62: Chapter 62 An Irresistible Food and Beverage Service Contract

"Yes, My Lord!"

Fifty elite scouts and hunters responded in unison, their voices low and powerful, like a muffled rumble of thunder in the forest.

There was not a hint of confusion on their faces, only absolute obedience to the order.

For these men who licked blood from the blade's edge, Levi had issued two seemingly absurd orders within two days: first, a territory-wide search for iron pots and spices, and then, abandoning the city defenses to take the initiative. This abnormality in itself meant that a plan they could not comprehend, but one that was absolutely lethal, was unfolding.

And their mission was to ensure that every gear of this plan meshed perfectly into place.

"Move quickly!" Evelyn's voice carried a hint of the unique penetrating power of a succubus. "Arrange the stoves in a three-five-seven formation and set them up downwind. Ensure every breeze carries away our 'sincerity'! Put the grease and animal offal in the pots first, and use high heat to render the base oil. Don't worry about the smoke; the more smoke, the better!"

Under her command, the entire canyon immediately turned into a bustling construction site.

The hunters used the axes and saws they carried to quickly fell the nearby deadwood and build simple stoves.

The scouts cooperated by unloading the heavy iron pots from the packhorses one by one and setting them securely on the stoves.

For a time, the muffled thuds of axes chopping wood and the clanging of iron pots against stones echoed endlessly through the canyon.

Evelyn stood on high ground with her arms crossed, like a picky foreman.

Her gaze swept over every detail, ensuring there were no oversights.

She did not understand the full picture of Levi's plan, but she could guess the core of it—the scent.

A scent that could pierce through reason and strike directly at the most primitive instincts of a creature.

Soon, the firewood under the first pot was lit, and orange flames licked the bottom of the cold iron pot.

A large piece of semi-solid, pungent animal fat was tossed in, melting rapidly under the high heat and emitting a "sizzle, sizzle" sound.

Immediately after, buckets of animal offal, minced meat, and bones scavenged from the warehouse, mixed with the "Dragon's Breath Grass" and "Stink Gland Flower" that Mia had forced to grow—which emitted a strong, pungent odor—were poured without hesitation into the boiling oil pots.

An indescribably overbearing scent exploded instantly.

It was an extremely complex and highly aggressive aroma.

The charred fragrance of grease was its base, the rich aroma of fried meat was its backbone, and the spicy, pungent, and even slightly bizarre, fishy-sweet taste produced by the mixture of exotic plants and spices felt like countless invisible little hands, forcefully drilling into a person's nostrils and rushing straight to the crown of their head.

This scent was not purely the fragrance of gourmet food; it was more like a proclamation, a naked declaration filled with primitive temptation.

Soon, the second pot, the third, the tenth... dozens of large pots were lit one after another.

The entire canyon was shrouded in thick, choking white smoke, as if it were a volcano that had just erupted.

The billowing smoke was caught by the north wind blowing through the canyon, forming a majestic white dragon that rolled and roared as it swept toward the north, toward that land of hunger.

Twenty miles away from the canyon, a massive army was struggling to advance across the withered, yellow wasteland.

At the very front of the procession were two orc scouts riding giant wolves and draped in animal skins.

Their skin was grayish-green, their muscles knotted like rock, and they clutched crude stone axes, scanning their surroundings vigilantly.

One of the orc scouts, named "Razorclaw," sniffed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled to swallow a mouthful of saliva.

"Bloodhowl, do you smell that?" His voice was hoarse, carrying the dryness of prolonged dehydration.

"I smell it." The other scout, named "Bloodhowl," licked his cracked lips, his eyes flashing with a mix of greed and confusion. "It's the smell of meat... a very strong smell of meat... and grease..."

He hadn't eaten anything for three days, and his stomach felt like it was burning with fire, making his thoughts sluggish.

He couldn't even tell if this scent was real or a hallucination caused by extreme hunger.

But the scent was becoming clearer and more overbearing, like an invisible giant hand clutching his internal organs and tearing at them frantically.

It wasn't just the aroma of meat; there was also a spicy, pungent scent he had never smelled before, causing his saliva production to increase more than tenfold.

"Is it a human trap?" Razorclaw growled, forcibly suppressing the rumbling in his stomach.

"Would a trap... smell this good?" Bloodhowl's reply was full of uncertainty.

He only knew that his body was screaming and roaring, urging him to rush toward the source of the scent.

The two looked at each other and saw an uncontrollable desire in each other's eyes.

They hesitated no longer, digging their heels into the wolves' bellies. The two starving giant wolves let out a low howl and turned into two gray streaks of lightning, racing madly along the deadly fragrance in the wind.

When they carefully crept to the entrance of the canyon and poked their heads out from behind the rocks, they were instantly stunned by the scene before them.

There were no soldiers with drawn swords, no cold, gleaming arrow towers, and certainly no traps radiating magical fluctuations.

It was... a ridiculously huge, open-air kitchen.

Dozens of massive iron pots were lined up, with raging fires beneath them. Inside the pots, a thick, unknown paste was bubbling, with large chunks of meat and bones floating within.

Dozens of humans in leather armor were busy adding various things to the pots, their faces blackened by smoke, looking both ridiculous and eerie.

And at the very front of that bustling "kitchen," a woman in a black dress with an impossibly alluring figure was sitting elegantly on a rock, resting her chin on one hand, watching the direction they were in with great interest, as if she had been waiting for a long time.

Hunger, like a breached flood, instantly washed away their last shred of reason.

But the innate vigilance of an orc was like a bridle, holding them back tightly.

Razorclaw punched his own head hard, trying to keep himself clear-headed.

He could not understand everything before him.

"Go back... quickly! Go back and report to the Chieftain!" Bloodhowl's voice trembled slightly from excitement and hunger.

He dared not look again, fearing he would be unable to stop himself from rushing out and pouncing on those iron pots like a wild dog.

Half an hour later, the main force of the orc tribe appeared outside the canyon in a dark, overwhelming mass.

Walking at the very front was an orc as sturdy as an iron tower.

He was a full head taller than his clansmen around him, his bronze-colored skin covered in crisscrossing scars, each one a medal of honor.

There was an old, bone-deep wound over his left eye socket, making his remaining right eye appear exceptionally fierce and violent.

On his shoulder, he carried a giant axe wider than a normal door panel, its blade reflecting a cold, chilling light under the gloomy sky.

He was the Chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, "Bone-Breaker" Grom.

At this moment, this orc blademaster, known for his bravery and brutality, was staring fixedly at the scene in the canyon, his chest heaving violently, two angry jets of white steam spraying from his nostrils.

"Roar—!"

An irrepressible, beast-like roar erupted from the depths of his throat, causing the surrounding air to hum.

"Despicable humans! Shameless cowards!" Flames of fury burned in Grom's single eye. He could clearly smell the aroma that made his stomach spasm wildly, but instead of whetting his appetite, it stirred up his boundless killing intent.

Poisoning!

This was the first thought that flashed through his mind.

He had long since learned of the cunning of humans.

They would use sweet fruit wine to paralyze the strongest warriors and use poisoned arrows to shoot down the bravest vanguards.

And now, they were actually using the aroma of food as a weapon!

This was the most vicious insult to a starving race!

"Chieftain, calm down!" A soft female voice sounded beside him.

Grom turned his head to look at the fox-kin priestess beside him, Natasha.

She was petite, wearing a simple white priestess robe, looking completely out of place among the rugged orcs.

Her amber eyes were tightly closed at this moment, her long fox ears twitching slightly, as if she were listening to something.

"Natasha, you saw it too! This is a human conspiracy! They are using this damned scent to mock our hunger! I will charge over, and with my axe, split those hypocritical iron pots and their dirty heads in two!" Grom roared.

"No, Chieftain." Natasha slowly opened her eyes, a hint of confusion in them. "I cannot sense any killing intent, nor can I sense any malice."

As a rare priestess among the fox-kin with the gift of psychic perception, she could vaguely capture the emotional fluctuations emanating from the humans ahead.

"Then what is it?" Grom frowned.

"It is a... very strange emotion." Natasha hesitated, seemingly searching for the right words to describe it. "It is very complex, mixed with... 'calculation' and 'expectation'? It is like... like a hunter who has set a trap, but is not waiting for prey, but rather waiting for a... a customer?"

She paused, then added a sentence that made all the orcs widen their eyes: "Also, Chieftain, the food... is not poisoned. I can feel that it is pure, edible energy."

Grom was stunned.

No killing intent? No poison? Then what on earth are these humans doing?

Just as all the orcs were plunged into great confusion and hesitation, two people slowly walked out from behind the "kitchen position" in the canyon.

The leader was a young human wearing a simple linen robe, with black hair and black eyes, his expression as calm as a bottomless lake.

He wore no weapons, his hands were empty, and he was only holding a huge scroll made from a whole tanned animal hide.

There were no words on the animal hide scroll, but instead, clear patterns were drawn with bright dyes—piles of roasted meat, large mugs of bubbling ale, and neatly stacked white bread.

Following behind him was the succubus in the black dress.

Levi stopped, gazing across the distance at the orc army, which looked like a torrent of steel.

He could feel the wild aura rushing toward him, mixed with hunger and killing intent, but his expression did not change in the slightest.

His gaze crossed countless ferocious faces and landed directly on the orc blademaster carrying the giant axe.

"Evelyn, tell them." Levi's voice was not loud, but exceptionally clear.

Evelyn stepped forward and, in a smooth orc language that carried a strange magic, translated Levi's words loudly, ensuring every orc could hear them clearly:

"Guests from afar, please put away your weapons. We are not enemies, nor do we intend to engage you in battle."

Her voice echoed in the canyon, causing the originally tense atmosphere to loosen slightly.

Grom's single eye narrowed. He did not stop her, nor did he respond; he wanted to hear what kind of medicine this human was selling in his gourd.

Seeing the orcs' reaction, Evelyn curled her lips into a confident smile and continued:

"My master, the Lord of Blackstone Territory, Lord Levi Byron, has come here today not representing any military force. What he represents is the 'Blackstone Territory Catering and Logistics Department'."

"Catering and Logistics Department?" Grom repeated the awkward and unfamiliar term, his brow furrowing even deeper.

"Yes." Evelyn's voice was full of temptation. "The purpose of our trip is to find 'potential premium customers' and provide you all with a completely free, high-quality 'catering service tasting experience'."

She paused and pointed to the large pots that were still bubbling, as well as the animal hide scroll in Levi's hand, which was covered with drawings of gourmet food.

"Before the official experience, we hope to conduct a friendly and sincere preliminary consultation with your leader regarding a possible follow-up 'labor dispatch and resource exchange agreement'."

The entire orc army fell into a deathly silence.

Every orc, including their Chieftain Grom, widened their eyes, their faces filled with confusion and absurdity.

Catering service? Tasting experience? Labor dispatch agreement?

What the hell are these things?

They came here to fight, to loot, and to fill their bellies with the flesh and blood of their enemies!

Yet this weak human lord was talking business with them like a peddler walking the streets?

An unprecedented sense of absurdity, of being toyed with, instantly overwhelmed Grom's brain, which had been occupied by hunger and rage.