Volk sat on a jagged stone, his back resting against the rough wall of the catacomb, cradling a small, crude bottle of healing potion in his hand.

The dim glow of the subterranean chamber illuminated his broad, muscular frame, highlighting the deep bruises and cuts that adorned his body.

With a slight move, he uncorked the bottle and poured the thick liquid into his mouth.

Its bitter taste made him wince, but he welcomed the sensation as the soothing warmth of the potion coursed through his veins, knitting his wounds together.

His eyes flicked upward toward the system screen, visible only to him. .net

Ding!

| Mission: Challenge and defeat all the remaining Orc Clans to work under the Dreadmaw Clan.

| Status: Completed.

| Rewards: Getting out of the Dungeon.

| Time: Please wait for three hours. |

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Volk’s lips. “One hour, huh?” he muttered to himself.

The thought of finally leaving the dungeon filled him with a strange mix of relief and anticipation.

He stretched his sore muscles, feeling the faint twinge of pain as his body recovered from the brutal battle with the chieftains.

Suddenly, a familiar presence loomed over him, and he glanced up to see Grounad approaching, his hulking form casting a long shadow across the chamber.

The old Orc, with his battle-scarred face and mischievous grin, chuckled as he stepped closer.

“I never expected ya to challenge all the chieftains so fast,” Grounad said with a hearty laugh, his tusks glinting in the dim light. “Thought you’d take yer time, maybe get a few more victories under yer belt.”

Volk leaned his head back against the stone wall, his expression calm. “Thanks to you,” he replied, his voice steady. He remembered the conversation they had earlier, when he was on a mission to retrieve the crystal and put his blood in it.

Back then, Volk had asked Grounad what he knew about each clan, learning the nuances and strengths of each group. But as they spoke, the conversation had turned to something more intriguing.

Grounad had revealed, with a grin, how one becomes a Warchief. “Challenge all the chieftains at once,” he’d said, laughing as if it were a joke, never expecting Volk to take it seriously.

“I didn’t forget,” Volk said now, his gaze locking with Grounad’s. “You told me how to be a Warchief. I knew it was only a matter of time.”

Grounad barked another laugh, his rough voice echoing through the chamber. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d do it this fast. Damn, Volk, you’re full of surprises!”

Volk shrugged, his tone nonchalant. “Circumstances forced my hand.”

As they sat there, surrounded by the eerie quiet of the catacombs, Grounad’s expression softened. He sat beside Volk, his massive frame settling onto the cold stone.

“You know, this reminds me of my wife,” he began, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone.

Volk raised an eyebrow but said nothing, allowing the older Orc to continue.

“Mishina…” Grounad began, his eyes distant, as if he were gazing through time itself. “She wasn’t like the other Orc women. Nah, she had somethin’ about her—an Elven elegance, if ya could believe it.

“I met her when I was younger, long before the other clans came together to this forest. We Orcs… we had a peace with the Elves back then. Our worlds crossed more often. She was part of an Elven delegation sent to the Bloodfangs for a peace treaty.”

Grounad paused, his fingers tracing the scars on his arm, each one a reminder of battles fought and survived.

“I saw her from across the courtyard. All pale skin and golden hair… somethin’ so foreign to us Orcs, but she had this fire in her eyes. Stubborn, proud, and damn, she could hold her own in a fight.

“We clashed once, durin’ a demonstration match. The others were just playin’ around, but Mishina… she gave me a real challenge. I’ve never respected someone so much.”

He smiled, his sharp tusks showing as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew right then I wanted her. And somehow, against all odds, she wanted me too.”

Volk listened in silence, his eyes watching Grounad’s face as the warrior’s tough exterior softened.

“We had a few years together. They were the best years of my life, Volk. She taught me things I never thought I’d care about—how to appreciate quiet moments, how to see the world beyond just battle and blood. I would’ve done anything for her, anything to keep her safe.”

Grounad’s voice trembled slightly. “But then… the migration. The separation of the Orcs from our Elven wives. They took her from me. Said it wasn’t natural, said it wasn’t right.”

Volk’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He could sense the pain behind Grounad’s gruff voice, the loss of something precious.

It was a feeling Volk, despite his own hardened exterior, could understand.

“If I knew it was gonna end like this,” Grounad continued, his voice breaking, “with the clans divided and us separated from our Elven wives, I would’ve treasured every moment with her more. I’d have never let a single day go to waste.”

For a long moment, there was silence between them, the weight of Grounad’s story hanging in the air like a dense fog.

Finally, Volk’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

“They’ll be back soon,” Volk said, his voice steady, full of quiet confidence.

Grounad’s eyes widened. “What?” he stammered, his voice shaking with disbelief. “What do ya mean, ‘they’ll be back’?”

Volk stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over Grounad. “Don’t ask me how. I’m not sure yet,” Volk said, his voice calm and measured. “But I have a way.”

Grounad stared at him, mouth agape, the weight of Volk’s words sinking in.

There was a glimmer of hope in his old, battle-worn eyes.

Volk rarely spoke without purpose, and even in the short time Grounad had been with him, he had learned to trust the young Warchief’s words.

Before Grounad could ask anything more, Volk suddenly stretched his massive arms above his head and took a deep breath, the tension in his muscles releasing.

Then, without warning, Volk’s voice boomed through the catacombs, shaking the very stone walls.

“HOOOOOOOOORRRDDDDEEEE!!”

The sound reverberated like thunder, jolting every Orc in the chamber from their rest.

Heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide and alert as they turned toward their new Warchief.

Volk grinned, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “I WANT YOU ALL TO HUNT THE CATACOMBS’ CREATURES AND FILL YOUR BELLIES!”

The Orcs blinked, caught off guard by the sudden command. But they knew better than to question their leader.

Murmurs spread quickly through the crowd as they began to move, preparing for the hunt.

Volk’s grin widened, with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

He could see the fire igniting in his warriors, their bloodlust reawakening as they prepared for battle once more.

“And make it quick!” Volk shouted, his voice full of laughter. “BECAUSE IN THREE HOURS, WE WILL GET OUT OF THIS WRETCHED PLACE!”

The Orcs were stunned, after a few seconds they all erupted in cheers, one could see their spirits lifting as the promise of freedom finally seemed within reach.

Grounad stood beside Volk, watching with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He had never seen such a commanding presence, such effortless leadership.

As the Orcs scattered into the catacombs, Volk turned to Grounad, his eyes gleaming with quiet determination.

“Get ready,” Volk said, his voice low. “Everything’s about to change. I don’t know what but it’s better to be prepared all the time.”

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