Volk’s axe sailed through the air with deadly precision, spinning toward the Dark Elven Witch as if it were a force of nature. But just as the blade was about to meet its target, something unnatural happened.

Washileak!

A thick, gnarled branch—black as midnight—shot out from the ground and wrapped itself around the handle, halting the axe mid-flight.

Grooaakk!

The wood groaned, cracking under the sudden weight of Volk’s swing, but held firm.

Volk’s eyes widened in surprise, but the moment of hesitation didn’t last long.

With a growl that echoed through the catacombs, “AARRRGGGHH!!” he shot forward, his massive frame blurring with the speed of his movement.

His hands gripped the handle of his axe again, and with a single powerful yank, he ripped it free from the grasp of the black branch, snapping it in half as if it were nothing but a twig.

Without missing a beat, Volk brought the axe down toward the Dark Elven Witch, aiming for her head.

BANG!

The force of the blow was enough to crack stone, but just as the blade was about to connect with her, it stopped.

An invisible forcefield, shimmering faintly in the air, held the axe mere inches from her face.

CLAAAASSSSSKK!!

“Huh?” Volk grunted, his brow furrowing in confusion.

The Dark Elven Witch smiled, a smug, condescending grin that made Volk’s blood boil. But Volk wasn’t done yet. His new skin, his newfound strength—it all surged through him in that moment, pushing him beyond his limits.

With a roar of fury, “RAAAAAAGGHHH!!” he slammed the axe down again, this time with all the power his body could muster.

Crack!

The forcefield shattered like glass, and though the axe never touched the witch, the sheer power behind it alone sent her flying backward.

She crashed into the stone wall of the catacomb with a deafening BANG, a cloud of dust and debris rising around her.

Her wolf, left alone as its rider was thrown, snarled viciously, its glowing eyes fixed on Volk.

Volk landed on the ground with a thud, his boots sending up small clouds of dirt.

He stood tall, his chest heaving, and righteously raised his axe high above his head.

The battle cry that followed shook the very walls of the cavern.

“LOK’TAR OGAAAAAAARR!!!”

The Dreadmaw Clan Orcs, who had been momentarily stunned by the sight of their leader hurling a Dark Elven Witch across the catacomb, snapped out of their stupor.

One by one, they raised their weapons high, with their voices joining Volk’s in a thunderous chorus.

“LOK’TAR OGAAAAAAARR!!!”

The black wolf, seeing its chance, lunged at Volk, its teeth bared and claws outstretched. But Volk had already seen it coming.

With a deft sidestep, he evaded the beast’s charge and, using the wolf’s own momentum against it, grabbed the creature by the scruff of its neck and hurled it to the side.

Kabam!

The wolf slammed into a nearby rock formation with a yelp, shaking the stones loose.

Before Volk could catch his breath, the tattooed Orcs and Elves that flanked the Dark Elven Witch sprang into action.

The Orcs charged, their fists and weapons raised, while the Elves hung back, weaving intricate spells in the air, their hands glowing with arcane energy.

The first tattooed Orc came at Volk with a massive war hammer, swinging it down toward his head.

Volk parried the blow with his axe, the clash of metal against metal ringing through the chamber.

KACHANG!!

The force of the impact would have crushed any normal Orc’s arm, but Volk felt nothing more than a slight twinge in his muscles.

His new skin—the strange, almost otherworldly hue—had made him stronger, tougher. He grinned as he pushed back against the Orc, sending him stumbling backward.

Another Orc, this one smaller but quicker, darted in from the side, a wickedly sharp dagger aimed at Volk’s ribs.

Volk barely had time to react, twisting his body at the last second to avoid the strike.

The blade glanced off his skin, leaving only a shallow scratch where it should have pierced deep.

Volk swung his axe in retaliation, catching the Orc in the chest and sending him crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

GUSSSHH!!

Meanwhile, the Elves were launching their magical assaults.

Bolts of fiery energy and tendrils of shadow shot toward the Dreadmaw Clan Orcs, each spell designed to break their defenses. But to the shock of the Elves, the Orcs didn’t fall.

Their new skin, resistant to magic in ways they had never experienced before, shrugged off the worst of the attacks.

What would have once seared flesh now left nothing more than a stinging sensation.

Grashk was the first to laugh, his voice booming as he deflected a bolt of lightning with his shield.

“Their magic’s useless! Come on, lads! Show these weaklings what true Orc strength looks like!”

The Dreadmaw Clan Orcs roared in response, charging forward with renewed vigor.

The battle became a brutal melee, axes clashing with swords, fists meeting flesh, and the sounds of combat filling the air.

Volk fought at the front, his axe cleaving through the tattooed Orcs with savage precision.

Every swing was filled with the weight of his new power, each blow knocking his enemies back like ragdolls.

One of the tattooed Elves, desperate to turn the tide, conjured a massive fireball and hurled it toward Volk.

The searing heat of the spell lit up the cavern, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing could stop it. But Volk didn’t flinch.

As the fireball neared, he swung his axe in a wide arc, cutting through the magical flames as if they were nothing but smoke.

The spell dissipated, leaving the Elf wide-eyed and defenseless.

Volk didn’t give her a second chance—his axe cut through the Elf’s chest, sending her sprawling to the ground.

All around Volk, the Dreadmaw Clan Orcs were overpowering their foes.

Grashk had taken on two tattooed Orcs at once, his massive fists smashing into their faces with bone-crunching force.

Grounad, who had been hesitant at first, now fought with a savage intensity, his blade cutting down a group of Elves who had tried to surround him.

The battle raged on, but it was clear that the Dreadmaw Clan had the upper hand.

Their new strength, their resistance to magic—it had turned the tide in their favor. And as they fought, they reveled in the newfound power coursing through their veins.

“Did you see that?” one Orc shouted as he smashed an Elf to the ground. “I took three of them at once!”

“Ha! I felt nothing from their magic!” another bellowed, swinging his club at a tattooed Orc’s head. “It’s like we’ve been reborn!”

The Orcs laughed and shouted, their voices filled with pride and excitement as they cut down their enemies.

The slaughter was intense, but it was also joyous.

The Dreadmaw Clan had never felt stronger, more invincible.

They were unstoppable.

But just as the last of the tattooed Orcs and Elves fell to the ground, with their blood staining the stone floor, the vibrant atmosphere was shattered.

A cold, eerie silence fell over the cavern, and Volk turned his head, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.

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The Dark Elven Witch stood up slowly, her body bruised but very much alive.

Her wolf, limping but still fierce, growled beside her.

Her eyes, wide with shock, were fixed on Volk and his Orcs.

“What… What kind of Orcs are you all?” she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep