Chapter 130
He could easily summon an entire forest of wooden warriors, but had no patience for carving so many wooden sculptures. All the wooden Indian soldiers the old chief had spent half his life creating were now serving Randy's purposes.
Randy had control over anything made of wood, even if it was just tables and chairs.
Wes was left speechless, his shock palpable.
"Mr. Wes, your craftsmanship needs more refinement. There are many details that aren't up to par," Randy said with a mocking tone, clapping his hands in imitation. Instantly, two wooden statues of old chiefs brought over a chair. Randy sat down, looking quite pleased with himself.
"Come on, you've piqued my interest. Let's have a nice chat. I believe we can come to an understanding."
Hiding so many soldiers, there was no way this was just a hobby. Given Wes's hatred for white people, it was obvious he was planning something big before he died.
The townspeople of Derry were truly unlucky. Not only did they have to deal with various monsters and supernatural threats, but also human dangers!
Randy figured it was better to keep them confined. Sure, their lives would be controlled, but at least they wouldn't suffer from disease or constant fear. Working five days a week, eight hours a day, earning a living, raising a family, and producing more followers was all they needed to do.
Seeing that Wes was still hesitating, Randy urged him again. "Come on, old chief. Do you really want your warriors to have to drag you here themselves?"
Immediately, two of the wooden Indian warriors stood on either side of Randy, holding wooden shields. Unlike before, these warriors had been enhanced by Randy's powers, their equipment now more luxurious, their eyes sharper, their axes sturdier, and their wooden shields of higher quality.
Each bore a lotus flower logo.
Wes's expression was complicated, filled with anger, fear, and confusion. Finally, he opened the door, shotgun in hand, and cautiously walked toward Randy. But before approaching, he spat out a warning:
"Don't think this is all the power we have! You can't imagine the kind of sorcery we Indian people possess. We've made pacts with many legendary creatures. If you try to fight us, you better be ready for the consequences!"
Randy chuckled coldly. "The more you say that, the more interested I become. Those legendary creatures sound like they have more value than you."
Wes, stunned and speechless, narrowed his eyes and asked, "Who exactly are you?"
"Who am I?"
Randy leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the stars.
"Many have asked me that. I am a newcomer, the new master here, the brightest star in the constellation of Derry, the godfather of Derry's dark underworld, and the soon-to-be crowned king of Maine."
Then Randy looked back at Wes.
"You won't be able to probe my limits, just like humans will never reach the edge of the universe. I'm not a cold-hearted person. For the old-timers of Derry, I'll show some respect, but you'd better know your place and understand your role."
"That means knowing when to bow down and when to provide some value."
"Derry doesn't support freeloaders. Whether you're human or monster, if you don't want to end up like pigs in a pen or be used as fertilizer, then you better find a role for yourselves in my farm."
Wes was stunned, wanting to argue back but realizing he had no right. In the end, he could only say, "You're truly evil."
"And you're not much better," Randy retorted with a sneer. "You've been breeding so many monsters. What, are you running a woodcarving business? Other than managing casinos, when did you Indians get the right to run a commercial enterprise?"
Randy's voice dripped with mockery.
The old chief, Wes, had once had a decent reputation in Derry. Although he always wore a stern expression, it fit the stereotype of Native Americans that the white townsfolk had. Plus, with his basic knowledge of first aid, many townspeople would come to him for help with cuts or other injuries.
But more importantly, Wes had suffered greatly from racial discrimination in his youth, hardships inflicted by the ancestors of the white people in this town.
Now, the new generation of white people, eager to show how civilized they were, treated him with respect. Wes's mystique as an Indian chief only added to their reverence.
Of course, behind closed doors, they still called him a savage fool.
As for Wes's hostility toward Randy, it was simply because Randy, being Asian, ranked even lower than Indians in their eyes. Wes didn't even need to keep up appearances—he could insult or even kill Randy without consequence.
"Tell me, how do you intend to treat the people of Derry?" Randy asked.
"The same way they treated my people," Wes replied.
No more pretending. Since Randy had already discovered the secret in his warehouse, Wes no longer had to hide anything. The police couldn't search his home because of his race, so no one knew his secret. Those curious enough to enter his warehouse would eventually become fertilizer for his fields.
Now that Randy had found out, and was clearly even more evil than himself, Wes had no qualms about revealing the goal he had harbored for over sixty years. His voice grew more intense as he spoke.
"I'll scalp every one of those white people and make boots from their skin!
I'll ride them into the freezing cold, watch them crawl back barefoot through the snow!
I'll sterilize their children by force!
I'll kill them all, and then make them establish a Thanksgiving holiday in guilt, to thank us for our sacrifices!"
Wes's rage poured out, recounting the tragedies suffered by his great-grandfather, grandfather, and himself throughout their lives.
Listening to Wes made Randy's scalp tingle.
He thought to himself, and you have the nerve to call me evil?
This is like a farmer making a plantation owner pick cotton!
But it all made sense—blood for blood was fair enough. The only problem was that Wes didn't have the power to carry out his fantasies.
Randy was relieved that he hadn't been born in North America a hundred years ago. If he had encountered people like that, even a villain like him would have had to find a way to escape the country!
In the end, Wes rambled on, spilling out all the grievances he had bottled up. His eyes bloodshot, he turned toward Randy.
"As long as your goal is to get revenge on the people of Derry, I will support you unconditionally! This place is rotten to the core. The curse of our ancestors will keep it restless forever! And the people of Derry will never escape!"