Bronze door through time and space

Chapter 968 The Noble Tribal People
The affairs of the Alliance were no longer relevant to Yan Xu and his group, as they were about to become noble tribesmen, and for this purpose, they boarded a gang smuggling ship.

These smuggling vessels are an open secret within the alliance. No one will stop them, and no one will investigate the truth, because the profits involved are enough to make any agent fall into the water.

However, what shocked Yan Xu and his companions was that, in addition to the tribal hard currency AKs and cheap canned luncheon meat, there was also a large number of zero-dollar purchases locked in the hold!

Holy crap! Do you guys even respect your skin color?!
Even the well-informed Yan Xu couldn't help but sigh at those dark-skinned gang members, wondering if this counted as rebelling against the Heavenly Gang.

Yan Xu later learned that the tribe was also keeping up with the times and therefore needed to bring in talent.

That's right, those zero-dollar purchases in the lower deck are actually some kind of geniuses.

Even the adorably silly Thumb Guy looked dumbfounded, let alone the others.

Of course, this was just a minor incident and didn't stop them from complaining about how boring the journey was.

Having finally arrived, standing on the ship's railing, Yan Xu and the others looked at the chaotic dock and their eyelids twitched, beginning to regret their choice.

The dilapidated dock was filled with a chaotic mess of goods. Nobody knew how they had managed to turn the place into a maze; even the cargo owners must have been baffled.

However, the locals have long been accustomed to this, squeezing in every available space to hawk their wares. Meanwhile, the tribal women, with their steel-like necks, seem to have their heads as truck platforms, steadily balancing fragile water jugs or clucking chicken coops on their heads, nimbly weaving between children chasing and playing and armed men carrying rifles.

What surprised them most was the racial diversity here. Goblins squatted on wooden crates repairing rusty machinery, goblins carried sacks full of stolen goods and darted in and out of the crowd, trolls carried their prey and showed it off, tauren strolled by with battle axes heavier than a man, and centaurs sorted out cargo that was about to be shipped out at the edge of the dock.

These creatures, considered outcasts in the Alliance, feel more at ease here than in the steel jungle of the Alliance.

The group had just disembarked from the smuggling ship and hadn't even adjusted to the scene before they saw a black man in a suit and tie, wearing a top hat and carrying a cane walking towards them.

Wearing gleaming leather boots, he nimbly avoided the mud puddles on the ground, came up to the group, and tapped the board hanging on his chest.

A strap hung around his neck, and a board was attached to the strap, lying flat on his chest, making him look like a cigarette vendor from old Shanghai. However, instead of cigarettes, the board on his chest held forms, a camera, and a stamp.

"One hundred dollars, just one hundred dollars, and you can have a noble tribal identity." The black man, dressed out of place in the chaotic docks, held up his black-and-white finger and waved it at them, then flashed his worn-out and cheap-looking work ID.

Although it seemed suspicious and fake, he was indeed a legitimate local official, and it was true that for a fee of one hundred US dollars, a photo would be taken, a form would be filled out, and a stamp would be issued, and you could receive your tribal identity certificate in just three minutes.

This certificate is legal at least within Somalia; outside of Somalia, it's none of his business.

That's it? One hundred dollars?!
Seeing the cheap plastic card handed to her, costing at most a few cents, the huntress, who had been suppressing her anger the whole way, finally exploded. She rolled up her sleeves and...
The troll, having laid down its prey, raised its poisoned spear; the tauren, wielding battle axes, pounded the ground with their feet; in the distance, several armed men crouched behind crates, assuming a firing stance; and most terrifyingly, the goblin was fiddling with its utterly unreliable goblin bomb.

The huntress silently lowered her sleeves and winked at Thumb Guy, signaling him to negotiate the price; they were ripping off outsiders. But Thumb Guy was only focused on making the sign of the cross to the zero-dollar buyers who had just been brought out of the hold and handed over to the tribal merchants, hoping God would bless them with their correct skin color in this land. It has to be said, he had quite the idea; maybe God really is black.

Mr. Bean, who was carrying the Minotaur baby, also shook his finger and began to bargain with the other party.

Because Minotaur people are born into tribes, they don't need to obtain documents. Mr. Bean eventually got six legal identity documents at a package price of fifty dollars each, and then counted out five fifty-dollar bills for the other party.

As for why there were five, that's not Mr. Broad Bean's problem; it was the staff member who counted it on his fingers.

Although he didn't have six fingers, he still managed to count to six, leaving Mr. Bean speechless and forcing him to pay up.

Because of their extraordinary rise, the tribe has gained some influence globally, but still has little say in the world.

The reason is simple: the warriors of the tribe, with their strong physique and unique totems, have secured a place on the global stage of extraordinary beings. However, the people on this land have no concept of unity and do not understand the meaning of race.

In fact, they were the ones who sold the most farm tools the most and the most aggressively back then, because Western whites couldn't possibly go to the grasslands to capture farm tools; it would be too costly and a waste of time. It was far more efficient to use firearms to exchange for live prisoners from other tribes.

Now it's the other way around: the Horde is smuggling highly skilled personnel from the Alliance for its own development.

As for how to judge whether someone is a highly qualified person, knowing English, being able to fire a gun, being able to swear, being able to maintain firearms, and being able to operate a mobile phone are all that's required.

If they don't even know these things, and don't waste them, they will be offered as sacrifices to the gods of this land, because the tribe believes that these allied people are born with original sin, since they and their ancestors have worked for the alliance, so using them as sacrifices can gain the gods' favor.

“Now, noble tribesmen, we should find a place to rest.” Yan Xu put away his identification and said in a relaxed tone, but he was obviously too happy for the moment. The best hotel here only had murky liquid in the pipes, and many surprising little creatures were hidden in the corners of the rooms.

For lunch, you can choose roasted baboon that looks like a charred corpse or a pot of offal covered in thick brown foam. The staple food is dumplings made of cornmeal and tapioca flour.

"How about we go somewhere else?" Thumb Guy, his face grim, carefully pushed the roasted baboon away with his fingers, offering a very tempting suggestion.

"Let's wait a while and see how the League of Legends reacts. You don't want to wake up one day to find a League of Legends superhero smiling at you from the sky, do you?" Mr. Bean took a bite of the offal pot. Although it wasn't cooked through, it was at least cooked through, and the white, stringy intestines tasted alright. It was just that the brownish, paste-like spices filling inside tasted a bit strange.

"We can buy some supplies to survive in the wilderness, and then go to other places after a while." Yan Xu was also a little fed up. He liked to eat pig liver, pig lungs, pig heart, and pig intestines, but who would dare to put this stuff in his mouth? He'd be covered in dust.

Everyone agreed to go into the wilderness to survive, and then they split up to buy supplies.

(End of this chapter)