Jungle Corp – CEO on Death Island

Chapter 5: The God of the Kitchen from the City

For a moment, Arthur braced himself in case that primitive tongue rejected the taste. But suddenly, Grok's shoulders trembled. A teardrop fell from the corner of the Commander's eye, flowing down and splitting the skull paint on his cheek.

Grok dropped his rusty machete to the ground. The barbarian knelt, pressing his forehead to the dirt right in front of Arthur's dirty leather shoes.

"Forgive me, Envoy of the Gods!" cried Grok with a trembling voice, holding back his emotion. "It turns out that all my life... I've only been eating trash!"

Arthur let out a long sigh, reaching into his suit pocket to make sure his sanity was still intact. His lips finally curled into his signature arrogant smile.

The dinner party that was supposed to be a human slaughterhouse had now turned into the most barbaric mass mukbang event Arthur had ever seen.

The dusty village square was only filled with the sound of smacking lips and people crying in delicious bliss. No one cared about the giant cauldron in the middle of the square anymore. The human meat menu was officially canceled, replaced by ginger-marinated pork barbecue.

Arthur sat relaxed on a large rock lined with banana leaves. This was a makeshift VVIP seat for him. In his right hand was a coconut shell filled with fresh water. It wasn't expensive champagne, indeed, but at the very least this water was far more hygienic than the swamp water those warriors had been stirring up.

Grok, that cold-blooded giant killer, was now squatting next to Arthur exactly like a bodyguard doubling as a die-hard fanboy. His right hand held a pork rib, his mouth smeared with seasoning. Whenever a warrior dared to approach, Grok immediately growled fiercely while brandishing his rusty machete.

"Back off! Don't disturb the God of the Kitchen!" snapped Grok, his mouth still full of meat. "He needs room to breathe!"

Arthur only snorted softly. His cynical smile appeared. From a prospective boiled side dish to an untouchable guest of honor in less than an hour. This was the craziest business negotiation record of his entire life.

Even so, his capitalist brain immediately started running. He observed the way these people ate, their physical postures, all the way to the condition of the dilapidated huts around them.

"Cleanliness level is a big zero. Food stock management is a mess. Task delegation is completely chaotic," muttered Arthur, giving a rating in his head. "Their physiques are indeed strong, but the operational system of this village is totally ruined."

After that starvation feast was over and the wild boar was nothing but bones, Grok approached Arthur while bowing respectfully.

"Envoy of the Gods, we have prepared the best bed," Grok said. "Starting tonight, no one is allowed to enter your hut without permission."

Arthur nodded and followed Grok to the second-largest hut next to the Chief's hut.

As soon as the bamboo door was opened, Arthur's perfectionist instincts immediately protested loudly. The hut was dark, only lit by a small torch that smelled of sap. The musty smell of damp earth mixed with dirty animal skins immediately slapped his nose. In the corner of the room was a wooden cot lined with a pile of bear skins.

It was clearly a far cry from his expensive New York penthouse with its memory foam mattress.

"Have these bear skins... ever been washed?" asked Arthur, pointing at the cot with a disgusted face.

Grok gaped in confusion. "Washed? River water is for drinking, Envoy of the Gods. Why would animal skins be washed?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, starting to get a headache. "Forget it. Tomorrow morning, order two of your men to dry all these furry things directly under the sun. I don't want to get a skin infection."

"Understood!" answered Grok promptly, even though his brain absolutely did not understand what a skin infection was. The giant immediately excused himself and stood by on standby in front of the door like a guard dog.

Now, Arthur was alone.

He took off the tattered remains of his suit and sat on the edge of the cot. The sound of crickets outside sounded noisy. Suddenly, the faces of Victor and Chloe popped into his head. Arthur's jaw hardened. The anger he had been holding back this whole time finally spilled over.

"You thought I would die a ridiculous death in a cannibal's pot?" hissed Arthur coldly. "Victor... Chloe... you picked the wrong opponent. You just threw a megalodon shark into an anchovy pond."

Arthur's business instincts flared sharply. He couldn't just be a chef to survive. If hunting got scarce in the future and the food ran out, these people could relapse and go back to eating him.

He couldn't just be a freeloader to survive. He had to become the sole boss in this place.

"This isn't a remote village. This is the company's raw asset," he thought. "Their strength is great, but their brains are empty. They're incredibly easy to control using food."

Arthur picked up a wooden twig and scribbled on the dusty dirt in front of him. He started drawing an organizational structure chart.

The topmost box: Himself as the CEO. Branching bottom boxes: He needed an Acquisition Department (the hunting squad led by Grok) to ensure the logistics supply was secure. Then, he needed an HRD to distribute work schedules and force this tribe to learn how to wash their hands so they wouldn't easily die of diarrhea.

"I'm going to totally revamp this place," muttered Arthur with a crooked smile. "I'll create the most brutal corporate army on the Island of Death. Once this new kingdom of mine is stable, I'll find a way back to the city... and bankrupt the two of you until there's nothing left."

Arthur threw the twig aside. Recalling the betrayal he experienced, he swore to pay them back, leaving absolutely nothing behind.