I Look Like a Boss Now

For an Ork Boy, there was only one path to becoming stronger—fighting.

Fight more battles, fight stronger opponents, then grow bigger, tougher, and greener through victory. This was the simplest form of evolution, etched into their genes.

But for Liu Zhipeng, a human soul wearing Ork skin, this theory had been upgraded and optimized in a more "scientific," more "efficient" way.

"Fighting = experience points." "Teeth = currency." "Currency = better equipment." "Better equipment + higher experience points = a stronger me." "A stronger me = stronger opponents = more experience points and currency."

This perfect closed-loop logic rekindled the long-lost passion for striving within his once-confined soul.

And so, over the days that followed, a highly bizarre yet terrifying figure appeared in every corner of the Big Iron Teeth Tribe.

Unlike other Ork Boys, he did not wander around aimlessly looking for opponents. He had clear targets and remarkable efficiency. He never provoked Bosses who were far bigger than him, nor did he bother with scrawny Gretchin. His targets were always those around his own size, or only a little stronger—fellow Orks currently on the rise.

His fighting style was different as well.

Other Orks fought with brute force, seeing who could shout louder and wield the heavier weapon. But he fought using something Orks simply could not understand: technique.

"Oi! Look over here!"

When an Ork Boy waving a massive wrench charged at him with a roar, Liu Zhipeng did not meet him head-on. The instant his opponent drew close, he slipped nimbly to the side, dodging the crushing blow. Then, as the Ork lost his balance from putting too much force into the swing, Liu Zhipeng drove the fairly sturdy iron pipe in his hand upward at a vicious angle, stabbing hard into the exposed armpit.

"Aaargh—!"

The Ork Boy let out a shrill scream, and the wrench in his hand clattered to the ground.

Liu Zhipeng's second and third strikes followed immediately, raining down like a storm upon the most vulnerable parts of his body—joints and soft tissue that could inflict tremendous pain without being fatal.

Knees, elbows, abdomen...

A thuggish fighting style from the twenty-first century, refined through countless street brawls—the art of crippling without killing—shone brilliantly in this savage Ork world.

Once the unfortunate Ork Boy was wracked with pain, curled up on the ground, and completely unable to resist, Liu Zhipeng would pry open his mouth like an experienced old dentist. Then, amid a series of teeth-grinding cracks, he would happily collect the "treatment fee" he was owed.

He never killed his opponents.

In his eyes, killing an opponent only brought a one-time profit. If he spared their lives, then once they recovered and grew new teeth, he could... harvest them a second time.

It was a wise and sustainable form of "draining the pond to catch the fish."

Before long, the Tooth Puller's fearsome reputation spread through the tribe's lower ranks. Whenever the Ork Boys saw that green-skinned figure carrying an iron pipe, with the gleam of "wisdom" in his eyes, they would instinctively cover their mouths and take a detour.

Meanwhile, with his increasingly plump "wallet," Liu Zhipeng entered for the first time the place he had long dreamed of—the tribe's Mek Workshop.

It was a gigantic factory assembled from countless pieces of scrap metal, overflowing with steampunk and wasteland style.

The air was thick with the pungent smell of ozone and scorched metal. Harsh hammering, the roar of power saws, and the excited shrieks of the Meks rose and fell without pause.

Liu Zhipeng saw a Mek with enormous mechanical arms cheerfully welding a sparking shoota onto the back of an enraged Squig beast. The poor Squig howled in agony, but thick iron chains bound it tightly to the workbench, leaving it unable to move.

In another corner, a Gretchin assistant wearing goggles was carefully stuffing a bundle of highly unstable explosives into a crudely shaped rocket, freshly riveted together from sheet metal and nails.

Everything here was filled with the great scientific spirit of I reckon this oughta work.

Liu Zhipeng was utterly amazed.

He found the Boss of the area: the chief Mek named Big Wrench, whose build was nearly comparable to a Boss's. Half his body had been converted into machinery, and a cigar spitting sparks hung from his mouth.

"Oi, big guy." Liu Zhipeng unceremoniously tossed his huge bag of heavy teeth, reeking of saliva and blood, onto the workbench. It made an enticing clattering sound. "Get me some good stuff."

"Teeth!" The chief Mek's one intact eye lit up at once. He set down the wrench that was larger than Liu Zhipeng's head and grabbed a handful of teeth, examining them closely like the greediest jeweler alive.

"Good teeth! Big and shiny! All from good Boys!" he exclaimed in satisfaction. Then he looked up and scanned Liu Zhipeng with his mechanical eye. "You're that... Tooth Puller?"

"That's me."

"Ha! Interesting Boy!" The chief Mek grinned wide, revealing a mouthful of steel false teeth. "So, what do ya want? I got everything here! A bigger choppa? A louder shoota? Or do ya want an iron arm fitted on yourself?"

"Start with a sturdy choppa, then get me a shoota with some kick." Liu Zhipeng pointed at the row of weapons hanging on the wall. "And get me a set of the toughest metal plates you've got."

After some bargaining, Liu Zhipeng successfully upgraded his arsenal using most of his "primitive capital."

He put on a suit of heavy armor pieced together from thick iron plates and huge bolts. It looked incredibly cumbersome, but its defensive power was astonishing. The fragile iron pipe was gone from his hand, replaced by a gigantic, heavy cleaver with rough serrations along its blade. In his other hand was a wild-looking shoota with a barrel wider than a bowl.

When he walked out of the Mek Workshop fully armed, his entire bearing underwent a dramatic change.

If he had previously been nothing more than a somewhat clever street thug, then now he was a fledgling mobile steel fortress.

Several relatively "clever" Ork Boys who had been watching from the sidelines saw his imposing appearance, and their eyes filled with longing and admiration.

An Ork half a head taller than an ordinary Boy, dragging a huge spiked club behind him, was the first to step forward. In a voice thick with reverence, he said, "Boss, I... I'm called Big Guy. I... I wanna follow you."