As the chieftains of the Orc clans stood in a semicircle around Volk, Volk could sense and see with eyes that their chests were heaving deep.

Their sweat glistened on their thick, battle-scarred green skinned bodies, making a strange tension.

Each of them looked at the others, as if silently agreeing that brute strength alone wasn’t going to be enough.

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“Can we use… shamanism?”

The Bloodfang chieftain, still recovering from his earlier defeat, broke the silence, his voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion.

Volk’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Shamanism?”

He blinked, confused for a moment.

Magic? He had almost forgotten that the Orc clans practiced what they called shamanism—their way of conjuring powerful magic through rituals and ancient runes.

Volk’s lips curled into a smirk. “Use whatever you like. Do everything you can against me.”

The chieftains, though breathing heavily, grinned wickedly, Volk noticed their eyes gleamed as if it was renewed the hope that shamanism would turn the tide.

Suddenly, Volk felt the ground trembled as they spread their legs, bracing themselves.

Magic circles began to glow in their hands—each one different, reflecting the ancient power of their respective clans.

The Bloodfang chieftain was the first to act. His magic circle pulsed with a violent red hue, and his body seemed to radiate heat.

“Feel the blood of the hunt, Volk!” he roared, his voice a guttural growl. His skin darkened to a deep crimson, and his muscles swelled, veins popping out as he charged forward with unnatural speed, his fist glowing with the fire of his rage.

Whoosh!

Volk sidestepped the attack, narrowly avoiding the Bloodfang’s fiery punch. He could feel the intense heat pass by his face, the air crackling from the power.

BAM!

Before Volk could fully recover from the dodge, another chieftain—this time from the Frostbite Clan—launched an icy projectile at him. “Cold as death itself, Volk! Feel the chill!” the Frostbite chieftain shouted, his eyes glowing a fierce blue as his magic circle shimmered like frost on the wind.

The icy shard slammed into Volk’s chest with a loud crack. He stumbled back, feeling the freezing cold bite into his skin, but when he looked down, he saw only a faint scratch on his chest.

The Frostbite chieftain’s eyes widened in shock. “Impossible,” he whispered, frozen in place. “That should’ve pierced through him like an ice spike…”

Volk, surprised himself, muttered under his breath. “Is my body really this strong?”

The chieftains weren’t done yet.

The Thunderstrike chieftain was next. His magic circle sparked with electric fury, and arcs of lightning danced across his body.

“Swift as the storm!” he yelled, thrusting his palm forward.

CRACK!

A bolt of lightning shot from his hand, zigzagging toward Volk with blinding speed.

Instinctively, Volk twisted out of the way, his movements fluid. But even his speed wasn’t enough to fully evade the attack.

The lightning bolt grazed his side, sending a shock of pain through his body. His muscles tensed involuntarily as the electricity coursed through him.

Volk gritted his teeth. The pain was sharp, but fleeting. He flexed his arm, shaking off the residual tingling. “That’s it?” he taunted, though in truth, the attack had stung more than he wanted to admit.

“Enough games!” bellowed the Ironhide chieftain, his voice deep and booming. His magic circle was dark, pulsating with the power of the earth itself.

His skin hardened into a metallic sheen, reflecting the dim light of the cavern. He slammed his fists together with a deafening CLANG, and the ground beneath Volk’s feet trembled. “Iron will crush you!”

BOOM!

A massive shockwave erupted from the Ironhide chieftain’s fists, sending chunks of rock flying in all directions.

Volk braced himself, crossing his arms in front of his face.

KABAAM!

The force of the shockwave slammed into him, knocking him backward. His feet skidded across the stone floor, but he stayed upright, his arms trembling slightly from the impact.

“Grrr… That was a good one,” Volk muttered, his muscles burning from the strain. He could feel bruises forming under his skin.

Still, he remained standing, his gaze unwavering.

“Feel the earth break!” shouted the Stonefist chieftain, stepping forward. His magic circle, a deep brown, glowed fiercely as his fists enlarged to twice their normal size.

He slammed them into the ground, creating fissures that snaked toward Volk.

CRACK!

The stone beneath Volk’s feet exploded upward, jagged shards of rock launching toward him.

Volk leaped into the air, narrowly avoiding the devastating blow. But just as he landed, another chieftain attacked.

WHOOSH!

From the shadows, the Shadowclaw chieftain emerged, his magic circle shimmering with a dark, ghostly light.

“You cannot dodge what you cannot see, Dreadmaw chief!” he hissed.

His hands moved in swift, fluid motions, and a wave of shadowy tendrils shot out from his fingers, wrapping around Volk’s legs and arms.

Volk grunted, struggling to free himself as the shadows tightened around him like chains. But with a surge of power, he ripped through them, shattering the shadowy bonds with sheer force.

The Shadowclaw chieftain’s eyes widened in disbelief, his body momentarily frozen in place.

“Not bad,” Volk said, flexing his fingers, “but not good enough.”

“Burn him to ash!” roared the Fireblood chieftain, his magic circle flaring to life with a fiery red glow.

Flames erupted from his hands, swirling into a massive fireball that roared toward Volk.

BOOM!

The fireball exploded on impact, engulfing Volk in a raging inferno.

For a moment, all that could be seen was the wall of fire, crackling and spitting embers into the air.

The Orcs watching from the sidelines gasped, their eyes wide with shock. “Did… did they get him?” one of them muttered, squinting through the smoke.

But as the flames died down, Volk stood there—his skin blackened in places, but still standing. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

His body was covered in bruises, and the heat from the fire still lingered on his skin, but he remained on his feet.

Volk glanced down at his hands, feeling the faint sting of the burns. “So, this is what shamanism can do,” he murmured, a hint of surprise in his voice.

He looked up at the chieftains, and they could see his expression finally hardened. “You’ve got power, I’ll give you that. But not enough.”

The chieftains exchanged nervous glances.

They had thrown everything they had at him—fire, ice, lightning, earth, shadows—and yet Volk still stood. His body, though battered and bruised, had withstood their combined onslaught.

“You… you can’t be serious,” the Bloodfang chieftain muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. His once confident demeanor was now tinged with fear.

The Thunderstrike chieftain clenched his fists, his eyes wide with disbelief. “How… how is this possible?”

Volk took a step forward, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet. His muscles ached, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises, but his spirit remained unbroken.

He cracked his neck, the sound echoing through the cavern. “You wanted to use shamanism? Fine. But it wasn’t enough.”

The Orcs around the cavern began to murmur amongst themselves.

What they had just witnessed was something they had never seen before—a lone warrior standing against the combined might of the strongest chieftains and surviving.

Volk grinned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He spat onto the ground, his eyes still gleaming with that same cold, confident light. “Is that all?” he asked, his voice steady, though his body was clearly showing signs of strain.

The chieftains, exhausted and bruised, took a step back.

Their magic had failed.

Their combined power had not brought him down.

Volk, though breathing heavily, was still standing tall. “Now… It’s my turn”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep