Amidst the thunderous roars of the crowd, the massive snowball overtook Naruto. Naruto glanced back, seeing the icy sphere looming right behind him. He didn't panic; instead, he flipped the switch on his rocket booster. The Red Squig surged with sudden acceleration, pulling neck-and-neck with the snowball.
"Naruto's ignited da rocket booster!" Yagg's voice was rasping, nearly spent from screaming. "He's about to pass Johnny's snowball!"
"WOT?!"
The giant snowball suddenly burst. To be precise, it didn't explode—it melted, flash-vaporized by intense heat. The thick layer of ice and snow turned into a cloud of steam in an instant. Through the mist, Johnny charged out on his Squig, trailing a massive tail of fire. It was a rocket booster he had been keeping in reserve, waiting for this exact moment.
"JOHNNY HELD BACK DA BOOSTER UNTIL DA VERY END!!!" Yagg's voice cracked. "LET'S CONGRATULATE JOHNNY!!!"
Below the podium, the Big Ones were swept up in the frenzy. They pumped their fists, cheering and howling alongside the Gretchins. They hugged random lackeys they didn't even know, and in their excitement, one threw his helmet so high into the air that it came down and crushed a lucky spectator.
"I finks dis race is too Waaagh!" one Big One hollered.
"I wanna join! My Squig's faster dan any of dem!" another screamed.
"When's da next one? Can we still bet? I'm goin' all-in on Naruto!"
The surrounding crowd joined the ruckus, the atmosphere as festive as a holy day. Meanwhile, Grot Johnny held his hands high, tears streaming down his face. "Coach, I did it! I really did it!"
As the first Grot champion since the Waaagh! GP became official, Grot Johnny was destined to go down in history.
Unlike Johnny, who was basking in the limelight, Naruto—who had missed the championship by a hair—leaned against a metal pillar at the edge of the arena. He spun an exquisite revolver on his finger, his eyes coldly watching the fanatic crowd.
Down below, two groups of spectators were brawling fiercely. One group was Johnny's supporters, while the other consisted of fans who had lost their bets when Naruto failed to win. The dull thuds of clubs and fists hitting flesh echoed continuously, yet not a single Greenskin thought of stopping. This was the Greenskin way: war, gambling, and brawling were their primary themes. The Waaagh! GP had simply dropped a match into the powder keg.
Before the clamor could subside, several hulking figures forced their way through the throng and into the racing grounds. The lead Big One was draped in snakeskin armor, with a terrifying scar running across his face. He led a Squig war-beast of exaggerated proportions, its scales shimmering with a cold metallic sheen. Its eyes were locked onto the panting racing Squigs on the track, a threatening low growl vibrating in its throat.
This was Fang, a Big One from the Snakebites Clan. Among all Greenskin clans, the Snakebites were the most adept at taming Squigs, maintaining a near-symbiotic link with these primitive companion creatures. Fang was a master even among his kind.
"OI! YOU, DA LAD CALLED NARUTO!" Fang's roar drowned out the surrounding noise. "I'm joinin'! My 'Fleat-Foot' is da fastest Squig in all of Karl-2!"
"Dis rubbish race... ya dare let me in?"
Naruto barely lifted an eyelid, but before he could speak, Yagg had already hopped down. With hands on his hips, Yagg shouted back, "Course ya can join! Just pay da entry fee, and if ya win, ya get da prize teef!"
"Da last champ took home ten thousand premium teef!"
"Ten thousand?" Fang's voice spiked, his fierce expression replaced by sheer disbelief. The Big Ones following him were equally stunned. After a month of hard scavenging with their subordinates, they might only scrape together a few thousand teeth. Here, the winner of a single race could net ten thousand.
Fang asked several times to confirm Yagg wasn't lying. Once satisfied, he slapped his thigh. "Zog it! I'm in dis race for sure!" He turned and stomped away, cursing as he went, eager to bring back all of his dozen most prized Squigs. He kept muttering "ten thousand teef" as if he could already see himself standing on the winner's podium.
After Fang left, the remaining Big Ones gathered in a corner to deliberate. Their leader wore gold-plated heavy armor and fiddled with a string of polished "Big Gold Teef." His massive frame filled the armor to bursting—he was Gold-Teeth, a Big One from the Bad Moons Clan. The Bad Moons were the wealthiest and most business-savvy of the Greenskins, possessing a near-obsessive sensitivity toward wealth. They were also the most flamboyant clan when it came to war.
