, holding spears and copper axes, with obvious hostility on their faces. They stared at the two not-so-strong Mexica chiefs, like a pack of wolves grinning, and at the fox that walked into the den. at the end of the day

On the top of the big tent is a slender warrior leader. She was wearing sturdy cowhide armor, carrying two sharp copper axes, and with her long, strong legs hanging down, she sat on a bearskin blanket that was one meter high. Behind the bearskin blanket, there are two hanging bows, a row of arrow pots filled with arrows, and a huge brown bear head, which seems to be some kind of brave witness.

Chihuaco, an old militiaman, carefully looked at the female chief above, but did not see any obvious female features. The only thing that allowed him to confirm the other party's identity was a silver chieftain's mask engraved with mysterious wilderness patterns. At this moment, under the reflection of the fire, the mask shone with cold silver light, and it was worn on half of the female chief's face, covering her unknown appearance.

And under the silver chief's mask, there are hunter's eyes as sharp as eagles, a straight nose, and exposed stern red lips.

Chief Alan, who was wearing a mask, stared at the two people who walked in with cold eyes. Her sharp eyes fell on the two of them, like sharp arrows about to be shot, which made people feel a sense of danger facing the sharp edge. She just watched coldly with hunting eyes, until the old militiaman's forehead was dripping with sweat, and then she laughed in a solemn tone that was deliberately lowered.

"Hehe! A weak warrior like you is the leader of the Mexica fleet?"