The atmosphere in the cavern grew itchy and heavy, as though the very air was waiting for something to snap.

All eyes were on Volk, standing defiant before the assembled Orc clans.

His bold declaration was in the waiting, reverberating through the silence after his mighty roar.

The chieftains of the Bloodfang Clan, Ironhide Clan, Thunderstrike Clan, Stonefist Clan, Shadowclaw Clan, Fireblood Clan, and Frostbite Clan stood in disbelief, with their muscles taut with squirming tension.

Each Orc seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Then, with a growl that could shake mountains, the Bloodfang chieftain stepped forward.

“GurraaaaaAaAaAAAHHH!!”

His scarred, hulking frame moved with purpose, his blood-red eyes locked onto Volk.

The battle-worn marks on his body told the story of a veteran—one who had seen countless wars and survived them all.

His lip curled in a snarl as his massive boots thudded against the stone floor, echoing through the cavern.

“You dare speak like this to me, whelp?” the Bloodfang chieftain growled, his voice low and menacing. His words dripped with contempt.

“You’re nothing but a pup, still wet behind the ears. You think you can challenge the Bloodfang Clan? I’ll deal with you myself, runt.”

Volk raised an eyebrow, his face impassive.

He didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the chieftain. “Only one?” he asked, his voice calm, though it carried a weight of arrogance. “Not all of you?”

That simple question sent a ripple of shock through the ranks of the other clans.

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The gathered Orcs exchanged incredulous looks before bursting into uproarious laughter.

The sound of their laughter made a deafening sound, filling the cavern with the harsh, guttural sounds of Orcs mocking Volk’s apparent foolishness.

“Hah! This runt wants to take on all of us!” roared an Orc from the Ironhide Clan, his broad chest shaking with mirth. “Does he even know who he’s talking to?”

“Arrogant fool!” barked a Stonefist warrior, pounding his hammer against the ground for emphasis. “He won’t even last a minute against Bloodfang’s chieftain!”

“He’s lost his mind!” chuckled a Thunderstrike Orc, his laughter edged with cruelty. “This pup doesn’t know the difference between a real warrior and a child’s plaything.”

Even the chieftain of the Bloodfang Clan couldn’t help but laugh, a dark, rumbling sound that sent vibrations through the stone.

His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as he watched Volk, clearly enjoying the idea of putting the younger Orc in his place.

“Bold words, Dreadmaw,” the Bloodfang chieftain growled, stepping closer.

His massive fists flexed, ready to crush his challenger. “But I’ll make sure you eat them. I’ll break you in front of all these clans. And when I’m done, no one will remember your name. You’ll be nothing more than dust beneath my boots.”

Volk simply smirked, his calm demeanor never faltering. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate, “that the chieftain of the Bloodfang Clan won’t even leave a mark.”

The Bloodfang chieftain’s eyes flared with anger, his body tensing like a coiled spring. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his weapon. “You arrogant little—”

Before he could finish, the chieftain lunged at Volk, his powerful legs propelling him forward like a bull charging into battle.

His massive war axe sliced through the air with a loud whump! the blade gleaming under the cavern’s light.

But Volk was faster. He sidestepped the attack with ease as if he was someone who had been in countless battles himself.

The Bloodfang chieftain’s axe bit into the stone floor with a clang! sending sparks flying, but Volk was already behind him, untouched and unimpressed.

“Tsk, tsk,” Volk said, shaking his head. “That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? I expected more from a so-called chieftain.”

The Bloodfang chieftain snarled in frustration, whirling around to strike again. He swung his axe with raw fury, each blow strong enough to shatter bone.

Whoosh!

Thud!

Each strike missed as Volk effortlessly dodged and sidestepped, his movements so precise they seemed almost mocking.

“Pathetic,” Volk muttered as he evaded another swing, the blade missing him by mere inches. “You call yourself a warrior? I’ve seen pups fight with more skill.”

The other Orcs watched in stunned silence, their expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief.

