Were they serious or was this some kind of joke?
Oliver was evaluating the situation when he noticed that the five men were still busy pointing fingers at each other.
“Come on, you’ve got some nerve. You badmouth the island chief behind his back, and now here you are, bearing gifts, and behind my back too. I trusted you!”
“And you have the gall to call me out? Weren’t you also sneaking around, trying to butter him up with your own little offerings? Look who’s talking.”
“Oh, sure, I’m the shameless one. Are you any better?.”
Oliver was getting a headache from all the bickering. Suddenly, someone with keen eyes shouted that Hellfire was coming, and the place went as silent as a grave.
Oliver's gaze was icy as he swept over the men, his voice detached, “Why so quiet all of a sudden? Weren't you all quite chatty just now? Continue, I'd like to hear what's so important.”
The elders were as mute as fish, as if they had lost their voices.
Oliver continued, “I don’t do presents. Take your stuff and leave. Put your energy into the island—that’s what matters. I value competence and teamwork, that’s all.” Without another word, Oliver left, not sparing another glance at the group.
The elders exchanged awkward looks, somewhat embarrassed and baffled. He really didn’t want gifts? If not gifts, then what?
No women, no money—figuring out the chief’s desires was like solving a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
“I think we should head back,” one finally said. “I brought a gift hoping to make our lives a bit better, not to commit treason.”
“He’s got a point. I didn’t mean anything by it either. Let’s remember, we’re all in the same boat here.”
“Same here.”
“Me too.”
“Count me in.”
What was once a hotbed of dispute had turned into a chorus of agreement as the five elders left together in harmony.



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