The air grew tense the moment Volk clasped forearms with the last Orc.

Something in their body language shifted—a subtle hardening, a slight narrowing of their eyes, and the faintest tightening of their grips on their weapons.

Volk wasn’t caught off guard.

He’d expected something was off from the way they exchanged looks, but the speed at which they moved was startling.

The scarred male lunged first, his jagged blade slicing through the air with a whoosh.

Volk barely sidestepped in time, the blade grazing past his ribs with a sharp swish.

A club swung toward his face from the left, but he ducked, the heavy weapon missing him by mere inches and hitting the trunk of a tree with a loud CRACK!

Volk leaped backward, gaining distance from the sudden ambush. His sharp eyes scanned the group as they spread out, encircling him like predators stalking prey.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Volk growled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.

The braided female sneered, her chipped axe gleaming in the slanted sunlight. “You don’t get to just ask us to join you. What kind of fool walks into these woods thinking he can build a horde without spilling blood?”

Another Orc, a younger male with sharp teeth and wild eyes, barked a laugh. “This forest isn’t some fairy tale! It’s ruled by gangs, and your casual demand is an insult to us and our pride.”

The scarred male stepped forward, his voice dripping with disdain. “You want a horde? Prove you’re worthy of leading one. Defeat us—all of us—at once!”

Volk’s brow furrowed, and he let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the cool forest air.

He wasn’t surprised by their hostility.

Orcs were a proud and combative race; respect wasn’t something they handed out freely.

Still, this was far from ideal.

Shaking his head, Volk glanced toward the distant tree line.

He could feel it—the subtle vibrations of the ground beneath his feet.

Humans were coming, likely the first wave of Baron Geisler’s enraged knights or the so called other Barons.

He didn’t want to waste time explaining or reasoning.

These Orcs wouldn’t listen, and frankly, Volk didn’t care to explain himself. If they needed a fight to be convinced, then so be it.

Volk flexed his massive hands, the thick muscles of his forearms rippling as he stepped forward into the center of the circle.

The group tensed, their weapons ready.

“Fine,” Volk said, his voice low and gravelly. “But don’t blame me when you regret this.”

With a faint hum of magical energy, Volk’s gauntlet materialized around his right hand.

It glimmered in the afternoon sunlight, the intricate runes etched into its surface glowing faintly.

The sight of it made the six Orcs hesitate, their eyes narrowing as they took in the weapon’s otherworldly appearance.

The braided female scoffed, tightening her grip on her axe. “A fancy glove won’t save you, stranger.”

Volk didn’t respond. He simply clenched his gauntleted fist, the metallic plating emitting a faint whine as it adjusted to his movement.

They came at him all at once, their roars echoing through the forest like a cacophony of thunder.

The scarred male led the charge, his blade slicing downward in a powerful arc.

Volk raised his gauntlet to block, the impact ringing out with a resounding CLANG! Sparks flew as metal met magic, and the scarred Orc stumbled back, his blade vibrating in his hands.

From the side, the younger male lunged with a dagger aimed at Volk’s ribs.

Volk twisted his body, the blade narrowly missing him, and delivered a swift backhand with his gauntleted hand.

WHAM!

The younger Orc flew several feet, landing with a heavy thud against a tree.

The braided female and another Orc, wielding a spiked mace, attacked in unison.

The female swung her axe with deadly precision, while the mace-wielder aimed for Volk’s knees.

Volk ducked under the axe, the blade passing just over his head with a sharp whoosh. He stomped his foot down on the incoming mace, the ground shaking with the force of his movement.

BOOM!

The mace shattered, its wielder crying out in shock as the weapon’s fragments scattered across the forest floor.

The other two Orcs joined the fray, their movements fast and calculated.

One wielded dual knives, slashing at Volk from both sides, while the other used a crude spear, jabbing at him relentlessly.

Volk found himself dodging and weaving, his gauntlet absorbing some of the blows but leaving him little room to counterattack.

The scarred male roared, charging again with his blade raised high.

This time, Volk didn’t dodge.

He met the Orc head-on, his gauntleted fist slamming into the flat of the blade with a deafening BANG!

The sword shattered, and the scarred Orc staggered back, his hands bleeding from the force of the impact.

Volk pressed the advantage, his movements a blur of raw power and precision.

He caught the spear-wielding Orc by the shaft of his weapon, snapping it in half with a single twist.

CRACK!

A swift kick sent the Orc sprawling, his weaponless hands scrabbling at the dirt as he tried to regain his footing.

The fight dragged on, the forest ringing with the sounds of battle—CLANGS, THUDS, and SHOUTS—as Volk systematically dismantled his opponents.

The braided female was the last to fall. She came at Volk with a feral scream, her axe swinging wildly.

Volk sidestepped her first strike, caught her wrist on the second, and slammed her into the ground with a resounding BOOM!

Breathing heavily, Volk stood over the fallen Orcs.

They groaned in pain, their bodies battered and bruised but alive. Volk raised his gauntleted hand, its glow fading as the magic receded.

“Enough,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I don’t have time for your pride. You wanted strength? You’ve seen it.”

The scarred male struggled to his feet, his legs shaking as he faced Volk. He nodded slowly, his expression one of grudging respect.

“You’re strong,” he admitted. “Stronger than any Orc I’ve ever fought.”

The braided female groaned from the ground, propping herself up on one elbow. “Fine,” she muttered. “We’ll join your horde. But don’t think we’ll go easy on you just because you won this fight.”

Volk allowed himself a small smirk. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As he extended a hand to help the braided female to her feet, the distant sound of marching reached his ears.

His smile faded.

The sound of marching was growing louder, faint at first but unmistakable—a steady rhythm of boots trampling the earth, accompanied by the metallic clatter of armor and weapons.

The humans were drawing closer, and Volk didn’t need to see them to know they were coming in numbers far greater than he could face alone.

He turned to the six Orcs, who were now gathered in a rough semicircle around him.

They still bore the bruises and scrapes from their fight, but their eyes were alert, their bodies tense and ready for action.

They had seen his strength and acknowledged it, but now it was time for them to prove their worth to him.

“Listen carefully,” Volk said, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the ambient noise of the forest like a blade.

“We don’t have much time. The humans are on their way, and they won’t stop until they’ve hunted us down. If we want to survive, we need to move now—and we need to make sure they can’t track us.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep