63: Chapter 63 Sword Saint, would you like to know about our KPIs?

He felt his dignity, along with the honor of the entire Frostwolf Clan, had been tossed into those sizzling oil pots, repeatedly fried by an absurd flame called "commerce".

This was more infuriating than any insult from a blade.

"Roarghhh—!"

A deafening roar erupted from Grom's chest, and violent Battle Qi, like a tangible shockwave, vibrated the gravel beneath his feet.

In his single eye, rage threatened to burst forth, incinerating the presumptuous human before him.

"Business? Agreement?" Every word was squeezed through his teeth, carrying a heavy scent of blood. "We Orcs only understand one kind of business!"

Before his words finished, he slammed the door-sized great axe on his shoulder to the ground with a clang, and the earth trembled.

He pointed his thick, scarred finger directly at Levi's excessively calm face.

"Makgora!"

At the utterance of this ancient word, all the Orcs ceased their commotion. Their eyes, previously scattered by the food, instantly refocused with a fervent and primitive awe.

The enticing aroma of meat in the air seemed to be diluted by this aura of killing.

Levi could feel an invisible pressure pressing in from all directions.

He didn't understand Orcish, but the emotion contained within the word "Makgora"—that resolute mix of sacredness, honor, and death—was comprehensible to any intelligent creature.

Evelyn quickly and quietly explained in his ear: "Master, it's the Orcs' most sacred duel ritual. It's a fight to the death; the victor claims everything."

"That's right! Human!" Grom stepped forward, the ground beneath his feet seeming to groan. "Put away your flowery tricks! Use your frail neck to accept my, the skullcrusher's, challenge! As long as I cleave off your head, everything in this canyon, along with everything in your dilapidated castle, will be the Frostwolf Clan's spoils of war! This is our rule!"

The Orc warriors behind him roared in agreement like a mountain and a sea, raising their crude weapons and striking their shields with the backs of their axes, producing a dull, rhythmic rumble.

This was a tribute to their chieftain's bravery and an anticipation of the impending, one-sided slaughter.

Levi's face still held that polite and detached smile.

He didn't even look at the great axe, which gleamed with a chilling light, but simply shook his head, refusing cleanly and decisively.

"I refuse."

Grom's roar stopped abruptly, as if his throat had been squeezed.

He couldn't believe his ears.

Refuse Makgora?

This was the ultimate insult to an Orc warrior, and even to the entire tribe.

"Coward! You..."

"Chieftain Grom, I think you've misunderstood something." Levi's voice was not loud, yet it clearly cut through the noise, calmly interrupting the other party's roar. "My value isn't in my personal martial prowess, but in my ability to feed all of you. If I die here, all you'll get is my corpse, which isn't worth much meat, and dozens of pots of stew that will soon grow cold. As for my territory, my people, they will seal the city gates, leaving you and your tribe to be buried alongside me under Karl's blade."

His gaze passed over Grom, landing on the second row of the Orc army.

There, a relatively thin young Orc was uncontrollably stuffing a piece of rough leather armor from his arm into his mouth, frantically tearing at it with his teeth, trying to scrape off a tiny bit of insignificant grease and saltiness.

The action was so instinctive, so desperate, like a needle, precisely puncturing the blustering majesty of the Orc legion.

Levi's finger gently pointed at that young Orc.

"My value is to ensure that he, and everyone behind him, can earn real, steaming hot food through their own labor, instead of gnawing on their armor. Will a meaningless duel help solve this problem in any way?"

Grom followed his finger, and the rage in his single eye instantly froze.

He saw that warrior, and he saw the undisguised longing and wavering in the eyes of more warriors.

Levi didn't give him a chance to think or retort; he gave Evelyn a look.

Evelyn understood, stepped forward, and once again unrolled the large animal hide scroll.

This time, she turned to the back.

There were no tempting pictures of food, but simple, clear pictograms drawn with charcoal, with notches next to them indicating quantities.

"Ahem." She cleared her throat, and her enchanting voice once again echoed through the canyon. Every syllable was like a honey-coated hook, capturing the ears of all the Orcs present.

"Now, I shall read the first draft of the 'Blackstone Territory Basic Job Responsibilities and Salary Standards'.

Evelyn's voice was melodious and full of captivating power.

"Position One: Ore Porter. Responsibilities: In the designated mining area, transport ore to the designated mine cart. Daily wage standard: three pounds of black bread, one pound of salted dried meat. Priority for those without Battle Qi."

As soon as her voice fell, a clear commotion arose from the rear of the Orc ranks.

Those Orcs, who were low in status and weak in strength within the tribe, instantly began to breathe heavily.

Moving rocks?

This was work they did every day.

Such simple work, and they could get three pounds of black bread and one pound of meat in a single day?

