Volk tore through the remnants of the collapsed domain, his massive, radioactive form sending debris flying as he rummaged through the wreckage.

In his mind, he imagined a grand scene—a victory unlike any other.

“Volk strongest!” he thought, envisioning his Horde, Orcs turned into Ogres, gathering around him.

They would chant his name in guttural roars, celebrating his triumph.

His imagination ran wild as he pictured the moment when he’d return to them, standing atop mountains of fallen enemies.

Volk grinned wickedly to himself as he imagined the Horde—thousands of them, hulking and mighty, rampaging through cities at his command.

They would tear down walls, crush entire armies, and leave devastation in their wake.

“VOLK LEADER!”

He would roar, and his Horde would respond in kind, their booming voices echoing in unison as they stormed across the battlefield, destroying everything in sight.

He could see it now—his followers ripping through ranker defenses, their thick, impenetrable hides deflecting bullets and spells as if they were mere pebbles.

“RRAAAGHHH!”

Volk would lead them, crashing through walls, swinging his massive fists and obliterating entire squads of human rankers.

His Horde would crush everything in their path. The ground would shake with every step they took, and the world would tremble under the sheer power of Volk’s leadership.

In his vision, the Horde would celebrate their victories with bloodthirsty cheers.

“Volk! Volk! Volk!” they would chant.

He would stand at the forefront, their undisputed leader, basking in the glory of their destruction.

“We smash! We crush! We destroy!”

Volk would declare, and the Horde would obey.

Together, they would raze cities, level mountains, and strike fear into the hearts of every living creature.

Volk could almost hear their roars of approval, see their bloodied faces, and feel the thrill of commanding such an unstoppable force.

But as Volk climbed back to the surface, his excitement and pride swelling with each step, the image in his mind shattered like fragile glass.

What he saw before him wasn’t the victorious Horde he had imagined.

No, what he saw was nothing but a field of devastation—and not the kind he had hoped for.

The Ogres, his mighty Horde, lay strewn across the battlefield.

They were scattered like broken toys, their massive bodies lifeless, their once fearsome roars replaced by silence.

Some had already begun to revert back to their Orc forms, their hulking shapes shrinking and twisting into the smaller, weaker figures they once were.

“WHAT… WHAT THIS?”

Volk’s deep voice rumbled with confusion as he looked around, his glowing eyes scanning the battlefield.

His Horde—his loyal warriors—were not breathing.

They were not cheering.

They were lying there, motionless.

Volk’s heart pounded in his chest.

“NO… NOOOO!” he growled, his massive fists clenching at his sides.

“Volk’s Horde… supposed to live!”

His anger began to boil as he watched the last few Ogres stumble and fall, their strength drained, their once-powerful forms crumpling to the ground.

“WHY?!”

His eyes caught movement. An Ogre still standing, though barely, was swaying on its feet.

Before Volk could react, the Ogre staggered, and right in front of it, a mushroom erupted, releasing a cloud of green, deadly spores.

The Ogre coughed, its massive body convulsing as it struggled to stay upright.

Within moments, it grew drowsy, its eyes rolling back before it collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.

Volk’s radioactive aura flared.

“No… no! What is this?”

He took a step forward, his massive foot cracking the earth beneath him.

His glowing eyes flickered with fury as he scanned the battlefield for answers. His mind raced.

What could be killing his Horde?

The deathly spores continued to drift through the air, their sickly green mist swirling around the bodies of his fallen warriors.

Then it hit him.

The spores.

It was these cursed mushrooms that were killing them!

His body trembled with rage, his muscles bulging even more as he finally understood what was happening. But how? He had completed the mission.

The system promised that his Horde wouldn’t perish!

“System!”

Volk roared, his voice shaking the ground beneath him.

“Volk complete the mission! Why they die?”

His hulking form stood in the midst of the carnage, looking for an answer from the unseen force that guided him.

Suddenly, a familiar ding echoed in his ears.

| System under maintenance. |

The message was cold and indifferent.

It offered no explanation, no reassurance, just those three words.

Volk stood there, frozen in shock for a moment, staring at the notification as his Horde lay dead around him.

The anger inside him built to a dangerous level, his radioactive form sparking with raw, untamed energy.

“VOLK ANGRY!” he bellowed, his voice shaking the ground as his frustration turned into pure rage.

His muscles bulged even further as the heat radiated off his body.

His vision grew hazy, the edges of his sight blurring with a growing drowsiness.

Volk shook his head, trying to stay focused, but the spores were getting to him too.

He felt his limbs grow heavy, his mind growing sluggish. “No… no sleep… Volk must survive!”

In desperation, Volk roared, and with a burst of his remaining energy, he leaped into the air like a missile, launching himself skyward with terrifying speed.

WHOOSH!

He shot through the clouds, a radioactive streak against the darkening sky.

His massive form blurred as he pushed higher and higher, his glowing body lighting up the horizon.

…

Meanwhile, Bong Me-Eon observed the battlefield below with a smile.

The Ogres were falling, one by one, succumbing to her Ephemeral Death Spores.

Some had already reverted to their Orc forms, smaller and weaker, as the magic drained out of them.

“Fascinating,” she mused, watching as their transformation unwound before her eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like this before—an Orc turning into an Ogre. Such strong creatures… but they’re all the same. Berserkers and raging beasts fall easily when they’re unconscious.”

She glanced at her disciple, Song Woo-Ji, who lay recovering beside her. “I’ll have to teach you how to deal with these kinds of monsters, too,” she muttered to herself, her mind already planning future lessons.

But then, Bong Me-Eon’s eyes narrowed as she sensed something.

A surge of powerful magic particles gathered in one spot, emanating from the battlefield.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she whipped her head up, searching for the source.

And there, high above the battlefield, she saw it.

A figure—a massive, glowing shape—racing upward with the speed of a comet.

“What…?”

Bong Me-Eon’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what it was.

Swoosh!

The sound of Volk’s rapid ascent sliced through the air, growing louder with every passing second.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep