Golden sunlight pierced through the dense forest, casting dappled shadows on the ground covered with decaying leaves.
Abar crouched behind an ancient oak tree, his bronze muscles gleaming in the shadows. The clan's ancestral bone bow was fully drawn in his hand, the bowstring taut.
Twenty paces away, a male deer was drinking water by the stream, completely unaware of its impending death.
The orc Great Chieftain's breath almost stopped, and the hideous battle markings on his forehead gleamed dark red in the sunlight.
Suddenly, an arrow shot through the air and pierced the stag's neck with pinpoint accuracy.
"Excellent archery!" The accompanying orc warriors leaped out of the bushes, but Abar had already strode toward his dying prey.
He held the still-convulsing stag down with one hand, and with the other, he drew a jeweled dagger from his waist. In a flash, the stag ceased its struggle, and scalding blood splattered onto his bare chest, mingling with the scars that symbolized his battle achievements.
"My fledglings, are you all hungry? Watch me personally prepare a delicious meal for you!" Abar flicked the blood off his knife, his voice echoing through the forest like muffled thunder.
Besides fighting and hunting, the orc Great Chieftain had a wide range of other interests, such as cooking. Although the cooking methods on the Great Prairie were rather crude, they were still unique. Abar was an expert in grilling, and when hunting, in order not to waste the freshness of the ingredients, he would often cook the prey on the spot and share the feast he had prepared with his men.
When he turned around, the totem on his back was clearly visible in the sunlight—it was a wolf's head tattooed with indigo dye, its bared fangs ferocious and terrifying, as if it were about to bite the person who looked at it.
The Great Chieftain effortlessly lifted the Bucks onto his back; he always likes to do things himself in these situations.
Finding an open space, he put the stag down, drew a beautifully curved skinning knife from its sheath at his waist, then knelt on one knee and precisely pierced the stag's hind leg joint with the tip of the knife, making a perfect incision along the muscle fibers.
"Keep an eye on them, boys," he said to the young soldiers watching without looking up, his thick fingers already probing the incision, deftly moving between the skin and flesh.
The deerskin was completely peeled off like a piece of clothing and spread out on the rock next to it, still emitting wisps of heat.
He then flipped the deer over and made a thin cut in its abdomen with his dagger. As the entrails slid out, he skillfully removed the heart and liver, tossing them into a copper basin held by a servant. The remaining entrails were pushed aside, and the wolfhounds brought by the orcs immediately rushed forward to devour them.
"This is how you cut the ribs." Abar used the back of the knife to break the spine, then the blade moved along the gaps between the ribs, removing the fattest part of the ribs whole.
He casually plucked a handful of wild onions, crushed them, and smeared them on the meat, then sprinkled on some coarse salt from his leather pouch.
As the campfire blazed, Abar personally placed the venison skewered on fresh branches over the fire. The fat sizzled as it dripped into the flames, and he turned the branches occasionally to ensure each side was evenly browned.
The aroma of meat quickly filled the entire forest clearing, and the young soldiers unconsciously swallowed their saliva. When the venison was roasted to a golden brown, the fat sizzled on the surface.
Abar drew his dagger again, the blade flashing coldly in the firelight. He precisely sliced off the fattest part of the rib, juices dripping down the blade.
"Grom!" His deep voice cut through the noisy crowd. A young warrior with fresh claw marks on his face stepped forward immediately, his right fist slamming heavily into his chest—proof that he had single-handedly taken down a lynx during the day's hunt.
Abar skewered a steaming piece of meat on the tip of the knife and handed it over: "A lynx's claws are harder to deal with than a deer's antlers."
Grom took the scalding hot meat with both hands. His fingers turned red from the heat, but he couldn't bear to let go. He lowered his head and took a deep sniff of the meat's aroma before tearing into it. The oil quickly covered his chin.
The surrounding soldiers murmured enviously, and another soldier patted Grom on the back, laughing and joking, "Kid, give me a bite!"
Grom turned around to protect the piece of meat, and his ravenous eating drew laughter from everyone.
The laughter abruptly stopped as two orc warriors on guard duty dragged a ragged human man through the bushes and slammed him heavily in front of Abar.
The man's knees scraped against the stone, drawing blood, but he ignored the pain and immediately lay prone on the ground.
"My esteemed sir!" His trembling voice was laced with sobs, "I am but a farmer gathering firewood, please have mercy..."
"Bullshit!" A scarred orc warrior kicked him. "You've been acting suspiciously; you're probably an Aldor spy!"
A roar erupted from the surroundings, and several short knives, smeared with bits of flesh, were drawn. The human man cowered, clutching his head, his exposed wrists covered in cuts from the bushes.
The soldiers looked at Abar and offered their opinions.
" Great Chieftain, execute this audacious fellow immediately!"
"Or take them back to replenish our slave population."
Abar slowly finished the last piece of venison and casually tossed the bone into the fire.
He cut off a large piece of golden-brown roasted deer leg from beside the campfire and tossed it into the human man's arms.
"do not be afraid."
His voice... could only be described as as gentle as it sounded to his subordinates.
"Take my gift and go back to your village."
The human man stood frozen in shock until the piece of meat burned his chest, bringing him to his senses. He frantically kowtowed, his forehead rustling against the fallen leaves: "Thank you for your kindness, sir!"
Then they left very quickly.
Abar watched the human man flee in panic, then slowly sat back down by the campfire, picked up a twig and poked at the fire, sparks rising like fireflies.
"Do you still remember the lesson of Yellow Earth Plain?" His voice was low and calm, yet it made all the orc warriors stop chewing.
"Our warriors who remained there ruled over humanity with swords and whips, and what was the result?" The branch carved a deep furrow in the earth. "More and more people fled that land."
Grom muttered defiantly, "But humans are supposed to submit to the strong..."
Abar shook his head, the firelight illuminating the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes: "A true strongman not only knows how to wield his claws, but also when to sheathe them."
He pointed in the direction where the humans had disappeared. "That person will tell his people that not all orcs are bloodthirsty demons. That's more valuable than us killing a hundred scouts."
The orc warriors fell into a thoughtful silence. Abar broke off a piece of tenderly roasted venison, fat dripping from his fingers: "Remember, we are conquering living land, not scorched earth. Atrocities will only turn every human village on our path into a fortress."
A gentle breeze rustled through the woods, carrying the aroma of roasted meat far and wide, along with the voice of the orc Great Chieftain: "Sometimes, a piece of roasted meat can carve a deeper path than a battle axe."