That was food they might not even get in a whole week!

"Position Two: Lumberjack. Responsibilities: In the designated forest area, fell and process timber of specified dimensions. Salary standard: Upon completing the basic quota, one receives three pounds of black bread and one pound of salted dried meat. For every ten percent exceeded beyond the standard, an additional reward of one pot of strong liquor!"

"Strong liquor!" Someone shouted.

The throats of the stout Orcs in the ranks, who were addicted to alcohol, involuntarily bobbed.

In the northern winter, a mouthful of spicy strong liquor was more important than anything.

They looked at the axes in their hands, used for splitting enemies' skulls, and for the first time, felt that using them to chop trees might also be a good option.

Evelyn's gaze swept across the entire scene, taking in the reactions of all the Orcs, and she unhurriedly read out the next position.

"Position Three: Heavy Industrial Cooking Apprentice. Responsibilities: Assist the head chef in processing large ingredients, learn and master batch stewing techniques. Salary standard: five pounds of black bread, two pounds of smoked meat, and enjoy 'priority use of unlimited spices' and 'head chef cooking skill training' qualification."

As she read this, Levi's finger rose again. This time, he pointed at a particularly conspicuous presence in the Orc legion—an Ogre, taller than the surrounding Orcs, drooling and staring intently at the dozens of large pots.

That Ogre, Morag, was an anomaly in the Frostwolf Clan.

He loved cooking far more than fighting, and his greatest dream was to have an endless supply of seasonings to make the most delicious stews.

At this moment, when the words "unlimited spice usage rights" and "cooking skill training" entered his ears, his eyes, which had been savage and violent from hunger, instantly glowed with a fervent light almost like that of a fanatic.

His gaze at Levi was no longer that of looking at prey, but of looking up at a Food God who could fulfill his lifelong dream.

Grom felt his heart sinking.

He could clearly feel that the battle intent behind him, which had been as solid as iron, was being disintegrated and divided bit by bit by these precisely offered "salaries" and "positions".

His authority, his absolute rule established through countless battles and bloodshed, was being corroded and riddled with holes by a few pounds of black bread and a pot of strong liquor.

"Chieftain!" The voice of the Fox Priestess, Natasha, sounded in his ear, with unprecedented gravity. "We can't wait any longer, look to the south!"

Grom whirled around, following Natasha's slender finger to the south.

On the horizon where they had come from, at the junction of the gray sky and earth, an ominous black mass vaguely appeared.

Although the distance was extremely far, with the eyesight of an Orc Sword Saint, he could still barely make out that at the front of that black mass, flags emblazoned with blood-red axes were fluttering in the cold wind.

bear of the north, Karl von Heinrich!

A chill shot from Grom's soles straight to his scalp.

He understood instantly.

This human lord before him, that human warmonger behind him, and himself, starving and caught in the middle... This was a perfect trap!

Natasha's voice was like the cold wind of the North, icy and clear: "Chieftain, we have no choice. To fight this man to the death, win or lose, we will exhaust our last ounce of strength and then be easily harvested by Karl's army like lambs. But if... if we accept his 'proposal', at least our clansmen can survive this winter."

Levi keenly caught the fleeting shock and wavering on Grom's face. The time was ripe.

He took two steps forward, his voice calm and powerful, as if announcing an established fact.

"Chieftain Grom, I offer you one last solution."

"We, the Blackstone Territory, and you, the Frostwolf Clan, will immediately sign a 'Temporary Armed Employment Agreement'. You, as an independent 'labor contractor', will assist us in repelling the threat from the south. As an advance payment—"

Levi sharply waved his arm, pointing at the dozens of pots still bubbling and emitting fragrant steam.

"—All the food here, right now, immediately, completely belongs to you!"

With a "boom," the Orc legion completely exploded into chaos.

"Moving rocks or chopping wood?"

"I think cooking apprentice has more prospects!"

"Don't be silly! Fight a battle first and get a full meal! This deal is worth it!"

The warriors' hushed arguments, like countless insects, gnawed at Grom's last vestiges of pride and reason.

He looked at his clansmen behind him, who were already flushed with excitement over future "professions," and then glanced at the increasingly close black banners of death in the distance.

Finally, his gaze returned to Levi's young and serene face.

Grom slowly, inch by inch, once again raised his great axe, the skullcrusher.

His single eye, filled with struggle, anger, and unwillingness, was reflected in the axe blade.

The entire canyon instantly fell silent, all eyes focused on the tip of the great axe.

The air seemed to solidify, and time was stretched infinitely at this moment.

On his arm, which tightly gripped the battle axe, veins bulged like coiling dragons, accumulating power capable of splitting mountains and shattering rocks.