Warden of the Beast World: Everyone is a Hakimi

The days of the Wild Hunt in the North can only be described in four words—utterly miserable.

The military order personally issued by Jing Yao was worded in a grand and solemn manner: General You Lie of the Canglang Clan has been absent from his post for several months. In order to rectify military discipline and serve as a warning to others, he must immediately return to the unit to undergo high-intensity recovery training and must hone his rusty military skills to their peak condition.

To put it bluntly, it's all about settling personal scores. He can't have Ye Tang's food, so this scheming wolf won't have any peace either.

Before dawn, Ghost Hunter was woken up to patrol the northern border. He had barely finished his patrol and hadn't even had a sip of water when he was called to rebuild the city wall that had been destroyed by the Fallen Beasts.

After finishing building the city wall, with mud and ash still on his hands, he was dragged to a tactical meeting. At the meeting, Youming gave him more than a dozen combat briefings to analyze one by one, and after the analysis, he had to submit a written report.

Back when he was still an S-rank, working at this intensity all day would have left him exhausted, but now that he's an SS-rank, this level of physical exertion is just a warm-up for him.

Youming leaned against the wall of the conference room, watching his younger brother complete all the tasks with ease, without changing his expression or skipping a beat. He even took the time to reinforce a section of the defensive fortifications. A subtle light flashed in his gray-blue eyes.

He and Jing Yao exchanged a glance, and a tacit understanding was reached from the highest levels of the Empire's tactical command—to increase the dosage.

Jingyao threw him a stack of new recruit training manuals and asked him to finish grading them that day. Youming added an annual deployment plan for the northern border defense line and asked him to submit the first draft the next day.

Ghost Hunter accepted all the tasks expressionlessly. As he turned around, his tail inadvertently swept across the office, knocking over an empty nutrient solution box.

Late at night, Youlie finally finished all his work and returned to his tent. He lowered the tent flap, took out a self-heating hot pot from the storage ring that Yetang had given him, skillfully tore open the packaging, poured in water, and put the lid on.

A moment later, the lid was lifted, and the spicy and savory aroma exploded like a chemical reaction, filling the small tent with an intoxicating blend of red oil and bone broth. The rich flavor of the beef tallow base was so strong that it overpowered the smell of the nutrient solution in the entire Northern Camp.

Then the tent flap was lifted. Youming crouched down and crawled in, his grey-blue eyes, identical to Youlie's, fixed on the self-heating hot pot in his hand, his nostrils flaring slightly. He had seen all sorts of things, but the taste of self-heating hot pot was a completely new territory for him.

"Little brother, what is this?" Youming asked knowingly. He sat down next to his brother, his eyes never leaving the box that was steaming.

"My wife prepared this for me." Youlie moved the hot pot closer to himself, protecting the food container with his arm.

"Hasn't your brother been good to you usually?" Youming's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone soft and gentle.

"Give me a bite, just one bite." Youming stretched out his hand.

Youlie watched him quietly, his grey-blue eyes saying, "Guess if I believe you." His brother had a glorious history of "just one bite"—every time he said he would only try one bite, he would end up taking the whole plate.

"I'm your brother, would I lie to you?" Youming's expression was so sincere it made people want to cry.

"Haven't you lied enough?" Youlie didn't budge. From lying to him about doing chores when he was little to lying to him about fixing the toilet when he was thirteen, he'd made him do all that dirty work for so many years without even blushing.

Youming was momentarily speechless, then quickly switched tactics. "Little brother, Father took all my dowry so you could marry into a good family. Logically and morally, shouldn't you offer your older brother a taste?"

When he said this, there was a hint of grievance in his voice, the misery of the eldest son of the Canglang clan having his family's wealth emptied.

Youlie's fingers tightened on the edge of the lunchbox. He was indeed in the wrong regarding the dowry; he had taken all of Youming's savings accumulated over decades. He was silent for a moment, then reluctantly pushed the self-heating hot pot forward a few steps: "Eat less."

