Translator: CinderTL
Golden sunlight pierced through the dense forest, casting dappled shadows on the ground covered with decaying leaves.
Abal's burly figure crouched behind an ancient oak tree, his bronze muscles faintly visible amidst the shadows. The ancestral bone bow of his clan was fully drawn in his hands, the bowstring taut.
Twenty paces away, a stag was drinking water by the stream, completely unaware of the approaching death.
The Orc Chieftain's breath almost stopped, the fierce war marks on his forehead glowing a dark red in the sunlight.
Suddenly, an arrow shot through the air, accurately piercing the stag's neck.
"Great shot!" The accompanying Orc warriors leaped out from the bushes, but Abal was already striding towards the dying prey.
With one hand pressing down on the still twitching stag, he drew a gem-encrusted dagger from his waist with the other. A flash of the blade later, the stag stopped struggling, its hot blood splattering on his bare chest, blending with the scars that symbolized his battle achievements.
"My young eagles, you must be hungry. Watch as I prepare a feast for you with my own hands!" Abal shook the blood off his dagger, his voice rumbling like thunder through the forest.
Besides warfare and hunting, the Orc Chieftain had a wide range of other interests, such as cooking. Although the cooking methods on the grasslands were rather rough, they had their own unique style. Abal was skilled in the art of grilling. During hunts, to not waste the freshness of the ingredients, he often processed the prey on the spot, sharing the feast he prepared with his subordinates.
As he turned, the totem on his back was clearly visible in the sunlight—a wolf's head tattooed in indigo dye, its bared fangs fierce and terrifying, as if ready to bite anyone who looked at it.
The Chieftain effortlessly hoisted the stag onto his shoulder; he always preferred to handle such tasks himself.
Finding a clearing, he set the stag down and drew a beautifully curved skinning knife from the sheath at his waist. Kneeling on one knee, he precisely inserted the knife's tip into the stag's hind leg joint, making a perfect incision along the muscle grain.
"Watch closely, boys," he said without looking up to the young warriors gathered around, his thick fingers already working deftly between the skin and the flesh.
The deer skin was peeled off whole like a garment and laid out on a nearby rock, still steaming.
Next, he flipped the deer over and made a fine cut along its belly. As the entrails slid out, he skillfully removed the heart and liver, tossing them into a copper basin held by an attendant. The remaining entrails were pushed aside, and the Orcs' wolfhounds immediately moved in to feast.
"The ribs should be cut like this," Abal said, using the back of the knife to break the spine, then sliding the blade along the gaps between the ribs to remove the most succulent part.
He casually plucked a handful of wild onions, crushed them, and rubbed them onto the meat, then sprinkled a handful of coarse salt from his leather pouch.
When the bonfire was lit, Abal personally placed the deer meat skewered on fresh branches over the flames. The fat dripped into the fire with a sizzling sound, and he turned the branches occasionally to ensure each side was evenly browned.
The aroma of the meat soon filled the entire clearing, and the young warriors couldn't help but swallow their saliva. When the deer meat turned golden, the fat sizzled on the surface.
Abal drew his dagger again, its blade flashing coldly in the firelight. He precisely cut off the most succulent part of the ribs, the juices dripping down the blade.
"Grom!" His deep voice cut through the clamor of the crowd. A young warrior with fresh claw marks on his face immediately stepped forward, his right fist pounding heavily against his chest—a testament to his solo takedown of a mountain lion during today's hunt.
Abal skewered a steaming piece of meat on the tip of his knife and handed it over: "A mountain lion's claws are tougher to deal with than a deer's antlers."
Grom took it with both hands, the scalding meat turning his fingers red, yet he refused to let go. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma, before tearing into it with large bites, grease soon coating his chin.
The surrounding warriors erupted in envious cheers, and another warrior slapped Grom's back, laughing and cursing: "Kid, share a bite with me!"
But Grom turned away, shielding the meat, his ravenous eating prompting hearty laughter from the crowd.
The laughter abruptly ceased as two Orc warriors, who had been on perimeter guard, dragged a ragged human man through the bushes and threw him heavily at Abal's feet.
The man's knees scraped against the rocks, drawing blood, but he ignored the pain, immediately prostrating himself on the ground.
"Honorable lord!" his trembling voice mixed with sobs, "I'm just a firewood gatherer, a humble farmer, I beg for your mercy..."
"Bullshit!" a scar-faced Orc warrior kicked him, "I saw you sneaking around, you're probably an Aldor spy!"
A roar of anger erupted around them, and several short knives still smeared with meat scraps were drawn. The human man cowered, covering his head, his wrists covered in scratches from the bushes.
The warriors looked to Abal, voicing their opinions.
"Orc Chieftain, execute this audacious fool immediately!"
"Or take him back, add to our slave count."
Abal leisurely finished the last piece of venison, casually tossing the bone into the fire.
He cut a large, golden-brown piece of roasted venison leg from the fire and tossed it into the human man's lap.
"Do not fear."
His voice... as gentle as it could sound to his subordinates.
"Take my gift and return to your village."
The human man stood frozen, only snapping out of it when the hot meat burned his chest. He scrambled to kowtow, his forehead rustling against the fallen leaves: "Thank you for your mercy, my lord!"
And then he quickly left.
Abal watched the human man's frantic retreat, slowly sitting back down by the fire, picking up a stick to poke at the flames, sparks rising like fireflies.
"Do you remember the lesson of the Yellow Earth Plain?" His voice was low and steady, yet it made all the Orc warriors stop chewing.
"Our warriors who stayed there ruled the humans with swords and whips, and what happened?" The stick carved a deep furrow in the dirt, "More and more people fled that land."
Grom muttered discontentedly, "But humans should naturally submit to the strong..."
Abal shook his head, the firelight reflecting the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, "A true strongman must not only know how to wield sharp claws but also understand when to sheathe them."
He pointed in the direction the human had disappeared, "That man will tell his people that Orcs are not all bloodthirsty demons. That is more valuable than killing a hundred spies."
The Orc warriors fell into thoughtful silence. Abal tore off a piece of tender roasted venison, the grease dripping between his fingers: "Remember, we aim to conquer living lands, not scorched earth. Brutality will only turn every human village into a fortress on our path of conquest."
A gentle breeze swept through the forest, carrying the aroma of roasted meat and the voice of the Orc Chieftain into the distance: "Sometimes, a piece of roasted meat can carve a deeper path than a battle axe."
(End of the Chapter)
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