You Must Become Strong Quickly

The royal kitchen. The champion swordsman leaned against the wall, finally released from the taut nerves of the battlefield to enjoy a rare moment of respite.

A royal attendant had just arrived to inform him that his participation would not be required in the upcoming combat.

His duty now was to serve as a member of the personal guard, protecting the master to whom he had sworn his loyalty.

Haran Ogilvy was somewhat surprised by the order from King Norwick, yet he did not question why he had been pulled from the front lines.

The commands of a king always held deep meaning; one only needed to wait for the moment to fulfill one's duty.

His eyes rested on the figure of his sworn master working at the cutting board—he was skinning and butchering an orc, breaking it down into ingredients suited for different culinary preparations.

Haran was a focused man, focused on achieving victory.

Doom was also focused, focused on how to cook an orc to create a gourmet delicacy.

What amazed Haran most was Doom's exquisite control over his own body. His hand holding the knife did not tremble in the slightest, slicing the marbled fat between the orc's abdominal muscles into sheets as thin as cicada wings.

"Would you like to try some?"

Doom drank a bowl of thick soup boiled from an orc's skull, a look of enjoyment on his face, as he asked his personal guard if he wished to partake.

In Nul, there were no moral obstacles to consuming sentient species.

In the distant past, during the height of humanity's glory, the empire established around Nul had once wiped out an alien race simply because they tasted delicious.

As Doom's sworn guard and a retainer to the King Norwick royal house, Haran shared a close relationship with the royals, so he did not decline.

Personally, with his free-spirited nature, he was willing to taste the flavor of an orc.

During the Wasteland Wars, orcs had pillaged everywhere, and they had eaten their fair share of wasteland tribes as well.

As the clear soup touched his tongue, Haran's eyes lit up, and he couldn't help but nod, signaling that the taste was excellent.

Only a little salt had been used as seasoning, perfectly drawing out the fresh sweetness of the orc meat, while the earthy aroma of mushrooms blended with the savory scent of the flesh into a unique, captivating fragrance.

"Try this as well."

Doom rolled up the translucent abdominal meat, dipped it in some sauce, and presented it to Haran.

Haran swallowed it in one bite; the finely textured fat, chilled beforehand, melted at the temperature of his mouth, blending with the delicate meat in a way that was simply irresistible.

He closed his eyes in enjoyment and gave Doom a thumbs-up. He couldn't help but reflect inwardly that if he didn't become a warrior in the future, he could conquer others with flavor as a chef.

Seeing Haran's expression of delight, Doom couldn't resist either; he rolled up a slice and swallowed it in one gulp.

The moment the flesh hit his stomach, his expression shifted wildly. His body shuddered violently, and he instinctively clutched his throat, spitting out the meat.

Exhaling a breath of foul air, Doom braced his hands on the cutting board, shaking his head repeatedly to maintain his focus.

Haran's expression changed; he quickly spat out his own meat, fearing the orc flesh contained some unknown toxin.

He reached out to support Doom's chest, checking his physiological state while preparing to call for help.

His face was grim; he had been a guard for less than two hours, and if his sworn master suffered an accident right in front of him, it would be a disgrace that could never be washed away.

"Haran Ogilvy!" A clear voice called the guard's name. Doom kept his head lowered, raising a hand to stop him from calling for others.

"Three days ago, did you kick an orc down with your left foot and knock it unconscious with your guard spear?"

Haran did not dwell on why Doom was asking; his duty as a guard was to obey. He quickly recalled his actions at the time to confirm if they matched Doom's description.

"Yes!" he answered with absolute certainty. He even released Doom to demonstrate how he had captured the orc.

Having received the confirmation, Doom waved his hand to indicate he was fine.

Just a moment ago, the instant he consumed the raw orc meat, fragmented, immersive scenes had flashed through his mind.

A tall warrior in white armor had kicked him, and as he raised his spear for a sweeping strike, everything went black; when he woke up, he was already in a cage.

The shock of the memory came and went quickly.

Doom smiled brightly and said to the puzzled Haran, "It seems I have an incredible skill: by consuming flesh, I can learn the memories of the one being eaten."

"Does it place any burden on your body?"

Haran did not pry into the mysteries of the Heaven-Sent Child—everyone had their own secrets—but instead worried about the physical impact, as Doom's expression just now had been quite alarming.

"It won't," Doom said with a cheerful smile, pointing to his own head to explain: "It was just a stress response from my brain receiving external information for the first time; such reactions won't happen again in the future."

With that, he picked up a large piece of raw orc meat and chewed and swallowed it in large mouthfuls, showing none of the previous stress response.

"My Lord." Seeing that Doom was fine, Haran nodded and let out a long breath, suppressing the tremor in his heart. Then, with an exceptionally serious expression, he said to Doom: "Such a talent is dangerous."

"Why?" Doom was puzzled; such an ability would be fatal to enemies on the battlefield.

One only needed to consume the flesh of an enemy to know their movements, or even their combat deployments—it was an undeniably powerful ability.

"I am not referring to the battlefield." Haran shook his head as he looked at Doom: "You should be able to imagine it."

"It's my companions." The smile on Doom's face froze. Once pointed out by Haran, he realized just how terrifying his ability was.

Every person harbored some degree of darkness in their heart, secrets they were unwilling to face.

Once it was known that someone could obtain the memories carried in one's genes by consuming their flesh, even the closest comrades would develop an insurmountable rift.

How could a comrade trust you and dare to bleed in your presence?

"I will keep this secret and never mention it to anyone," Haran said solemnly to Doom. "I hope you will keep your own secret, reveal it to no one, and use it with restraint only when necessary."

Doom nodded solemnly, understanding the champion swordsman's good intentions.

"At the same time, I must remind you." Haran spoke up again, issuing a warning to his liege: "Use this ability as sparingly as possible."

"No matter how you adjust or cleanse your heart afterward, absorbing too many memories from others or other species will inevitably leave you stained with filth."

"As a warrior, the moment you swing your sword, if you are influenced by the perspectives within those memories, cracks will appear in your mental barriers, and the blade in your hand will no longer be sharp."

"I will keep your teachings in mind, Haran Ogilvy."

Doom listened, firmly memorizing everything Haran said, absorbing the precious experience the champion swordsman had accumulated over decades of warfare.

The champion swordsman Haran Ogilvy was also known as the "Duelist."

He was a powerful warrior responsible for identifying enemy champions on the battlefield, issuing challenges, and engaging in duels between champions.

Having served as a Night Watcher for decades, he remained alive, while all his opponents had perished in their duels against him.

Doom asked Haran to share more of his battlefield experiences, listening intently and offering exclamations of admiration from time to time.

"Your Highness."

Just as the master and servant were chatting enthusiastically, a court maid interrupted them: "Queen Daisy requests your presence to see off King Norwick together."

"So soon?" Doom asked in surprise. He had thought his father would stay a bit longer, not expecting him to leave in less than a day.

"You don't know the extent of the chaos on the battlefield."

Haran, however, understood the reason for King Norwick's departure: "While the orcs are fleeing, they are constantly gathering and growing in strength."

"Not only are we hunting them, but the knights have also joined the purge, and the orcs themselves are fighting in a melee; someone must be there to command the battlefield."

Doom also knew that although he had descended from the sky to destroy the orc elite, there were still millions of greenskins rampaging.

They had only lost their leaders, not their ability to resist.

Except for the thousand warriors left behind, all other soldiers were committed to the encirclement, working tirelessly to eliminate the orcs' living forces.

Doom shook his head; it was a great helplessness that such powerful elite forces as the Night Watchers had to be committed to an endless war of attrition.

The Gate of Conquest. Every time the Guardian Domain set out on an expedition, they departed from here.

Doom, Queen Daisy, and his second brother stood beside the Gate of Conquest with the crowd of well-wishers, waiting for King Norwick's troops.

"Where is my eldest brother?" Doom whispered to his brother beside him, Flano Norwick.

"He's busy to the point of madness." Flano replied in a low voice: "The logistics for all the troops are resting entirely on his shoulders."

Just as he was about to ask for details, Queen Daisy gently tugged at her sons' clothes: "Silence!"

Before the sacred and solemn Gate of Conquest, everyone bowed their heads—some of the warriors who set out from here were destined never to return.

Norwick walked at the very front, but he stopped abruptly when he reached Doom's side.

He scooped up the bewildered Doom and whispered in his ear: "You must become strong, become strong quickly; we do not have much time left!"

After saying this, he set his son down and looked at him with a complex expression. In the moment their eyes met, Doom saw a level of worry he had never seen before.

Watching the expeditionary force depart, Doom clenched his fists tightly, his eyes flickering as he wondered what it all meant.