"Father!"
The shout came from outside the tent.
Al narrowed his eyes. By instinct he rose from between Goat Mom and the mare, gently moved aside the beautiful bodies lying across him, and stood up.
Extremely unwillingly he picked up his clothes, put them on, sat on the steps, stretched, let out a long yawn, rubbed his eyes, and walked out of the tent.
His energetic offspring had already been waiting for a long time.
It had been almost a year since they came to the forest. Al's daily routine was usually quite casual as long as nothing special happened — and in the past there had basically been no special events.
But ever since these offspring appeared, especially after the first batch of Al's Children grew up, Al felt for the first time in his life what it was like to go to work.
A pair of large hands first embraced the boy, lifted him, and set him down on her neck.
Al closed his eyes, reached out with both hands to grip the two huge curved horns on either side, and swayed as he was carried toward the center of the camp.
"Misha, I want to rest…"
He mumbled sleepily with a hint of dream-talk to his eldest daughter beneath him.
"Last week's affairs have already been delayed for a long time. You cannot rest today, Father."
"Oh…"
Al answered in a daze, then let his head droop and swayed along with her movements.
The offspring crowded around their eldest sister who was carrying their young father and walked together to the administrative hall. Then Misha Theseus lifted the little father from her neck and set him down.
Al blinked and regained full awareness.
"What is it today… let me see. Hmm, not enough tools — wait, didn't I already approve this? There is no solution for now. We can only keep using the old ones for a while… then lower this month's quota for the time being."
Al examined the beast-hide documents. Each bore the marks he had divided among the various teams, showing where the problem or request had come from.
"Fighting and brawling incidents are up from last week… as long as no weapons were used it is still within acceptable range. Have the vanguard increase training intensity. Schedule more arena matches and ball games to burn off extra energy. If they are not in the army then tell them to go home to their wives and children. Where do they get so much energy to fight and brawl!"
Al grumbled. To enrich the tribespeople's physical and mental lives beyond production work and faith, he had tried introducing some sports and entertainment from Earth.
In the end neither basketball — tossing the ball into a hoop — nor football — running around with the ball and shooting it into a net — received widespread positive response. Probably only the children played them more.
The more combative rugby, now called arena ball, had become widely popular among adult beastmen.
But Al had never expected them to magically modify it by adding arena combat elements:
Whenever one beastman blocked another, the two would immediately start wrestling and fighting until one gained the upper hand, only then remembering the ball existed.
An excellent player had to go through at least a dozen such fights in a single match before he could carry the ball into the scoring zone.
The Rage-Horn Beasts had long, sharp, thick horns on their heads. Their appearance mixed wolf, lion, and bull features. They were powerfully built and liked to use giant swords or axe-hammers (Al had insisted they learn to use shields).
Their temperament, boosted by their bestial nature, belonged to the hot-tempered older-brother type. In normal times it was fine, but on the battlefield they easily lost control (though better than true Khorne followers). Yet they were Al's main force and could not lack discipline, so Al had been trying to refine their pursuit of "rage, fury, revenge, glory, combat, victory" into something slightly more controllable: "The God-Chosen says rage only when told to rage. Controlled anger. Revenge only when the time is right. Victory requires following orders or there will be no glory or combat at all."
Arena ball was very useful for this. It trained their close-combat ability, burned off surplus energy, taught them the importance of teamwork and discipline, and helped them learn to wait for the right moment instead of always charging in.
After watching a few matches Al kept sighing in admiration, feeling that even on the battlefield these Rage-Horn beastmen had never been this crazy. But the tribespeople loved watching it, so he enjoyed it with the people.
Arena combat was proper weaponed 1v1 or group fights, but everything was wooden or stone and unsharpened. A blow to the head would usually cause only a concussion and unconsciousness for a while without endangering life. Crude wooden helmets also protected vital areas.
"I have said it how many times already! Do not casually treat the goblins as your personal cleaners! If your living area is dirty and smelly then clean it yourself! If this happens again make them watch the punishment!"
"Didn't we just move the troll sheds? Why are they short on space again… oh, right, we caught another batch last time and put them in Shed One. Then find another spot nearby."
"God-blessed offspring quota… hmm, more pregnant women added? Then I will find time to bleed a little more, but we still have to guarantee the normal population birth rate."
"Fuck, how many times have I said it! Tell those wisdom-tainted beasts to get over here. Stop randomly adding weird divine nonsense to the scriptures. When the hell did I grow four arms and three cocks?"
Al handled the matters one by one, then handed them to the offspring to convey and distribute. He turned around helplessly and looked at the eldest of the primordial offspring, who was already several heads taller than him.
"Misha, you can already try handling some things yourself."
At first he had named the minotaur calf Theseus just for the joke, only to discover after she grew up that she was female.
Al had no choice but to change her name to Misha, but the calf was very attached to the first name her little father had given her, so she kept both.
Ever since Al, now a true father (forced), decided a month and a half ago that he should take responsibility for his blood offspring and began involving himself in their education, Misha as the eldest had made it a habit to bring her brothers and sisters to report outside Al's tent every morning and stick to him from dawn till dusk.
The children had almost endless curiosity and questions. Goat Mom and the mare drained Al physically at night. The offspring drained him mentally during the day.
Even with boundless energy he could not withstand such high intensity.
The first batch of offspring grew very quickly and were almost old enough to go onto the battlefield and take up management positions.
The second batch of Al's Children had already been born, and the third batch was still in gestation.
These later offspring did not enjoy the same heaven-sent advantages as the first batch. They had been brought into the world as weapons of war for the Eternal Champion's tribe. Their growth cycle was fast and their lifespan short. Of course, given the foreseeable intensity of future wars, most of them probably would not live to see their natural lifespan end.
This included the current primordial offspring who had spent long periods interacting with Al and developed real feelings: the steady and strong Misha, the easily angered Karen, the aloof Simon, the eager Feng…
Al had given each of them a name. They sincerely called him Father, Lord of Bloodline, Father of Genes.
But in the end they all had to march onto the battlefield.
The offspring crowded around their little father as they walked toward the arena to watch the games. Some talked loudly and shouted, others remained completely silent. It reminded Al of his time in the human federation institution.
He had become a "father."
Every time Al thought about this he felt a little cruel, or rather despicable.
The interaction with his offspring, the time spent together with them, the first experience of the emotions between a father and his children…
Yet every time he remembered that the very reason he had brought these children into the world was so they could go onto the battlefield or better assist his wars, he felt a guilt like betrayal burning inside him.
Al had already decided he would no longer personally educate the later offspring. The conflict of developing real feelings for his own creations yet having to send them into iron and fire to endure hardship was roasting his heart.
"Maybe in the future I should be more ruthless… create a batch of pure warriors and treat them purely as tools."
Al mocked himself inwardly.
"Instead of offspring."
As for the established facts that had already been created, Al decided:
If possible in the future, bring all these current children back to his side as adjutants and advisors, or even as a personal guard legion.