Gold-Teeth squinted his small eyes, scanning the sea of Greenskins in the arena. He looked toward the dozen neighboring ranches where a steady stream of people was still flowing in, his fingers twitching as he did rapid mental calculations. Finally, he whispered to his companions.
"Dere's over a dozen ranches nearby. Each one's got at least ten thousand boys, and dey're all comin' 'ere."
"Entry fees, a cut of da bets, plus all da stuff dey buy nearby... in one race, dey make more teef dan all of us put together in a month."
The surrounding Big Ones caught on instantly, their eyes gleaming with greed. In all their years, they had never seen such an easy way to make money—no fighting, no risking their lives, just sitting back and collecting teeth.
That night, these Big Ones led their subordinates back to the gates of Hokage Ranch. This time, their arrogance was gone, replaced by fawning smiles. They placed over a hundred crates of teeth before Yagg and got straight to the point: they wanted to buy into the Waaagh! GP.
Looking at this group of Big Ones he usually wouldn't even dare to look at, Yagg's legs trembled slightly. He forced himself to stay calm and glanced toward Raynor.
Raynor thought to himself: Finally, they've taken the bait.
He stepped forward, shielding the flustered Yagg. He didn't even glance at the crates of teeth. To the current Hokage Clan, this amount was negligible.
"Ya can buy in. We ain't short on boys or teef right now."
"Course, you bosses don't need to pay. I just need ya to do one fing."
"Use yer clout to spread da word of da Waaagh! GP to every corner of Karl-2."
Raynor looked at the bewildered Big Ones and continued, "When da race gets bigger, da teef we make will be split based on how much work ya put in."
The Big Ones exchanged looks. They couldn't believe it was that simple. They had come prepared to be squeezed for every tooth they had. They had even planned to flip the tables and seize the ranch if the demands were too high. But the conditions Raynor offered were as easy as beating up a humie.
Seeing the suspicion in their eyes, Raynor added one more thing: "And later, when da Hokage boys go to da front to fight da humies, you bosses gotta look out for us."
Upon hearing this, the Big One who had previously come to the ranch to recruit nodded understandingly. He knew it—Greenskins always used fighting to climb the ladder. Organizing these races was ultimately a way to become a boss on the battlefield. This fit Greenskin logic perfectly; everything made sense now.
"No problem!" he was the first to beat his chest. "Spreadin' da word? Leave it to me! When da Hokage boys hit da front, my boys will definitely cover 'em!"
With the first leader on board, the other Big Ones chimed in. The deal was struck, and that very night, these Big Ones and their crews began spreading news of the Waaagh! GP far and wide.
The Greenskins of Karl-2 went completely mad.
The Evil Sunz Boyz were the first to lose it. Naturally obsessed with speed, they firmly believed that "da red wunz go fasta." Upon hearing of the Squig Racing Championship, half the clan volunteered to head to Hokage Ranch. They selected only the brightest red Squigs as mounts and welded rocket boosters directly onto the creatures' backsides. Even though half the Squigs exploded into fireballs during testing, the Boyz never tired of the pursuit.
The Bad Moons Boyz loved to gamble. They wagered teeth they had saved for half their lives on the races. If they won, they traded for bigger guns and harder armor; if they lost, they took those guns and went looting, betting the stolen teeth all over again. The Snakebites, meanwhile, monopolized the Squig breeding tracks; nearly every contestant's mount originated from their specialized taming pens.
Raynor and Yagg rode this wave, dumping every tooth they had earned during this period into the venture. They acquired over a dozen neighboring ranches in one fell swoop, converting them into sub-stations for the Waaagh! GP. Using these stations as hubs, they constructed a massive, continuous track spanning over five hundred kilometers.
Raynor named it the "Elf-Gork" (Eye of Gork) Interstellar Rally. He campaigned heavily, proclaiming that only the meanest, fastest, and most Waaagh! Greenskins could claim the title of Elf-Gork Champion. The rules were established: each sub-station held daily heats, with racers accumulating points for a global ranking. Only the top four point-earners from each station qualified for the monthly Elf-Gork Series.
Simultaneously, Raynor mimicked the commercial strategies of his previous life, aggressively embedding advertisements into the tracks and commentary.
"Want da speed of Sasuke from da Hokage Clan?" "Find Fang of da Snakebites! Da best Squigs are all wiv da Snakes!" "Want yer Squig tougher dan Gork's fist? Gold-Teeth's Bad Moon Mod-Shop—we weld da thickest plates and da fastest boosters!" "Lost a race and want revenge? Deathskull Armory—da biggest booms and da 'eaviest shells to blow yer rivals and dere Squigs sky-high!"
Clans across Karl-2, driven by a thirst for fame and teeth, founded their own racing clubs. They invested massive capital into training racers just to secure a rank in the first Eye of Gork Rally.
As the Waaagh! GP grew in popularity, nearly every Greenskin on Karl-2—save for those currently trading fire with the human fleets on the front lines—was soaked in the atmosphere of the racing stations. After watching a race, they would brawl with fans of opposing racers. The Waaagh! field swelled significantly due to this planet-wide carnival.
Consequently, frontline defenses suffered. Large numbers of Boyz stationed at the defensive perimeters slipped away to the rear to watch the races. The already porous defense lines lost a quarter of their manpower; many turrets stood empty without a single Boy to operate them.
This was exactly what Luna encountered upon her return to the Karl-2 front. She arrived with the repaired Measure of Discipline and a reorganized Mechanicus fleet. Reports indicated that Raynor's Peak Obsidian remained stationary in the asteroid belt. For half a month, it had barely moved, failing to launch even a single decent boarding raid.
Luna sat in the command throne on the bridge, a cold, mocking sneer curling her lips. She sent an encrypted transmission directly to Raynor.
"The Emperor's Chosen can only hide in an asteroid belt?" "Too afraid to even touch the Greenskin line. You might as well hand the position of Expedition Marshal over to me."
Without waiting for a reply, she smashed the comms unit and barked an order:
"All ships, full broadside! Shred the outer defenses! Landing craft, prepare to follow me into the middle layer. We strike the core!"
The Mechanicus investment this time was as substantial as the last. Macro-cannons and lance arrays fired in unison, instantly vaporizing the Greenskin turrets welded from scrap. Landing craft fell like rain onto the surface of Karl-2. Skitarii arc rifles and plasma weapons reduced scattered Greenskin resistance to charred husks.
Advancing into the middle layer, Luna's vanguard encountered almost no organized opposition. Inside a Centaur transport, she watched the screen as dense bio-signatures clustered at specific fixed points. Frowning, she asked the Wolong Sorcerer beside her, "Why are these Greenskins all huddled together?"
The Wolong Sorcerer activated a psychic scan, then replied with a strange expression, "My Lady Regent, they are... watching a Squig racing competition."
Luna found it ridiculous. "Brainless beasts. Macro-cannons, calibrate coordinates. Turn that gathering point to ash."
A volley of macro-cannon beams descended from the heavens, accurately striking a sub-station packed with over a hundred thousand Greenskins. Molten metal and explosive fire swallowed the entire arena. Luna watched the Greenskins being tossed by the blasts, her mood lifting. She ordered the troops to press forward toward the core.
However, her triumph was short-lived. The ground near the core began to vibrate violently, and piercing alarms shrieked inside the transport. A four-meter-tall mecha-Ork, treading over metal debris, charged from the core tunnel. Twin big-shootas and melta cannons were welded to its chassis. In the center, Chandler's mechanical eye glowed with a furious red light.
Half his body had fused with the mecha. The triple-barreled rotary cannon on his mechanical limb began to spin frantically.
"Stupid humies! Dare to bother me buildin' mechas! Die, all of ya!"
Chandler had already been irritable due to a bottleneck in his research on the Mecha Secret Vault. Having his isolation interrupted by Luna's raid sent his rage over the edge. He rampaged using his new mechanical body; the Skitarii arc rounds were deflected by his shield field before they could touch him. His melta cannon vaporized an entire Skitarii squad in a single shot.
Luna had not expected Chandler's mechanization to have reached such an extent. She channeled her psychic power to summon blue warp-flames, but they were held at bay by Chandler's anti-warp shield. Chandler crushed a transport vehicle beside her with a single claw; the melta beam missed her by mere centimeters.
"Retreat! All ships, provide covering fire!" Luna's face was pale. She used her psychic energy to deflect stray bullets while screaming orders.
In this battle, Luna's ground forces lost nearly two-thirds of their strength. They barely managed to retreat back into space under the fleet's covering fire. Luna herself narrowly escaped being captured alive by Chandler.
Back aboard the Measure of Discipline, Luna stared at the damage reports, clutching her scepter so hard it splintered into fragments.
Deep within the core of Karl-2, Chandler roared at the arriving Seth:
"Dis is how ya guard da lines while I'm in isolation?!"
Seth remained expressionless. "The command authority you gave me does not allow me to stop that mad woman."
"Besides, Boss, da boys all went to watch dat Waaagh! GP fing. Dere was no stoppin' 'em."