Pioneer Lord: I Have Conquering System

Wrestling was an activity ill-suited for Centaurs, so for High Cliff Castle’s participants, the Beastmen took on the entire event themselves.

A crowd of nearly a hundred green-skinned, bare-chested brutes stepped into the circled-off clearing. They crossed their arms and smirked at the group of shorties across from them.

They were wrestling experts to begin with, and now, empowered by the System Power, they possessed towering statures and bull-like physiques far beyond anything they’d had before.

They were hulking brutes, averaging 2.7 blades in height and weighing nearly a thousand pounds, their chiseled muscles as perfect as those of a devout Holy Hall Warrior.

On the surface, the wrestling match was a friendly competition where sportsmanship was paramount. But the men from Wolf Island were burning to win, hoping to boost their own prestige. The combatants they sent forth were undoubtedly their hand-picked best.

They had generally chosen their largest men, but even so, their average height was only about 1.8 blades. Compared to the Beastman Barbarians, they looked like children.

"Levi, your Beastman subordinates are simply enormous! I’ve seen Beastmen before in Kolon’s Gladiatorial Arena, but most of them were only about two-point-one or two-point-two blades tall at most."

Monvert exclaimed in amazement, "I’d believe you if you told me all your subordinates had gigantism, but how could that be possible?"

"If you could guarantee your men ate meat at every meal, so much that they got sick of it, then I imagine they’d be a good deal bigger than they are now, just in terms of physique," Levi said with a shrug. That was certainly part of the reason, but what truly allowed these Beastman Barbarians to break the limits of their natural Talent and keep growing was, first and foremost, the System.

’But how could he ever say that out loud?’

"To be honest, I’m more worried about how much they eat," the Lord added.

This humblebragging drove the other nobles and officers with Monvert mad with jealousy. They desperately wanted to plant a boot squarely on the Lion Hunter Knight’s rear.

To be frank, the current strength of this Knight—the man who had rescued Miss Liya and made a renowned name for himself—was truly shocking.

The Centaurs, completely encased in black Iron Armor with only their cold gazes visible, stood guard holding fine lances, as silent as statues of steel.

These Heavy Cavalry, standing three blades tall and weighing nearly two thousand pounds, were veritable meat grinders that would flatten anything in their path. It was doubtful that even Damon’s Golden Lion Knight Order would dare to face their charge head-on. This Centaur Cavalry was, without a doubt, a top-tier ace among all Heavy Cavalry.

Their numbers were just a bit low.

Then there were the Jackal Wolfman Ranger Scouts and the green-skinned Beastmen—every one of them from a famously powerful warrior Race.

What was even more astounding was that all of this Lion Hunter Knight’s subordinates were larger than average for their respective races—so much so that any one of them, chosen at random, could have served as a Tribe’s Clan Leader.

With such a collection of elites gathered under this Baron, it was clear the rumors of his military achievements were largely true.

Then they looked at their own soldiers, recruited from the common folk, trained for a mere few months, and deployed after fighting little more than bandits. They barely looked the part of soldiers.

"As for food, I can only do my best to provide what I can," Monvert said, his expression troubled.

Despite being a Count, Wolf Island’s poor geographical location made it difficult to generate extra revenue, so his finances had always been tight.

The army alone was a huge expense, so rations naturally took a hit. He could only ensure that the common soldiers had enough to eat, nothing more.

"My Lord," the Lord said with conviction, "one thing I’ve learned is that food is a part of combat strength. After all, if they don’t eat their fill, or if the meals lack substance, they’ll have no strength on the battlefield. The harder the men fight, the better they need to eat."

Guided by this philosophy, High Cliff Castle had always treated food as a strategic resource as important as weapons and Armor.

Their logistics cooks were even specially trained, spending their days studying recipes to make the food tastier.

’It’s just like my office job in my past life,’ Levi thought. ’If the company cafeteria’s pig slop was half as good as a home-cooked meal, I’d feel bad if I didn’t put in some overtime to earn it.’

Just then, at the referee’s signal, the two clearly demarcated sides let out furious roars and smashed into one another.

It was clear that the Knights from Wolf Island also cultivated Combat Qi. Their fighting spirit was high, and they were plenty tenacious.

The moment the two sides collided, the Beastman Barbarians swiftly knocked them to the ground, one after another, like bowling pins.

But despite this terrible opening, their morale remained high. Grimacing in pain, they howled as they scrambled back to their feet to fight back.

Unfortunately, the strength of the System’s High Tier Soldier Types was simply too exceptional. Their Power and durability far surpassed the ordinary, and in a bare-chested wrestling match—a contest of pure physical might—this advantage was magnified to an infinite degree.

Not to mention, Levi had also invested points into the group-wide, god-tier skill: Medical Treatment. This allowed the Barbarians’ stamina to recover at an unimaginable rate.

These Combat Qi Knights were undoubtedly from the Count of Monvert’s elite Guard Team, leagues stronger than his common rabble. But compared to the forces of High Cliff Castle, they seemed utterly ordinary.

The outcome was never in doubt. In the time it took for a hundred heartbeats, all of them had been thrown to the ground, unable to rise again.

But High Cliff Castle’s team was not without its own "casualties." A dozen or so Beastman Barbarians were rolling on the ground, groaning. Their expressions were pained, their voices so wretched that even the most heartless commander would find the sight unbearable, left to wonder what grievous injuries these behemoths could have possibly sustained.

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