The chieftain of the Bloodfang Clan, despite his exhaustion, was not done yet.

His pride, his rage, everything inside him refused to allow him to bow down to Volk, especially after being humiliated in front of the other Orc clans.

With a snarl, he lunged forward from his kneeling position, his muscles straining as he hurled his axe at Volk.

The weapon spun through the air with a deadly hiss, aimed straight for Volk’s chest.

Whoosh!

But Volk was faster.

He sidestepped the axe with ease, his body moving as though he had expected the attack all along.

The axe sailed past him, clattering loudly against the stone wall behind him with a sharp clang.

The chieftain, furious and now weaponless, charged at Volk again, this time with more desperation in his eyes. His massive hands were outstretched, fingers curled into claws. Continue your adventure at m|v-l’e -NovelBin.net

He aimed for Volk’s face, attempting to gouge his eyes out, his teeth bared in an attempt to bite at his neck.

Volk’s face remained calm, even as the chieftain lunged at him with every bit of strength he had left.

The other Orcs watched in stunned silence, some leaning forward, expecting this underhanded attack to catch Volk off guard.

Thud!

Before the chieftain could land a blow, Volk brought his leg up and slammed his boot into the chieftain’s thigh with brutal force, sending him crashing back to his knees.

Kabang!

The Bloodfang chieftain let out a pained growl as his legs buckled beneath him.

“Uurrrkkk!!”

With a scream, his massive body trembled with exhaustion, and his breath immediately came in heavy, ragged gasps.

“I thought you were a proud veteran warrior,” Volk said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the tension in the cavern like a blade.

He stared down at the chieftain, his expression cold, yet tinged with disappointment.

“How come you would resort to attacks like that? Eye-gouging? Biting? Is this the honor of the Bloodfang Clan?”

The chieftain glared up at him, hatred burning in his eyes, but he couldn’t move. His body was too worn out, his muscles screaming in protest.

“Get up,” Volk commanded, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest. His tone was calm but held an unyielding authority that echoed through the cavern. “Get up and fight me like a warrior.”

The Bloodfang chieftain tried to push himself up, his arms shaking from the effort, but his body refused to obey him.

His pride, however, wouldn’t let him stay down.

“Uggrrrghghhh!”

He grunted, his hands trembling as he tried to rise. But no matter how hard he struggled, his strength had abandoned him.

The Orcs around them murmured in disbelief, exchanging shocked glances.

“Is this really happening?” muttered one of the Thunderstrike warriors, his voice tinged with surprise. “The chieftain… can’t even stand up.”

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” an Ironhide Orc whispered, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Volk… he’s making him look weak.”

Even the older generation of the Dreadmaw Clan, who had initially looked on with anger and doubt, were now silent, their eyes locked on Volk.

At first, they had been enraged by Volk’s audacity, by his claim to be their chieftain without earning their respect. But now, as they watched him effortlessly dominate the Bloodfang chieftain, their perspective had begun to shift.

“He’s strong…” one of the older Dreadmaw warriors muttered under his breath. “Stronger than any of us thought.”

“But how?” asked another Dreadmaw elder, his face lined with age and wisdom. “Where did this power come from?”

The younger generation of the Dreadmaw Clan stood back, their faces more composed, knowing full well why Volk was so powerful.

They remained silent, keeping their knowledge to themselves as they watched their new chieftain in action.

Meanwhile, Volk’s eyes never left the Bloodfang chieftain, who was still struggling to rise.

Seeing his opponent’s futile efforts, Volk’s expression softened for a brief moment, but then his face hardened again.

“Get up!”

Volk barked, his voice echoing through the cavern like a thunderclap.

He stepped forward and kicked the Bloodfang chieftain’s axe across the stone floor, the weapon scraping loudly as it slid to a stop right in front of the chieftain.

The chieftain, flabbergasted, looked down at the weapon, blinking in surprise.

“Take it,” Volk ordered, his voice colder now. “Get up and take your weapon. Fight me properly.”

The Bloodfang chieftain hesitated, his eyes darting from the axe to Volk. His pride warred with his exhaustion, but his body refused to cooperate.

He reached for the axe, his hand shaking as he gripped the handle, but he couldn’t lift it. His strength had been sapped completely.

“Get up!” Volk shouted again, his patience thinning.

The command sent a shiver through the assembled Orcs.

They could see the fury building in Volk’s eyes, the unrelenting demand for battle in his posture.

But the chieftain couldn’t move.

He was beaten.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the tension.

“My former chieftain,” Grounad stepped forward, his voice dripping with contempt. He moved with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing just behind Volk. His eyes gleamed with something close to satisfaction as he gazed down at the kneeling chieftain.

“How does it feel, kneeling in front of Volk? I thought you said I made a mistake leaving the Bloodfang Clan, transferring to the Dreadmaw Clan.”

Grounad’s words struck like a hammer, and the chieftain flinched as though he had been physically struck.

“And now look at you.” Grounad’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Kneeling before the very Orc you dismissed. The very one you underestimated.”

The chieftain of the Bloodfang Clan growled in frustration, his hands gripping the axe so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he didn’t have the strength to stand.

He couldn’t rise.

Volk, growing impatient, took another step forward, his eyes blazing to each Orc Clans.

“What about the rest of you?” His voice was like a storm, sweeping over the assembled Orcs with undeniable authority.

He pointed to the other chieftains—those from the Ironhide Clan, Thunderstrike Clan, Stonefist Clan, Shadowclaw Clan, Fireblood Clan, and Frostbite Clan. “Send me all your chieftains at once! Let’s make this fair.”

The gathered Orcs looked at one another, disbelief etched across their faces.

At first, they had mocked Volk, angered by his arrogance, by his audacity to claim the title of chieftain without their approval. But now, after seeing what he had done to the Bloodfang chieftain, they hesitated.

There was a new respect in their eyes, one mingled with fear.

“Is he serious?” muttered a Thunderstrike warrior, his voice barely a whisper. “All of our chieftains… at once?”

“He’s mad,” an Ironhide warrior said, shaking his head. “But… did you see what he did? He took down the Bloodfang chieftain without even breaking a sweat.”

One of the Shadowclaw Orcs, his eyes narrowed in thought, grunted in agreement. “Maybe he can do it. Maybe he’s that strong.”

The chieftains themselves exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of anger and uncertainty.

None of them wanted to admit it, but Volk had proven himself to be far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

Finally, after a long, tense silence, the chieftain of the Ironhide Clan stepped forward, his face grim.

“If you want all of us, Dreadmaw Clan, then you’ll have us.” His voice was steady, though there was an underlying tension in his words. He nodded to the other chieftains, signaling them to step forward as well.

One by one, the other chieftains stepped forward, their eyes locked on Volk.

They were no longer mocking him.

Now, they were preparing for war.

Volk’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. This was exactly what he wanted.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Let’s see if all of you together can fare better than your friend here.”

And with that, the stage was set.

The chieftains of the most powerful Orc clans stepped forward, ready to face Volk as one.

The tension in the cavern reached its peak, and all the Orcs knew—this was going to be a battle they would never forget.

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