Meanwhile, in the Orc side, Volk paced back and forth, his massive frame radiating an aura of frustration.

The mission.

It was ticking away like a war drum in his head.

Twenty minutes had already slipped through his fingers, and nothing had been achieved.

Every second that passed without progress gnawed at him.

Volk knew that if the system gave him a time limit, something catastrophic would follow.

There was no room for failure.

He had forty minutes left.

Suddenly, his crimson eyes scanned the battlefield, narrowing as they settled on a distant building.

Behind the crumbling walls, he could see the flicker of hope in the humans’ eyes—especially the younger ones, teenage kids who still clung to the belief that the fast Pillars would save them.

That hope… it gave him an idea.

Without wasting another second, Volk raised his voice, deep and guttural, to address his warband.

“I’ve got a plan,” he declared, his tone sharp with urgency. The other orcs, who had been bellowing war cries and pounding their shields, quieted to listen.

“We take some of those humans as hostages. Make them hesitate. Use them as shields. It’ll force their hand, make the soldiers think twice before they attack us with everything they’ve got!”

For a moment, there was silence among the orcs, their glowing eyes flickering as they processed Volk’s words.

Then, one by one, the grumbling began.

An older orc, his tusks chipped and scarred from countless battles, stepped forward.

“What?”

His voice was a rumbling growl, filled with disdain.

“Hostages? Using weaklings to win a battle? What kind of tactic is that, Warchief?”

He spat the title with contempt, making the other orcs nod in agreement.

Another orc, this one younger but equally as fierce, pounded his fist against his chest.

“We are orcs! Battle is in our blood! We fight with honor and strength, not with tricks and cowardice! You would have us take prisoners? Hide behind the feeble?”

Volk’s jaw tightened as the defiance rippled through the ranks.

Several orcs started to murmur in agreement, the ground trembling beneath their massive feet.

It was clear—they enjoyed the thrill of this fight too much to resort to what they saw as dishonorable tactics.

They wanted to crush their enemies in a pure battle of might, not trick them into submission.

Another voice boomed from the crowd.

“And what of your blood, Volk?”

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The speaker stepped forward, his muscles bulging as he crossed his arms.

“If you’re so keen on avoiding a proper fight, maybe your blood isn’t as pure as you claim. Maybe you’ve forgotten what it means to be an orc!”

The words hit Volk like a punch to the gut, but his expression remained stone cold.

He scanned the crowd, sensing the brewing rebellion.

Some of the orcs looked hesitant, while others seemed outright insulted by his plan.

They didn’t understand the stakes.

They couldn’t.

He couldn’t exactly tell them about the system that bound his very survival. But now, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

His warriors had their own minds, and though he could crush their skulls in a show of dominance, it wasn’t the right time for that.

He needed them united, not broken.

One of the orcs, a hulking brute with a gnarled axe, snorted.

“Besides, those fast warriors—those so-called Pillars—they’re already running low on mana.

“You can see it in their movements. They’re slowing down. If we wait, we can overpower them in a proper fight. Isn’t that better than cowering behind weaklings?”

Volk gritted his teeth, feeling the anger rising in his chest.

He wanted to shout at them, to beat sense into their thick skulls. But he knew it wouldn’t work.

No time.

He had to think smarter.

These orcs were bound by their honor and battle instincts.

If he couldn’t appeal to their fear of shrinking or their loyalty, perhaps he could manipulate their desires. There was no other choice.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind, and Volk’s eyes glimmered with cold determination.

His voice lowered to a menacing growl as he stepped forward, commanding the attention of the entire horde.

“Listen closely,” he began, his voice like the rumble of a coming storm.

“The dungeon is watching us. It’s not just about winning this battle—it’s about surviving in the long run. If we don’t kill these fast warriors in the next ten minutes, we’ll start to shrink. All of us.”

The crowd of orcs grew still.

Their eyes widened, muscles tensing as they absorbed his words.

The thought of shrinking, of becoming weak and powerless, sent ripples of shock through the group.

Their primal fear had been touched, and Volk could see it in their faces.

“You all felt it before, didn’t you?” Volk continued, his voice growing louder.

“The weakening, the shrinking! The feeling of losing your strength! It’ll happen again if we don’t act now. And this time, we won’t have the Elven Witches or our wives to reverse it. This is our only chance to stay in our strongest forms!”

One orc, his hands trembling slightly, stepped forward. “Are you sure, Warchief?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

Volk turned to face him, locking eyes with the warrior. His expression was deadly serious. “I’m sure. We’ve already lost time. If we don’t act now, we won’t have another chance. This is the dungeon’s will.”

The orcs exchanged nervous glances, their confidence shaken.

The thrill of battle still burned in their eyes, but now, there was something else—fear.

The fear of losing their power, of shrinking back into weak, feeble forms. It gnawed at their pride, making them question their instincts.

Another orc spoke up, his voice wavering. “But the fast warriors… if they’re low on mana, shouldn’t we just wait? Let them tire themselves out?”

Volk clenched his fists, his patience wearing thin.

“If we wait, we risk losing everything. Do you want to go back to being weak? To depend on others for your strength? Or do you want to stay strong, to stay in control?”

The orcs hesitated, but the fear of shrinking was now overpowering their desire for a straightforward battle.

Slowly, they began to nod, their resistance crumbling under Volk’s logic.

The idea of holding onto their strength was too appealing to ignore.

One by one, the orcs grunted in agreement, their massive heads bobbing. “Fine,” one of them growled. “We’ll follow your plan. But only because we trust you, Warchief.”

Volk’s lips curled into a faint smile. He had won. “Good. Then prepare yourselves. We’ll move in now and take them down. No more waiting.

No more chances.”

The orcs, though still grumbling under their breath, began to ready themselves for the assault.

Shields were raised, weapons gripped tightly, and a newfound sense of urgency filled the air.

The horde was still battle-hungry, but now, they were focused.

Volk, standing tall at the front of his warriors, turned his gaze toward the city where the Pillars were regrouping.

He could still see the glimmers of hope in the humans’ eyes from afar, but soon, that hope would be crushed.

They wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Follow me,” he barked. His voice cut through the noise like a blade, sharp and commanding.

The orcs fell into formation behind him, their footsteps shaking the ground as they prepared to strike.

As Volk led his horde through the ruined streets, he clenched his fists tighter, feeling the weight of the mission still lingering over him.

He had managed to sway his warriors this time, but deep down, he knew he was walking a fine line.

One misstep, and everything could fall apart.

He had to complete the mission.

Failure wasn’t an option—not if he wanted to see Solluha’r again and keep the Nuclear Devastation Strike!

The war drums in his mind quickened their beat, he matched the pulse of his heavy heart.

“Lok’tar Ogaaaaaaar!!!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep