The more Lynn thought about it, the more promising it seemed.
He turned and ran back to the base, where he found Toothy.
" Toothy! I have a plan!"
Toothy was doing the accounts when he was startled by his excitement. "What plan?"
Since he met Lynn, he had rarely seen Lynn so excited.
"Sai Squig!" Lynn blurted out his thoughts as if pouring beans.
"Turn those low-yield fences into racetracks, and let the Orks ride Squig to race, see who's faster and who's craziest!"
"At that time, we'll become famous throughout Carl II, and we can also take the opportunity to set up gambling dens and make a fortune!"
After listening to this, Toothy felt it was somewhat unreliable.
Everyone's seen Squig; what's so interesting about racing one on Squig?
However, seeing Lynn's excited face, it still said, "Then, shall we give it a try?"
Lynn had calmed down. "Well, let's give it a try first. Let the people from our ranch try it out and see if it works!"
That afternoon, Lynn began selecting a location.
He chose the least productive fence on the east side of the ranch, and had his men move the Squig inside to another location, dismantle the fence, and rebuild it.
Curves, straightaways, obstacles—not one can be omitted.
Toothy stood to the side watching, still feeling a little uneasy.
Lynn stood in the center of the track, watching the busy Orks, pondering how to make the race even more exciting.
That night, the first waaaagh GP ( Squig Race) officially kicked off at Hokage Ranch.
Lynn didn't force everyone to come, so the audience wasn't large.
A few Gretchin scattered individuals stood on both sides of the track, yawning, picking their noses, and some even asking, "What's this for?"
Nobody knew what it was; even the contestants themselves weren't entirely sure.
They only know to follow the rule of Seven-Smasha bosses; winning first place means getting ten teeth.
There were only ten contestants: seven Ork Boyz and three volunteer Gretchin.
They stood on the starting line, each riding their chosen Squig, lined up haphazardly.
Some of the Squig were digging in the ground, while others were simply lying down and sleeping.
A Gretchin on the back of a Squig, which was as fat as a ball, with its legs not even touching the ground, swaying back and forth.
Another Orks rode a creature covered in spiky armor, grinning and grimacing, but refusing to get off.
Because it's the only one willing to let it ride.
A fart-headed Gretchin dressed as a referee stood on a high platform next to the starting line, holding a flag in his hand.
He glanced at the unruly contestants, sighed, and then announced that the competition was about to begin.
After three gunshots, the flag fell.
"Waaaaagh!!!"
Ten Squig charged out at the same time.
Some ran incredibly fast, while others stopped after a couple of steps to eat the roadside trash, and one even ran directly in the opposite direction.
But one Squig took the lead.
It was a Bomb Squig, completely red, that shot into the sky by the force of the explosion.
The Gretchin riding on its back gripped the reins tightly, his expression gradually shifting from fear to excitement.
"I'm number one! I'm number one!"
It glanced back and saw that the other competitors were all left behind, with even the closest ones being dozens of body lengths behind.
It felt it had already won.
Following closely behind were several Hunting Squig.
This is the choice of most contestants: tall and slender, with strong limbs, and good at running.
They run fast and steadily, and will be a popular breed in future competitions.
An Orks rode on the back of Hunting Squig, his eyes fixed on the Bomb Squig ahead, his gaze filled with fighting spirit.
There was also a Warboar Squig, Gretchin, which was a size larger than a regular Squig, and the ground trembled when it ran.
Lynn rode a Muscle Squig, keeping a leisurely pace in the middle of the group.
That guy was all muscle and not very fast, but Lynn didn't choose it for speed.
We've reached the first bend.
Bomb Squig slowed down as it rounded the corner, allowing the Hunting Squig behind it to close in.
Lynn's eyes lit up. He pulled a stick from his waist, aimed at the head of an Ork Boyz next to him, and swung it down.
The Orks screamed and tumbled off Squig's back, rolling several times on the ground.
It got up, cursing and swearing at Lynn's retreating figure, but it was too late to catch up.
The moment that blow landed, the scene changed instantly.
The middle-ranked contestants seemed to have received some kind of signal, and they all pulled out their prepared weapons.
Sticks, wrenches, iron pipes, iron chains—they began a passionate brawl.
An Orks smashed a nearby Gretchin on the head with a wrench, causing the Gretchin to stumble and nearly fall.
But the Orks held on Gretchin back, striking the orc's arm.
Another Gretchin attacked from behind, but was kicked away by the Orks, falling into the nearby bushes along with Squig.
The audience erupted in cheers.
So this competition isn't a ranking system, it's an elimination system?
Fight! Fight! Fight!
The few scattered Gretchin suddenly perked up, howling and squeezing towards the side of the track.
"Smash him on the head!" "Kick him in the butt!" "Yes, that's it!"
As the fight progressed, Lynn's advantage began to become apparent.
Muscle Squig is physically strong and has the most power, giving him an advantage in fights.
It crashed into the crowd, shoving two Orks aside, and then whipped a Gretchin with its tail.
Lynn rode on its back, taking on three opponents at once without being at a disadvantage.
He wielded his staff with dazzling skill, striking left and right, causing the contestants beside him to stumble and fall, displaying great prowess.
The track enters a muddy section.
It was a swamp, the mud knee-deep, and dozens of Swamp Squig were hiding inside.
Those crocodile-like creatures, covered in mud with only their eyes showing, swam around in the mud.
The players had to be wary of everyone else, but they also had to be wary of these guys.
An Orks riding Hunting Squig charged into the mud, his speed immediately slowing down as the Squig became stuck and couldn't move.
A Swamp Squig suddenly sprang out from the side and bit the Squig's leg. The Squig screamed, threw the Orks off, and ran away.
The Orks struggled in the mud, only to be trampled over by the players behind him, his fate unknown.
The lead Bomb Squig, burned up in the mud.
While its initial burst of power is strong, it clearly lacks staying power once its fuel is depleted.
When it reached the muddy section, it was panting heavily, so the Gretchin had to get off and push it.
Because Lynn had clearly stipulated that Squig and the chosen person had to cross the finish line together for it to count as a win.
The Hunting Squig from behind caught up, and one of the Ork Boyz knocked the Gretchin on the ground away with a stool.
The Gretchin tumbled twice in the air before crashing into the mud with a thud, splashing up a large cloud of mud.
Just then, a fart Gretchin riding Warboar Squig touched something in the mud.
It pulled a rocket launcher out of the mud; it was filthy, but it looked usable.
As soon as Toothy squeezed to the side of the track, she saw this scene and exclaimed in surprise:
"Still an item race?!"