The earth of Dorito never stopped trembling.
The Imperial Fleet's bombardment has entered its fourth day; every second, shells pound the ground, causing the underground rock to vibrate and hum.
In the makeshift dungeon beneath the Cauldron City, dust fell like raindrops from above, mixed with the stench of blood and mold, making one want to vomit.
Toothy was chained to the cold rock wall.
The once sharp-witted and cunning Gretchin is now completely unrecognizable.
The skin on the left side of his face was peeled off, revealing the writhing pale green muscles and stark white cheekbones underneath.
All of his teeth were knocked out, leaving only a bloody, mangled gum.
The right eye socket was empty, and cloudy liquid kept flowing out of it.
The limbs were twisted at bizarre angles, the bones had long been broken, and only a few tendons and skin were still connecting them to the torso.
If it weren't for a psychopath coming over every hour to stimulate his heart with Psychic Power and inject him with a green potion mixed with stimulants and hormones, he would have died long ago.
Ragnar didn't want him to die too quickly.
This Orks warlord not only learned how to make stew from humans, but also learned something else.
Simply killing is too lenient on subordinates who make mistakes.
Punishment should cause the other person pain from the depths of their soul.
For ordinary Orks, the cruelest punishment is not skinning and dismembering them, but rather depriving them of the right to fight.
Ragnar would tie the errant Orks to a pillar and hold a grand tournament in front of them.
Let them watch their own kind fight, bleed, and roar, but forbid them from participating.
During boarding maneuvers, they would be tied to the observation window on the bridge, forced to watch helplessly as their comrades roared as they charged onto the enemy ship.
He cleaved the enemy's head open with a machete, but could only stand by like a useless piece of trash.
This kind of "bullying" is worse than death for Orks, who are born to fight.
But Toothy different.
He's Gretchin.
Gretchin are born cowardly and afraid of trouble; they are inherently afraid of violence.
The punishments that could break even the toughest Orks warriors were utterly meaningless to him.
So Ragnar tried a different approach.
Human torture.
Peeling, tooth extraction, bone breaking, branding—these tortures, which seem meaningless to Orks, precisely torment Toothy and mind.
He could feel the excruciating pain of every inch of his skin being torn apart, hear the cracking sound of his bones breaking, and taste the blood filling his mouth.
He didn't close his eyes for four days and four nights.
The excruciating pain surged through his nerves in waves, and several times he thought he was going to die, but that damned stimulant always managed to pull him back from the brink of death.
"Clang~"
The iron door to the dungeon was pushed open.
The crisp sound of footsteps echoed in the empty dungeon, as they approached him step by step.
With Toothy raised his only remaining left eye, and in his blurry vision, he saw the figure of an unfamiliar Ork Boyz.
The young man looked ordinary, of medium build, wearing tattered armor, and carrying no weapon.
But his eyes were peculiar, with a barely perceptible purple glint deep within them, and his expression was calmer than that of a Orks.
Not a single Orks in all of Dorito knew him.
The unfamiliar Orks walked up to him and stopped.
He looked at Toothy quietly, without saying a word or making a move.
Toothy's heart skipped a beat.
That look, that aura, that deep purple light in those eyes...
Even if he were reduced to ashes, I would still recognize him.
It's Seven-Smasha!
The person who, on Carl II Space Station, elevated him from a bunch of ordinary Gretchin to the clan leader!
It was the person who taught him to read and write, taught him tactics and strategies, and told him that "even Gretchin can survive by using his brain."
He once vowed that one day he would stand at the same height as him, meeting him at the summit, through his own strength.
Toothy lowered her head.
He dared not look Lynn in the eye again.
Shame, resentment, unwillingness... a flood of emotions surged into my heart.
He had endured four days and four nights of torment without shedding a single tear, but now he could no longer hold back.
Turbid tears welled up from his only remaining right eye, mingling with the blood on his face and forming dirty streams on his chin.
He looks like a maggot in the mud.
How could he possibly face Seven-Smasha?
Lynn looked at the mangled Gretchin in front of him and sighed softly.
He could sense the emotions in Toothy's heart.
His powerful senses allowed him to clearly perceive Toothy's shame, dependence, and a hint of deep-seated admiration.
"Long time no see, Toothy." Lynn's voice was soft and reached Toothy's ears.
Toothy's body trembled slightly.
He wanted to speak, to ask why Seven-Smasha was here and to explain that he wasn't a useless person.
But his tongue had long been cut off, and he could only make a series of wheezing sounds.
He twisted his body desperately, the iron chains scraping against the rocks with a piercing sound.
Lynn reached out and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
A mild neurotoxin entered Toothy's body through a symbiotic Duya, temporarily suppressing his excruciating pain.
"I know what you want to say," Lynn said calmly. "It's okay to fail."
I'm giving you a chance now.
Lynn's voice turned serious, his eyes filled with temptation and ambition.
"An opportunity for you to become the only Orks King in the Calixis System."
"You will have countless lads, the most powerful fleet, and ownership of all the Orks of Calixis."
"All the Orks will submit to you, and all your enemies will fear you."
"But the price is that your people will become my vassals."
"And you, Toothy, will forever be loyal to me, becoming a sharp knife in my hand."
Are you willing?
Toothy raised her head.
An astonishing light burst forth from his single eye.
King of Orks?
He never imagined that he, a lowly Gretchin, would have the chance to become the king of the Orks.
His biggest dream was simply to become a small leader who could manage dozens of guys, so he wouldn't have to be bullied by the other Orks anymore.
And now, he's being given a chance to become the king of the Orks, despite Seven-Smasha.
How could he not agree?
He was never a pure Orks.
He didn't possess the deep-seated belligerence and arrogance of the Orks.
He knew that if he hadn't Seven-Smasha, he would have turned into a lump of steamed bun by now.
It was the Seven-Smasha that gave him wisdom, a status that didn't belong to him, and the hope to live.
What's wrong with pledging allegiance to someone who Seven-Smasha?
It's a million times better than being thrown into a big pot and stewed into a broth by Ragnar.
Toothy nodded vigorously.
His movements were light, yet incredibly firm.
In his single eye, the shame and despair of the past were gone, replaced only by boundless enthusiasm and loyalty.
Just then, a familiar system notification sound rang in Lynn's mind.
[A strong sense of loyalty from the target Toothy was detected.]
[Meets the unlocking conditions for the special binding route]
[Unlock the "King and His King and Subject " route: The Final Path of the Domination King and His Destined Minister]
[Note: This route is permanently bound and cannot be unbound.]
[After binding, the target's favorability will be converted into loyalty, unlocking the exclusive Development System " King's Gift "]
Lynn's lips curled up slightly.
It can only be said that he anticipated half of it.
He had already guessed that this system was definitely not as simple as it seemed.
But I never expected to unlock the new feature in this way.
But upon reflection, it makes sense; Domination and submission are both profound, two-way bonds.
"Yes," Lynn murmured to himself.
[ The King and Subject route has been unlocked]
[Start binding target: Toothy ]