The forest seemed to hold its breath as Volk and Kragath squared off once more.

The circle of Orcs surrounding them erupted into roars, their voices forming a deafening wall of sound. Neither warrior flinched.

Their focus was razor-sharp, their muscles coiled like spring-loaded traps.

Kragath’s grin widened as he raised his massive axe, the jagged blade catching the sunlight and casting menacing reflections on the ground. “If that’s what you want,” he growled. “Show me what kind of Warchief you really are.”

Volk’s gauntlet hummed with energy as he raised it in defiance. “And you, gladiator. Show me if you’re more than just a slave who fights for scraps.”

Their weapons clashed with a BOOM!

The force of their collision sent shockwaves rippling through the ground.

Volk slid back a few feet, his boots digging furrows into the dirt. Kragath didn’t budge.

Instead, he surged forward, his axe slicing through the air with terrifying precision.

Volk ducked, the blade missing his head by inches, and retaliated with a lightning-fast jab.

His gauntlet struck Kragath’s ribs with a CRACK!, but the gladiator barely flinched.

He swung his axe in a brutal backhand, forcing Volk to leap back.

“You’re quick,” Kragath said, his voice carrying a grudging respect. “But quick won’t save you.”

Volk didn’t reply. He darted in again, his gauntlet glowing as he delivered a flurry of punches aimed at Kragath’s torso.

Each blow landed with a THUD!, but Kragath countered with a sweeping kick that caught Volk in the side.

WHAM!

Volk tumbled but rolled back onto his feet, his gauntlet raised defensively.

“Smooth,” he muttered, his breathing heavy. “Too smooth.”

Kragath smirked. “You noticed.”

The gladiator launched himself forward, his movements fluid and unpredictable.

He swung his axe low, forcing Volk to leap, and then twisted mid-swing, bringing the weapon around in a diagonal slash.

Volk barely managed to block, his gauntlet sparking violently as it absorbed the impact.

“Where did you learn to move like that?” Volk demanded, his voice strained.

Kragath pressed the attack, his strikes relentless. “The arenas,” he said between swings. “They don’t just train your body. They train your mind. Your reflexes. Every opponent teaches you something new.”

Volk grunted as he dodged another slash, his gauntlet firing off a burst of energy to push Kragath back. “You fight like Baron Geisler,” he said. “But better.”

Kragath laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. “Humans are weak, even their best warriors. But they have tricks. Tricks that even Orcs can learn and I teach it to you now,” he said.

Volk charged, his gauntlet aimed at Kragath’s chest, but the gladiator sidestepped with eerie grace.

His axe came around in a brutal arc, forcing Volk to twist his body unnaturally to avoid the blade.

SHING!

The edge of the axe grazed Volk’s armor, tearing through the leather and leaving a shallow cut beneath.

Kragath’s axe began to glow faintly, a strange energy radiating from its jagged edge. His movements became even smoother, his strikes more precise.

Volk’s eyes narrowed. “You’re using it,” he said, his tone accusatory.

Kragath grinned. “Of course. The energy. I learned to harness it from watching the humans. It’s not magic. It’s instinct. Focus. You should try it.”

Volk scowled, his gauntlet pulsing as he gathered energy. “I don’t need tricks to beat you.”

Kragath lunged again, his axe carving through the air with terrifying speed.

Volk blocked with his gauntlet, but the force of the impact sent him stumbling back. Kragath didn’t let up.

He pressed forward, his strikes so fast and fluid that Volk barely had time to react.

Volk was on the defensive now, his movements growing more desperate. Each of Kragath’s attacks came within a hair’s breadth of landing a fatal blow.

CLANG! WHAM! CRACK!

Volk’s gauntlet sparked wildly as it absorbed hit after hit. His breathing grew labored, his muscles burning with exertion.

“You’re slowing down,” Kragath taunted, his strikes unrelenting. “Is that all the strength of a Warchief?”

Volk grit his teeth, refusing to yield. He ducked under a horizontal slash and retaliated with an uppercut, his gauntlet flaring as it connected with Kragath’s jaw.

KABOOM!

The impact sent Kragath staggering, but he recovered almost instantly, his grin never fading.

“You’ve got power,” he admitted, spitting blood onto the ground. “But power means nothing without control.”

Volk’s mind raced. Kragath’s energy-enhanced movements were too unpredictable, too smooth.

It was like fighting a storm.

Every time Volk thought he had an opening, Kragath was already one step ahead.

Kragath swung his axe in a vicious overhead strike, and Volk raised his gauntlet to block.

The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, the ground beneath them cracking under the force.

BOOM!

Volk’s knees buckled, and for a moment, it seemed like he might fall.

“Give up,” Kragath said, his voice calm but commanding. “You’ve fought well, but you can’t win.”

Volk glared up at him, his eyes burning with defiance. “I’m not done yet.”

With a roar, he pushed Kragath back, his gauntlet glowing brighter than ever. He unleashed a barrage of punches, each one faster and more powerful than the last.

KRAK! BAM! WHOOSH!

Kragath struggled to keep up, his energy-enhanced movements faltering under Volk’s relentless assault.

But just as Volk thought he was gaining the upper hand, Kragath’s axe swung in a wide arc, forcing him to leap back.

Both warriors were panting now, their bodies battered and bruised. The forest around them was littered with broken branches and craters from their attacks.

Kragath smirked, his grip tightening on his axe. “You’re good,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “Almost like those top tier I’ve faced in years.”

Volk raised his gauntlet, its glow unwavering. “And you’re strong,” he admitted. “Strong enough to lead. But I’m stronger.”

They locked eyes, their determination unshaken.

“Are you gonna get serious now?” Kragath asked, his grin widening.

Volk nodded, his gauntlet pulsing with renewed energy. “Yes, I’ll finish you off now!”

Kragath tightened his grip on his axe, the energy coursing through it crackling audibly.

He raised it high, his biceps bulging as he prepared to bring the weapon down in a devastating slash.

At the same time, his off-hand sword gleamed, positioned for a secondary strike.

This dual-weapon approach was a hallmark of his arena days, a strategy that had crushed countless opponents.

Volk stood his ground, his gauntlet humming faintly, his stance low and calm.

“Die with honor, Warchief!” Kragath roared, bringing his axe down with earth-shattering force.

But Volk was gone.

KRA-KOOM!

The axe smashed into the ground where Volk had stood, splitting the earth in a jagged crack.

Dust and debris exploded into the air.

For a moment, Kragath’s confident grin faltered.

Then, from his blind spot, Volk darted in.

SWOOSH!

The air hissed as Volk’s fist shot forward.

Kragath twisted at the last second, narrowly avoiding the blow. He swung his sword in retaliation, but Volk ducked under it effortlessly.

Kragath blinked. “Lucky,” he muttered, spinning around to face Volk again.

He surged forward, his axe sweeping horizontally in a wide arc. Volk backflipped out of range, his movements fluid and precise.

Kragath pressed the attack, his axe and sword moving in tandem like a whirlwind of steel.

Each strike was calculated, his years of gladiatorial experience evident in every motion.

But Volk weaved through the onslaught like a shadow.

KLANG! The axe missed his head by mere inches.

SWISH! The sword grazed the air where his torso had been.

Kragath growled in frustration, his attacks becoming more ferocious. “Stand still!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the forest.

Volk didn’t respond.

He stayed light on his feet, dodging and sidestepping every blow.

His gauntlet remained inactive, his fists loose at his sides. It was as if he didn’t need to attack—he was letting Kragath exhaust himself.

The gladiator snarled, shifting tactics. He feinted with his sword, drawing Volk to the left, and then brought his axe around in a brutal diagonal slash.

Volk leaned back, the blade missing him by a hair’s breadth.

Kragath followed up immediately, thrusting his sword toward Volk’s chest. Volk twisted his body, the blade grazing his armor but failing to pierce it.

“What are you?” Kragath growled, his breath heavy. “How are you predicting my moves?”

Volk finally spoke, his tone calm and measured. “I’m not predicting anything. I’m just watching.”

The fight dragged on, Kragath’s movements becoming more erratic.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his chest heaving with exertion.

Volk, in contrast, seemed unbothered. His breathing remained steady, his eyes sharp.

Kragath swung his axe in a massive overhead strike. Volk stepped to the side effortlessly.

THUD! The axe embedded itself in the ground, and Kragath had to wrench it free.

The realization dawned on him then.

Volk wasn’t just lucky. He wasn’t guessing.

He was reading Kragath’s every move.

Every shift of his shoulders, every twitch of his fingers—Volk was seeing it all.

“No… impossible,” Kragath muttered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Volk smirked faintly, his stance unchanging. “Your movements are too obvious. Too rehearsed. Arena fights don’t prepare you for real battles.”

Kragath roared in defiance, his pride wounded.

He charged at Volk, his weapons swinging wildly. But Volk continued to evade, his motions smooth and deliberate.

KLANG! WHOOSH! THUD!

Each missed strike left Kragath more vulnerable.

Volk began to counter subtly—nudging Kragath off-balance with a shoulder check here, redirecting a swing with a light push there.

The crowd of Orcs watching the fight started to murmur. Kragath, the undefeated gladiator, was being toyed with.

Kragath made one final attempt, channeling all his remaining energy into a devastating double strike.

He raised both his axe and sword, the weapons glowing brightly as he brought them down with all his might.

Volk sidestepped at the last second. BOOM! The weapons hit the ground, creating a crater.

Before Kragath could recover, Volk stepped in.

His gauntlet flared with light as he delivered a precise punch to Kragath’s ribs.

CRACK!

The impact sent Kragath flying back, his weapons slipping from his hands. He crashed to the ground, groaning in pain.

Volk approached him slowly, his gauntlet dimming. He stood over the fallen gladiator, his expression unreadable.

“Accept defeat!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep