67: Chapter 67 Safety in production is the top priority, especially when digging traps.

The air in the Crying Swamp was always tainted with the stench of rotting vegetation and stagnant water, like a foul breath exhaled from deep within the earth.

In the past, this was a land of death where birds dared not fly and beasts steered clear, but now, this mire that had been silent for millennia was turned upside down by an unprecedented fervor.

Hundreds of bare-chested men shouted and labored in knee-deep black mud.

Their muscular outlines glistened with a sheen of sweat and mud under the thin sunlight, each exertion accompanied by coarse work chants.

Half of these burly men were humans with varying hair colors, while the other half were Orcs with grayish-green or brownish skin.

Two days ago, they were bitter, mortal enemies; now, they were sweating for the same goal in the same muddy trench.

"Hey! Gray-skin! Bring another one! The foundation here isn't solid enough yet!" a bearded human foreman roared at an Orc warrior nearby who was shouldering an entire giant log.

His voice was loud, but his tone lacked the previous disdain, replaced only by pure work-related urgency.

The Orc known as "Gray-skin" grinned widely, revealing two rows of sharp fangs. Instead of getting angry, he let out a thunderous laugh.

"Shut up, weakling! Watch this!"

He roared, lifting high the hardwood stake that would take four human soldiers to barely move, then slammed it fiercely into the mud.

With a dull "thud," mud splattered everywhere; he had driven the stake nearly half a meter deep with his bare hands.

The surrounding Orcs let out a roar of approval, while the human soldiers clicked their tongues in awe, accelerating their own movements for fear of being outdone by these monsters.

This peculiar harmony stemmed from a giant wooden board hanging high at the entrance of the construction site.

It was the "Welcome Boulevard Project Progress and Performance Leaderboard" hand-drawn by Natasha with a charcoal pencil.

On the list, each construction team's name was followed by a string of changing numbers, representing the amount of work they had completed.

At the very top of the board, written in red dye, was a striking line of big text: "Overproduction Bonus Pool: 50 pounds of smoked meat, 3 barrels of ale, settled daily!" Beside it was a line of smaller text: "Team Collaboration Award: The team that completes their area task first with no conflict records gets an extra whole roasted pig as a bonus!"

In the face of the primal drive for food, such ethereal things as racial hatred appeared so vulnerable.

The aroma of roasted pig seemed to already be wafting over the construction site, spurring on every hungry soul.

But there were always exceptions.

"Hey! You stupid pig! Who told you to touch my tool cart?" A sharp, angry curse pierced the bustling atmosphere of the site.

A thin human foreman with a scar on his face was pointing at a relatively short and stocky Orc, berating him loudly.

The Orc seemed to want to take a new iron pickaxe from the tool cart, but the foreman had stopped him.

The Orc bared his teeth, revealing a fierce, provoked glare, and growled: "The cart belongs to everyone. My pickaxe broke; what's the problem with taking a new one?"

"What's the problem? These tools were allocated to our human team by the Lord! You barbarians only know how to break things with brute force!" The scar-faced foreman spat disdainfully. "Get lost. If you want tools, go ask that one-eyed idiot of yours!"

"Who are you calling a barbarian?" The Orc's breathing instantly became heavy. He threw away the broken pickaxe handle in his hand, and his muscular arm slowly reached for the battle-axe at his waist.

The scent of blood from the battle two days ago still lingered on him; now, ignited by these words, it instantly flared up again.

"I'm talking about you, you beasts who only know how to drink blood and eat raw meat!" The scar-faced man didn't back down, drawing his sword in retaliation.

He was an old subordinate of Karl Byron, and his disdain for Orcs was deeply ingrained.

The repression of being forced to cooperate for the past two days erupted completely at this moment.

"Clang!" "Clang!"

The harsh sound of weapons being drawn acted like a signal, and the construction site instantly went quiet.

The humans and Orcs, who had just been fighting side by side, almost instinctively split into two opposing camps based on their race.

The temperature of the once bustling construction site plummeted, and the air was filled with a murderous, metallic scent.

The human soldiers gripped their weapons, while the Orcs emitted threatening growls; the fragile cooperative relationship that had just been established collapsed in an instant.

Just as the conflict was on the verge of breaking out, a calm voice came from a hill nearby.

"Director Grom, it seems our safety production inspection has come at just the right time."

Everyone looked toward the sound to see Levi wrapped in a thick fur cloak, walking slowly down from the hill.

Behind him followed the expressionless one-eyed Sword Saint, Grom.

Levi's face showed no joy or anger, as if the tense, drawn-sword standoff before him was merely a street farce that had nothing to do with him.

His appearance caused the once boiling atmosphere to freeze for a moment.

The human soldiers instinctively looked toward Karl Byron, who was supervising construction in the distance, while the Orcs looked toward Grom.

Seeing the Lord arrive in person, the scar-faced foreman felt emboldened and immediately accused him first: "My Lord! This Orc tried to steal our tools and wanted to hurt people!"

The Orc warrior also roared: "He was the one who insulted our entire Frostwolf Clan first!"

Levi ignored the defenses of either side.

He simply walked into the middle of the two camps and looked around.

His gaze was calm, yet it made everyone who met his eyes feel an inexplicable pressure.

Then, he raised his hand and clapped gently.

"Stop," his voice was not loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly. "Everyone, stop what you are doing."

The order was given, but no one dared to move. Everyone froze, clutching their weapons, at a loss.

"What's the matter?" Levi's lips curled slightly into a cold smile. "Do I need to repeat myself? Or are you saying you want me to invite Director Natasha to read out the penalty clauses in the 'Employee Handbook' regarding 'ignoring management instructions'?"

Hearing "Natasha" and "penalty clauses," a collective intake of breath sounded through the crowd.

The image of that seductive priestess announcing the most cruel punishments in the gentlest tone had already left a deep psychological shadow in everyone's hearts.

The crowd stirred, then reluctantly, the sounds of swords being sheathed rose one after another. People silently put down their tools, and the entire construction site fell into a deathly silence.

Levi nodded with satisfaction and turned to the two instigators of the conflict, his tone as gentle as if he were chatting with friends: "Very good. Now, tell me, how long has it been from when you started arguing to when I stopped the work?"

Both were stunned, unable to keep up with his train of thought at all.

Levi didn't need them to answer; he continued on his own: "Let me calculate it for you. Arguing, drawing weapons, the standoff, until everyone stopped working... I estimate at least five minutes of effective work time were wasted. There are three hundred employees here. Five minutes means the entire project has been delayed by fifteen hundred 'standard man-minutes.' This is a very serious production accident."

He paused, scanning the blank faces, and announced his verdict.

"Given that serious cross-departmental communication barriers occurred between the Third Construction Team (Human) and the Fifth Labor Team (Orc), directly resulting in lost work time. According to Article 17 of the 'Blackstone Heavy Industries Safety Production Reward and Punishment Regulations,' any team that causes project delays due to internal conflict will be subject to joint penalties."

He emphasized his tone, saying every word clearly: "I announce the cancellation of all safety bonuses for the above two teams for this quarter."

What?!

As soon as these words were spoken, the whole place was in an uproar.

The two sides, which were glaring at each other for racial dignity just a second ago, now had their expressions frozen simultaneously.

That was a whole quarter's worth of bonuses!

Converted into food, it was enough for each of them to eat dozens of pounds more meat!

"Why!" the scar-faced foreman was the first to jump up. "They were the ones who started it!"

"He was the one who called names first!" The Orc was also anxious, roaring at Grom, "Chieftain! This is unfair!"

Anger instantly replaced hatred.

And this time, the target of the anger was no longer each other, but the culprit who had deprived them of their "hard-earned money"—Levi.

Levi completely ignored those glares that were almost spitting fire.

He raised his hand to signal for silence, even wearing an encouraging smile.

"I know everyone has feelings, that's normal. Competition is what brings progress." He changed the subject, throwing out a new bait: "To encourage healthy competition and promote harmonious working together between cross-racial teams, I have decided to add a new special award on top of the existing ones—the 'Civilized Construction Model Team' Award."

He cleared his throat, his voice carrying a hint of temptation: "The selection criteria for this award are very simple, just one: zero conflict. From now until the end of the project, the team that finishes the task first and has no record of any arguments or fights will share this bonus."

He held up three fingers.

"Three hundred pounds of smoked meat, ten barrels of ale!"

"Hiss—"

A clear sound of gasping came from the crowd.

Three hundred pounds of smoked meat!

Ten barrels of ale!

This number was like a giant magnet, instantly sucking away all the anger and dissatisfaction.

If the previous punishment was hell, then this new award was simply heaven!

The scar-faced foreman's eyes turned red instantly. He turned his head sharply to look at the Orc he had just viewed as an enemy.

The other party was looking at him with the same burning gaze.

Their gazes met in the air; there was no murderous intent, only the most naked greed for food and a tacit understanding.

They were silent for a full three seconds.

The scar-faced foreman silently sheathed his sword, even thoughtfully buckling the clasp.

Seeing this, the Orc warrior opposite him also slowly hung the battle-axe that was almost thirsting for blood back at his waist.

Then, the scar-faced foreman cleared his throat, squeezed out a smile at the Orc that was uglier than crying, and said in a tone of unprecedented politeness: "That… brother, your pickaxe is broken, right? I have a spare one on my cart. You take it first, don't let it delay the progress."

The Orc warrior also responded in a muffled voice: "…Okay. Just now, I was too loud."

A crisis that could have sparked a bloody conflict was, under the inspiration of this 300 pounds of smoked meat, dissolved into nothingness in a form that was nearly absurd.

Levi looked at this scene with satisfaction and turned to Grom beside him: "Let's go, Director, our inspection should be over."

It wasn't until evening, when the setting sun dyed the swamp a thick, dark red, that Levi brought Grom to the construction site again.

The workers had already finished work and returned to the temporary camp to enjoy their portion of wheat porridge mixed with minced meat.

On the empty construction site, only the newly compacted roadbed remained, like a giant black scar, winding deep into the swamp.

Levi brought Grom to a seemingly ordinary section of the roadbed.

The roadbed here was wider and thicker than elsewhere, and the materials used were more solid.

He took a roll of parchment blueprints from his bosom and unfolded them in front of Grom.

On it, various engineering data were marked with complex lines and symbols.

"Grom, look here." Levi's finger pointed to the position on the blueprint where they were standing. "This section of the road beneath our feet is the core of the entire 'Welcome Boulevard.' What do you see?"

Grom's one eye leaned in; the dense, crowded symbols on the blueprint made him dizzy.

He could only vaguely make out that beneath the solid roadbed under their feet, several huge, hollow structures seemed to have been reserved.

"This is… empty?" he asked suspiciously.

"You can understand it that way." Levi smiled, picked up a branch from the ground, and began to draw on the wet mud. "The terrain of the Crying Swamp is high in the north and low in the south. Our current position is the northern entrance. And the 'reception camp' I prepared for Her Highness the Princess is selected at the southern exit, which happens to be a natural basin, the lowest-lying point of the entire swamp."

His branch drew the outline of a basin on the mud, and then from the location of the roadbed, he drew several hidden lines that connected all the way to several underground rivers at the edge of the swamp.

"These hollow structures beneath our feet are water-injection culverts. Their switches are buried in several dense forests one mile away from here. As long as the switches are opened, the groundwater around the swamp will, under the force of water pressure, rush madly through these culverts into the space beneath the roadbed we have carefully built, turning this seemingly solid land back into a quagmire."

Grom's breathing began to become rapid, and a horrifying gleam erupted in his single eye.

He finally understood!

This was not a boulevard to welcome the Princess at all; this was a meticulously designed, outrageously huge trap!

He imagined that well-equipped, banner-waving Royal Knights galloping on the wide, flat boulevard, and then suddenly, the entire road turning into a mud pit beneath their feet… That scene made his blood boil just thinking about it!

"I understand!" he excitedly pounded his chest with his fist, making a thumping sound. "When they fall into the mud and are thrown off their horses, we will launch a full-scale attack from both sides! Turn them all into fertilizer for the swamp!"

Levi quietly listened to his bloody plan, then shook his head.

In those bottomless black eyes, a look flashed that made Grom feel strange, as if looking at an innocent child.

"No, Director, your thinking is too barbaric." Levi threw the branch away, patted the mud off his hands, and corrected him, "We are not bandits. Remember our new identity; we are a responsible and accountable enterprise."

He looked up, gazing toward the direction of the capital. The afterglow of the setting sun cast long shadows on his face, making the smile at the corner of his mouth appear particularly inscrutable.

"All we are prepared to do is, when our potential business partners encounter an 'unexpected traffic safety accident,' provide these distinguished clients in distress with an absolutely reasonably priced… emergency towing and roadside assistance service."

Grom stood frozen in place, mouth half-open, unable to say a word.

He felt his brain, just like the swamp beneath his feet, had turned into mush.

On the distant horizon, the last glimmer of light was swallowed by darkness.

Ten days later, when Princess Ella Radiance led her Knights, strong enough to trample any border fortress, and arrived at the edge of the Crying Swamp in high spirits, what first met her eyes was not the battle array or desolation she had expected.

Instead, it was a giant signboard built with high-quality timber, with a line of big text written in gold-stamped font on it.

"Welcome distinguished guests from the Capital to visit and guide Blackstone Territory—Blackstone Heavy Industries Infrastructure Group, serving you wholeheartedly."