Now I Look Like a Boss

For an Ork Boy, there was only one way to get stronger-fighting.

Fight more battles, fight stronger opponents, and victories would naturally make them bigger, tougher, and greener. This was the most basic theory of evolution etched into their genes.

But Liu Zhipeng, a human soul wearing an Ork's skin, had upgraded and optimized that theory in a more "scientific," more "efficient" way.

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

This perfect closed loop rekindled a long-lost passion for striving in his once-imprisoned soul.

And so, in the days that followed, an exceedingly strange yet terrifying figure appeared in every corner of the Big Iron Jaw tribe.

Unlike the other Ork Boyz, he did not wander aimlessly in search of opponents. He had clear targets and exceptional efficiency. He never provoked the "bosses" who towered over him, nor did he bother with the scrawny Gretchin. His targets were always fellow Orks roughly his own size, or just a little stronger, who were still on their way up.

His fighting style was different, too.

Other Orks fought with brute force, competing to see who could shout louder and wield a heavier weapon. He, however, fought using something Orks could not comprehend: "technique."

"Hey! Look over here!"

When an Ork Boy waving an enormous wrench charged at him with a roar, Liu Zhipeng did not meet him head-on. The instant his opponent closed in, he deftly sidestepped the crushing blow. Then, as the Ork overextended and lost his balance, Liu Zhipeng thrust his reasonably sturdy iron pipe upward at a vicious angle, driving it hard into his opponent's exposed armpit.

"Aaargh!"

The Ork Boy let out an agonized scream, and his wrench clattered to the ground.

Liu Zhipeng's second and third blows followed immediately, raining down on the vulnerable joints and soft tissue where he could inflict tremendous pain without killing his opponent.

Knees, elbows, abdomen...

A street thug's fighting style from the twenty-first century, honed through countless street brawls to "cripple, not kill," shone brilliantly in this savage Ork world.

Once the poor Ork Boy lay curled on the ground, wracked with pain and completely unable to resist, Liu Zhipeng would pry open his mouth with the practiced ease of a veteran dentist. Then, amid a series of tooth-aching cracks, he would happily collect his rightful "treatment fee."

He never killed his opponents.

As he saw it, killing an opponent yielded only a one-time profit. Spare his life, however, and once he recovered and grew new teeth, Liu Zhipeng could... harvest him again.

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

Soon, the fearsome name of the "Tooth Puller" spread throughout the tribe's lower ranks. Whenever the Ork Boyz spotted that Ork carrying an iron pipe, his eyes gleaming with "wisdom," they instinctively covered their mouths and took a detour.

Meanwhile, with his increasingly bulging "wallet" in hand, Liu Zhipeng finally set foot in the place he had long dreamed of visiting-the tribe's "Mek workshop."

It was an enormous factory assembled from countless pieces of scrap metal, steeped in steampunk and wasteland aesthetics.

The air reeked of ozone and scorched metal. Piercing hammer blows, the roar of chainsaws, and the excited howls of the "Meks" rose and fell in an endless din.

Liu Zhipeng saw a "Mek" with an enormous mechanical arm gleefully welding a Shoota, still spitting electrical sparks, onto the back of an angry Squiggoth. The poor Squig howled in pain, but several thick iron chains bound it tightly to the workbench, leaving it unable to move.

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

Everything here brimmed with the great scientific spirit of "I reckon this'll work."

Liu Zhipeng was awestruck.

He found the "boss" of this area, a head Mek named Big Wrench, whose bulk nearly matched that of a "boss." Half his body had been converted into machinery, and a cigar spraying sparks hung from his mouth.

"Hey, big guy." Without ceremony, Liu Zhipeng tossed his large, heavy bag of teeth onto the workbench. Reeking of saliva and blood, they landed with an enticing clatter. "Get me some good stuff."

"Teeth!" The head Mek's remaining natural eye instantly lit up. He put down a wrench larger than Liu Zhipeng's head and, like the greediest jeweler, scooped up a handful of teeth to examine closely.

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

"At your service."

"Ha! Interesting Boy!" The head Mek grinned, revealing a mouthful of steel dentures. "Tell me, what d'you want? I've got everything here! Want a bigger Choppa? Or a louder Shoota? Or d'you fancy an iron arm of your own?"

"Start with a sturdy Choppa, then get me a Shoota with some punch." Liu Zhipeng pointed at the row of weapons hanging on the wall. "And give me a set of your toughest 'Eavy Armour."

After a round of haggling, Liu Zhipeng spent more than half a bag of his "initial capital" and successfully upgraded his arsenal.

He donned a suit of heavy armor pieced together from thick iron plates and enormous bolts. It looked incredibly cumbersome, but offered astonishing protection. The fragile iron pipe in his hand had been replaced by a huge, heavy cleaver with crude serrations along its blade. In his other hand, he held a wildly designed Shoota whose muzzle was wider than a bowl.

When he strode out of the Mek workshop fully armed, his entire presence had undergone a staggering transformation.

Before, he had merely been a somewhat clever street thug. Now, he was a fledgling mobile fortress of steel.

Some of the "smarter" Ork Boyz who had already been watching him looked at his imposing new appearance with longing and admiration shining in their eyes.

An Ork half a head taller than the average Boy, dragging an enormous spiked club, was the first to approach him. In a deep, muffled voice filled with awe, he said, "Boss, I... I'm Big'un. I... I wanna follow you."