Youming's chopsticks precisely picked up a slice of fatty beef, coated it with chili oil and sesame seeds, and put it in his mouth. Then he paused, his gray-blue eyes widening slightly, his pupils reflecting the still-bubbling red oil broth in the hot pot.

He chewed several times before swallowing, his lips turning slightly red from the spiciness, but his chopsticks had already involuntarily reached out again.

Just then, the tent flap was lifted again. Jing Yao stood at the tent entrance, the figure of the White Tiger Marshal casting a long shadow in the moonlight. His amber eyes coldly swept over the two people inside the tent, and the self-heating hot pot between them that was arrogantly emitting a fragrant aroma.

"A curfew is in effect at night. As commanders, you are leading the way in violating the rules and becoming increasingly unruly." Jing Yao's voice was deep and authoritative, carrying an inviolable military discipline authority.

"Marshal..." Youming put down his chopsticks.

"Confiscate it." Jing Yao bent down and carried the self-heating hot pot away. The movement was swift and seamless, and he disappeared into the night outside the tent with steady steps.

Youming looked at the tent flap that had been lifted and was still swaying, then turned to look at his younger brother. He had known Jingyao for decades, and in his mind, Marshal Baihu was the embodiment of military discipline, upright and incorruptible, and intolerant of even the slightest injustice.

But now this avatar has just confiscated a self-heating hot pot from his chopsticks, citing "violation of the late-night curfew," and the hot pot is being carried into the marshal's tent not far away.

Without batting an eye, Youlie pulled another self-heating hot pot from his storage ring, tore open the packaging, poured in water, and put the lid back on. He looked up at the shocked Youming and said calmly, "Brother, aren't you leaving yet?"

"You still have some, but you won't even give me a bite?!" Youming stared incredulously at the self-heating hot pot that Youlie had just pulled out. His usually shrewd, gray-blue eyes were wide open now.

"My wife prepared it for me." Youlie's answer was exactly the same as before, without even a change in tone.

"You can also find a wife and have her prepare it for you." Youlie slowly tore open the packaging paper, poured water into the heating pack, and white steam hissed out from the gap in the lid.

These words struck a nerve with Youming. He had lived for nearly forty years, and from childhood to adulthood, he had used his silver tongue and countless schemes to outwit everyone. But when it came to finding a wife, his honeycomb-like cunning was utterly useless.

Females are already scarce in the empire, and females with high-level mental strength are even rarer. So far, no female has been interested in his cunning and scheming personality.

"Didn't you hear what the Marshal said? There's a curfew now. No discipline!" Youming grabbed the gun directly, his speed as fast as a silver lightning bolt.

But the current Ghost Hunter is no longer the little wolf cub he tricked into being bait. His reaction speed as an SS-level fighter is more than an order of magnitude faster than his brother's.

He grabbed Youming's wrist, twisted it behind his back with a clean and swift motion, then lifted Youming up like a chick, lifted the tent flap, and threw him outside.

Youming staggered several steps in the open space before regaining his balance. "Youlie! I've spoiled you for nothing!" Youming rubbed his twisted wrist. The dignified commander-in-chief of the Northern Border Defense Line was thrown out of his tent by his own younger brother.

Having a wife is amazing!! But then I thought about it, not only did Youlie break through the shackles of his bloodline, but the marshal who had just returned from Prison Zero couldn't forget her, and even personally went to confiscate a box of self-heating hot pot.

For a righteous marshal to break military discipline and seize his subordinates' midnight snack, this is no ordinary self-heating hot pot; it is a strategic-level culinary resource.

Another idea popped into Youming's head, one that would both prank his brother and satisfy his own curiosity. He straightened the crooked collar of his military uniform, walked with unhurried steps toward Jingyao's tent, stopped outside the tent flap, and spoke with impeccable respect: "Marshal, are you asleep? I have something to report."