At first, they expected Volk to be crushed, the battle over in a heartbeat.

The Bloodfang chieftain was a veteran, after all. Volk, in their eyes, was just an overconfident pup who didn’t know his place.

“What… what’s happening?” an Ironhide Orc muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as he watched Volk effortlessly dodge another blow.

“No way,” growled a Fireblood warrior, his hand tightening on his weapon. “The chieftain’s toying with him. He’ll finish it soon.”

But as time passed and the Bloodfang chieftain’s attacks grew more frantic, more desperate, the mocking laughter that had filled the cavern began to fade.

It was replaced by a tense, uneasy silence. The realization slowly dawned on them all—Volk wasn’t struggling. He wasn’t even trying.

“He’s… just defending?” a Thunderstrike warrior whispered, eyes narrowing in confusion.

Volk sidestepped another wild swing, his expression one of sheer boredom. “Weak,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m disappointed. I thought you’d at least give me a challenge.”

The Bloodfang chieftain growled, his chest heaving as sweat began to drip down his brow.

He swung again, putting all his strength into the blow, but Volk ducked under the strike with almost casual ease.

“This is what passes for strength in the Bloodfang Clan?” Volk asked, his tone mocking. “I’ve seen grunts fight better.”

The other Orcs shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Volk and their chieftain.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Their chieftain was a seasoned warrior, a fighter who had led them through countless victories. And yet, here he was, being toyed with by a younger Orc, one who barely looked like he was breaking a sweat.

“H-how is this possible?” a Stonefist Orc muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. “The chieftain should’ve crushed him by now!”

“Is… is Volk really that strong?” a Shadowclaw warrior whispered, fear creeping into his voice.

The Bloodfang chieftain was breathing heavily now, his attacks growing more sluggish with each swing.

His once confident expression was now twisted in frustration and disbelief.

He couldn’t land a single hit.

It was as if Volk wasn’t even taking him seriously.

“Is that all?” Volk asked, his voice calm and unbothered as he dodged another blow. “I expected a lot more from someone with your reputation. But I am disappointed by your performance.”

The Bloodfang chieftain’s face twisted into a snarl.

Graaaahh!!

He swung again, this time aiming low to catch Volk off guard.

Wham! But Volk leaped back, his feet barely touching the ground as he evaded with a dancer’s grace.

“Too slow,” Volk said, shaking his head in disappointment. “Is this really the best the Bloodfang Clan has to offer?”

The other Orcs exchanged uneasy glances.

What was happening before them didn’t make sense.

The Bloodfang chieftain was one of the strongest fighters they knew, but here he was, being utterly humiliated by Volk.

“Impossible… this can’t be real,” an Ironhide Orc muttered, his hands trembling around his weapon.

“He… he’s playing with him,” a Frostbite warrior said in horror, his eyes wide as he watched Volk effortlessly dodge yet another swing. “This can’t be happening.”

Volk’s expression remained calm, even as the Bloodfang chieftain began to stumble. His attacks were wild now, more desperate than ever.

His once proud stance was slumping, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You’re done,” Volk said coldly, watching as the chieftain’s movements became more erratic.

With one final, desperate swing, the Bloodfang chieftain lunged forward, his axe raised high.

However, Volk sidestepped the attack once more, and with a swift movement, he kicked the chieftain’s legs out from under him.

The Bloodfang chieftain crashed to the ground with a thud! his axe clattering beside him.

For a moment, the cavern was silent.

The other Orcs stared in disbelief as the once-mighty chieftain knelt on the stone floor, gasping for breath, his body shaking with exhaustion.

Volk stood over him, his expression cold and unreadable. “I told you,” he said softly, his voice carrying through the cavern. “You wouldn’t even leave a mark.”

And with that, the Bloodfang chieftain, utterly defeated, fell to his knees, the weight of his failure heavy on his shoulders.

The silence that followed made their ears hear a long deafening ring!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep