In the dark, silent cavern, Volk lay sprawled against the stone floor, his heavy form motionless in slumber.

The air was dense, the atmosphere almost suffocating as if the entire room held its breath.

A faint tremor began to ripple through the floor, barely noticeable at first, like the distant hum of an approaching storm.

It quivered beneath Volk’s thick hide, a subtle vibration that would barely have stirred a mouse, let alone the formidable Watchief.

But the tremor didn’t stop there. It grew steadily stronger, pulsing like the beat of a monstrous heart, sending soft waves up his spine, yet Volk barely shifted.

His breathing remained deep and steady, his face buried into the crook of his arm.

The tremor became a low, rumbling sound, almost like the rumble of an earthquake rolling underfoot, growing and growing until it became impossible to ignore.

Outside the circle of his slumber, the Orcs stirred, eyes darting around in confusion.

Some staggered to their feet, clutching their weapons and looking for a source of the disturbance.

Another tremor shook the floor, this one strong enough to rattle the stone walls. One of the Orcs, his eyes wide, stared at his chief’s unmoving form and barked,

Stay tuned to empire

“What’s going on?! We need to wake the Watchief! If there’s danger, he needs to know!”

But Volk merely shifted, turning his face to the other side as if sinking deeper into his dreams. He gave a slight snort, completely oblivious to the rising chaos around him.

Another Orc, a stout warrior with a scar slicing through one eye, shoved forward and looked at Volk’s massive form lying there, untouched by the disturbance.

“Someone! Get him up already!” he shouted, frustration creasing his brows. He stepped forward, pounding a fist against Volk’s arm.

Nothing. Volk’s eyelids didn’t even flicker. He was like a boulder, impervious and unyielding.

The scarred Orc grumbled under his breath, “By the gods, he’s really out this time. All right—let’s try harder!”

He gestured to two more Orcs nearby, and the three of them positioned themselves on either side of the sleeping Watchief, each taking aim as they prepared to jostle him awake.

One of them raised a club high above his head and brought it down with a solid thwack! against Volk’s shoulder.

The sound echoed through the cavern, the club vibrating from the force, yet Volk merely mumbled and turned, scratching his head as though brushing away an insect.

“Is this some kind of spell?” another Orc muttered, worry etching into his voice as he glanced between Volk and the others. “He’s sleeping like a rock!”

“More like a mountain!” a voice hissed from the back, nervousness lacing each word. “A mountain that won’t budge!”

More Orcs gathered around, exchanging anxious glances, unsure of what to do. Some grabbed loose stones from the ground, muttering under their breaths, and began to hurl them at their Watchief.

Thunk!

Clink!

Stones clattered off Volk’s back, rolling uselessly to the side.

An Orc with a deep, growling voice raised his arms, trying to calm the increasingly panicked Horde.

“Enough! We need something bigger.” He eyed a massive chunk of stone nearby, his expression a mix of determination and desperation. “Bring that over here. If this doesn’t work, nothing will!”

Two Orcs grunted, heaving the stone with all their might until they positioned it above Volk.

With a shared nod, they let it fall, sending it crashing onto Volk’s side with a resounding BOOM!

The Watchief merely grumbled, his brow furrowing, his lips parting to release a low, half-mumbled growl.

“Hngh… let me sleep…” he muttered, scratching at his shoulder, his voice thick with drowsiness.

His hand fell back to his side, and, as though nothing had happened, he drifted deeper into slumber.

The Orcs surrounding him groaned, some shaking their heads in disbelief, while others clutched at their weapons, the tremors beneath them growing fiercer with each passing second.

“This is ridiculous!” an Orc cried, exasperation clear in his tone. “We’ve been throwing everything we can find at him, and he’s not even stirring! What is it going to take to wake this beast?”

A young, wiry Orc looked nervously at the shaking ground beneath them, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“If the Watchief doesn’t wake up soon, we’ll be buried alive! The walls are gonna crumble!”

An elder Orc, his voice gravelly and worn with age, scowled and crossed his arms.

“Maybe he’s enchanted. Some kind of spell put on him, or worse—something’s bound him here.” He leaned down close to Volk’s ear and shouted with all his might, “WAKE UP, YOU GREAT LUMP OF ROCK!”

Volk snorted, but his eyes remained closed. His breathing was steady, deep, utterly unphased by the mounting danger.

“I’m telling you, it’s useless,” another Orc muttered, shaking his head in defeat. “We’ve hit him with everything we’ve got. He’s like a boulder—nothing’s going to stir him.”

Yet, even as despair began to settle over the Horde, they couldn’t abandon their leader.

One by one, they lined up, each taking their turn to strike, shove, yell, anything they could think of, but it was no use.

Volk was trapped in his sleep, far from the world of their cries and pleas.

Meanwhile, the tremors continued, louder now, filling the air with an ominous rumble. Stone dust trickled from above, cracks spider-webbing across the ceiling.

“Watchief!” a young Orc screamed, voice trembling as he stared wide-eyed at the cracking walls. “The ceiling’s coming down! Please! We need you!”

But Volk remained still, utterly unfazed, his breathing steady, locked in the world of his dreams.

The Orcs could do nothing but watch, torn between despair and loyalty.

They were losing hope—until one Orc, his voice filled with a last, desperate plea, shouted into the growing chaos:

“Orzarth take me if I give up now! WATCHIEF, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, WE NEED YOU! WAKE UP, NOW!”

And with that, something shifted in Volk’s dreams.

He stirred, just barely, his brow twitching, a faint frown settling across his face.

The voices reached him, echoing in his mind like distant thunder.

Somewhere, through the haze of sleep, he could hear them—faint, frantic, filled with worry and fear.

The distant echoes grew sharper, louder, until they swelled in his mind, voices clashing, pounding at the edges of his consciousness. “Wake up… Watchief… danger… we need you…”

He felt a jolt, a sudden flash of discomfort like the sharp edge of a blade scraping against stone.

Then came a harder sensation, almost like the crash of a hammer against his side, as if someone had struck him full force.

Volk frowned, scratching absently at his head as he turned over, sinking once more into the comforting darkness of sleep.

The Orcs, meanwhile, exchanged hopeless glances, realizing they’d tried everything.

As a final act of desperation, they began to chant, their voices rising together as they cried out, “WAKE UP, VOLK! WAKE UP, WATCHIEF!”

Volk shifted, the chant pricking at his mind, pulling him slowly from the clutches of his deep slumber.

It was as if he could feel their panic, their fear and loyalty, seeping into his consciousness.

The pounding grew louder, the voices piercing through, until finally, with a groggy, annoyed growl, Volk’s eyes opened a sliver, blearily taking in the anxious faces surrounding him.

He blinked slowly, his vision clearing as the world came into focus, and his mouth twisted into a half-snarl, half-yawn.

“What… what’s all this racket?” he muttered, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

He looked around, his brows knitting together in confusion at the sight of his Horde, their expressions a strange mix of relief and anxiety.

“Watchief!” one of them cried, stepping forward. “You’re awake!”

“Finally!” another muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “We’ve been trying to wake you for ages!”

Volk’s gaze hardened, taking in the scene before him. “What… what’s going on?” he asked, his voice growing more alert as he noted the worry etched into each Orc’s face. His muscles tensed, his senses sharpening. “And why do you all look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

The Orcs shared a look, some sighing in relief, others smirking at their Watchief’s familiar scowl.

“Long story, Watchief,” one of them said, “but trust us—you’re lucky we didn’t just leave you to snore away.”

Volk growled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up, shaking off the last remnants of sleep.

“Lucky? Hmph. I’d say it’s you who’s lucky… I didn’t dream of taking my axe to the lot of you.”

The Orcs laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the cavern, the tension breaking as their Watchief’s familiar strength filled the room once more.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep