Jungle Corp – CEO on Death Island

Chapter 2

 

The wind whistled sharply as the rusty machete slashed through the air. Zane didn't close his eyes. He stared straight at Grok without blinking.

Thwack!

The machete blade didn't pierce Zane's neck. The weapon slammed into the wooden post right behind his back, severing the thick root vines tying his hands.

Zane stumbled forward, falling to his knees on the dusty ground. He coughed softly, then slowly stood up. His hands rubbed his reddened, chafed wrists.

Grok pulled his machete back. The giant man glared at Zane with a demanding look. "Prove it."

Zane straightened his torn suit collar. "Prove what?"

"Show us the right way to cook," Grok growled. His breathing was heavy. "If the meat is still tough and bitter, I will snap your neck myself and boil you in bland water."

Zane snorted in amusement. The pain in his ribs seemed to disappear, replaced by pure adrenaline. He had just won a life-or-death negotiation. Now, he only needed to do a business presentation—via a barbecue grill.

"Deal," Zane said firmly. "But there are conditions."

"Captives don't get to make conditions!" shouted a warrior from the back row.

Zane immediately pointed his index finger at that warrior. "Shut up, Intern! Starting this second, I'm taking control of the kitchen. All of you are my staff, and I will take no arguments. Understood?!"

All the tribe members looked at each other, confused by Zane's vocabulary. But the city man's dominant aura made them reflexively nod.

"Good," Zane clapped his hands once. "First condition: I am not the main course today. Bring out your other raw materials. Don't tell me you hunted all day and only caught one human!"

Grok cleared his throat awkwardly. He gave a head signal to his subordinates. Two cannibal warriors ran behind a tent and returned dragging the carcass of a massive wild boar. The boar hadn't been cleaned yet; it was still covered in thick mud.

Zane massaged the bridge of his nose. "You call this meal prep? Even a street meat vendor in New York is more hygienic than this! Hey, you, the bald one, and you with the bone necklace!"

The two designated cannibals immediately stood at attention.

"Take that boar to the river! Skin it, gut it, and wash it until there's no dirty blood left. Cut it into large chunks. Do it now!" Zane snapped.

The two warriors gaped, then turned to Grok for approval. Grok merely gave a jerky nod. The two immediately dragged the boar away, running as fast as their legs could carry them.

Zane shifted his gaze to Grok. "Now, gather the rest of your men. I need spices."

"What spices?" Grok asked in confusion. "We only have leaves and roots."

"Exactly! Find wild ginger, leaves that smell like citrus, wild chilies, and any sour fruits you can find. Forage as much as you can. Don't come back here empty-handed if you still want to eat good food!"

In a matter of seconds, dozens of ferocious cannibals who were ready to boil Zane were now busy scattering into the bushes. They picked leaves like a bunch of subordinates afraid of being fired by their boss.

Thirty minutes later, the village square turned into a prep kitchen.

Zane stood in front of a flat rock that had been washed clean. Piled on top of it were wild citrus leaves, wild ginger, chilies, and chunks of coarse salt found from the tribe's storage jugs. The cleaned cuts of wild boar meat lay next to them.

"Pay close attention," Zane said. He intentionally spoke loudly so everyone could hear, breaking the silence as if he were giving a business presentation.

Zane borrowed a fairly sharp stone knife from a warrior. He started mincing the ginger and chilies, then squeezed the sour fruit directly over the boar meat.

"The acid from this fruit serves to break down the tough protein fibers," Zane explained while sprinkling the coarse salt. He began to massage the marinade firmly into the meat's surface. "Salt draws out moisture, while the chili and ginger kill bacteria and mask the gamey smell of blood. This is called flavor efficiency. Got it?"

Grok and his warriors sat in a circle within a two-meter radius. Their eyes bulged unblinking watching the process. No one answered; they only gulped collectively.

"Grok, set up a wooden rack over the bonfire," Zane ordered without looking back. "Don't put it too close to the fire. We're using the slow roasting technique. Let the ambient heat do the work slowly, not the lick of the flames."

"Why not just burn it directly in the fire?" Grok protested. "So it cooks faster!"

Zane glared at Grok sharply. "Do you want to eat charcoal or eat meat? Boar fat needs time to render and create a caramelization reaction on the surface of the skin. Just follow my orders!"

For the next forty-five minutes, Zane was busy supervising the grill. He ordered two cannibals to take turns rotating the wooden spit so the meat cooked evenly. Sweat drenched Zane's forehead. This was the most crucial project execution of his life. If this grill failed, his neck was on the line.

However, his tension vanished when the boar fat started dripping onto the embers.

Sizzle...

Thin smoke billowed up. Instantly, an explosion of the savory aroma of roasted meat, mixed with the spiciness of wild chilies and the freshness of ginger, hit everyone's sense of smell.

The village atmosphere immediately plunged into chaos. The warriors who were sitting calmly began to stand up restlessly. The sounds of growling stomachs echoed back and forth. The gamey smell of blood usually synonymous with the village vanished completely, replaced by a five-star barbecue aroma that hypnotized their primitive brains.

Zane pierced the outside of the meat with the stone knife. The texture was crispy and crunchy, while juicy fluids dripped from the inside. Perfect.

He sliced off one of the best pieces, then shoved it right in front of Grok's face.

"Eat," Zane ordered briefly. "And tell me if your bland boiled meat still deserves to be called food."

Grok's muscle-bound hands trembled as he took the slice of boar meat. The whole village held its breath.

Grok opened his large mouth and chewed.

Crunch.

Grok's eyes immediately bulged as big as tennis balls. The combination of savory fat, spicy chilies, and the sweet and sour marinade exploded on his tongue. The meat melted in his mouth; it wasn't tough at all.

Grok stopped chewing. The life-reaping giant slowly fell to his knees in front of Zane. A single tear fell from the corner of his eye, parting the skull paint on his cheek.

"Forgive me, Envoy of the Gods!" Grok exclaimed with a trembling voice. "It turns out my whole life... I've only been eating trash!"

Zane smiled cynically. "I told you, didn't I? Now, distribute this meat to everyone. The real feast has just begun."

That night, the cannibal village transformed into the most civilized massive dining arena that had ever happened on the island. No one cared about the boiling cauldron anymore. Zane sat leaning against a large rock, sipping water from a coconut shell while watching his new "employees" eat ravenously.

After the feast ended, Grok escorted Zane to the second-largest hut in the village.

"Envoy of the Gods, this is our best bed. No one dares to disturb you here," Grok said respectfully before backing away and standing guard outside.

Zane walked into the dimly lit hut. He laid his body down on a cot lined with bear skin. His brain immediately spun into overdrive. He was safe for tonight, but he couldn't just be a chef forever to survive.

He had to take over this tribe entirely.

"I'm going to restructure this place. Grok can be the Head of the Meat Acquisition Department," Zane muttered to himself. A cunning smile spread across his face. "Ezra, Sloane... you picked the wrong opponent. I will build my corporate empire on this island, and I will return to destroy you."

Zane had just closed his eyes to plan the village's organizational structure for tomorrow morning.

However, suddenly...

CRASH!

The bamboo door of his hut was kicked to pieces from the outside. Bamboo splinters flew everywhere. Thick dust billowed up, obscuring his vision.

Zane shot up, on high alert.

From behind the cloud of dust stood an incredibly tall and athletic woman. Her skin was an exotic brown, her face was wild yet beautiful, and she only wore a leopard skin loincloth. Her left hand held a bloody spear, while her right hand casually dragged a panther carcass.

The woman threw the panther carcass right at Zane's feet. Her eyes looked Zane up and down like a predator that had just found the rarest prey.

"You," the woman said, her voice deep and dominant. "The foreign man who is good at cooking."

Zane took a step back, his danger instincts ringing loudly. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The woman grinned widely, stepped into the hut, and locked her gaze straight into Zane's eyes.

"My name is Xara. The Tribe Princess," the woman whispered, flashing a sweet smile that, in Zane's eyes, was utterly terrifying. "And starting tonight... you are my husband."

"Dear God...!"