The atmosphere in the forest shifted, the air thickening like a suffocating fog.

Every Orc present could feel it. Their hearts beat faster, their instincts warning them that something was dreadfully wrong.

They had fought Ogres before, yes—wild, savage beasts driven by brute force and primal rage. But this… this was different.

Fifteen Orcs.

That was the number needed to stand a chance against an intelligent Ogre.

Every warrior knew this as gospel, drilled into their minds by countless tales of failed battles and massacres. And yet, the horde, bolstered by their newfound armor and the victories they had claimed earlier, stood on edge but confident.

Victory was within their grasp.

Volk’s command hung in the air, his crimson gauntlet subtly glowing as he prepared to give the order.

But Gar’ruk moved first.

The towering Proto-Ogre, with muscles like boulders and eyes that gleamed with a sinister, knowing light, didn’t roar or charge like the other Ogres.

No, his steps were slow, deliberate, and chillingly calm.

The ground beneath him trembled with each step, the vibrations spreading through the forest floor like ripples in a pond.

The Orcs tightened their grips on their weapons, their breaths shallow.

They expected an attack, a monstrous swing of Gar’ruk’s massive weapon or a deafening roar. But instead, the Ogre turned away.

“Wha… what’s he doing?” one Orc whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Stay sharp,” Volk said, his voice a growl. “Don’t let your guard down.”

Gar’ruk lumbered over to the body of one of his fallen kin—a massive Ogre that had been defeated just moments ago.

Its body with still remaining life form lay sprawled across the forest floor, its chest caved in from the brutal blows it had suffered.

The Orcs watched, confusion flashing across their faces.

Gar’ruk knelt down, his enormous frame dwarfing the fallen Ogre.

His movements were slow and deliberate, almost reverent, as if he were performing some sacred ritual.

His massive hand reached out, fingers curling around the still alive but unconscious Ogre’s head.

“What… what’s he doing?” another Orc muttered, stepping back instinctively.

“No idea,” another replied, his voice trembling.

Volk narrowed his eyes, his instincts screaming at him to intervene. But something held him back—a strange, gut-wrenching sense of foreboding.

And then it happened.

With a sudden, brutal motion, Gar’ruk’s hand clenched, his fingers digging into the fallen Ogre’s skull with a sickening crunch.

The sound was wet and visceral, like a melon being crushed underfoot. The Orcs recoiled, some gasping audibly.

“What the—”

“Is he—”

Before anyone could finish their thoughts, Gar’ruk lifted the lifeless body into the air as if it weighed nothing.

Blood dripped from the wounds, pooling at his feet.

The Ogre tilted his head back, his mouth opening unnaturally wide, revealing rows of jagged, yellowed teeth.

The Orcs froze, their eyes widening in horror.

“No… no way…” one stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

And then, Gar’ruk bit down.

Crunch!

The sound of bones snapping echoed through the clearing, louder than any war cry.

The Ogre’s teeth sank into the flesh of its fallen kin, tearing away a massive chunk.

Blood sprayed, painting his face and chest in crimson streaks.

The Orcs recoiled, some turning away, unable to watch. Others gripped their weapons tighter, their knuckles whitening as fear coursed through them.

“He’s… he’s eating it!”

“No! That’s impossible!”

“Chief, what is this?! What is he doing?!”

Volk didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the grotesque scene before him, his mind racing. This wasn’t normal behavior—not for Ogres, not for any creature in this cursed forest.

Gar’ruk chewed, the wet, sloshing sounds of flesh and sinew filling the silence. His jaw moved methodically, his eyes closing as if savoring the taste.

Blood dripped from his lips, pooling at his feet. He swallowed audibly, the motion of his throat visible even from a distance.

And then he went back for more.

His massive hands tore into the body, ripping it apart like a child tearing into a piece of bread.

Chunks of muscle and fat were pulled free, devoured with brutal efficiency.

The sound of his feeding was relentless—crunch, squelch, rip!

Some Orcs began to back away, their courage faltering.

“This… this isn’t right,” one muttered, his voice shaking. “This isn’t a fight. This is… this is something else!”

“Chief!” another shouted, his voice cracking. “We can’t face that! We’re not prepared for… whatever that is!”

“Silence!” Volk barked, his voice cutting through the rising panic like a blade. “Hold your ground!”

But even Volk couldn’t deny the knot of unease twisting in his gut.

Gar’ruk continued his gruesome feast, his breathing growing heavier with each bite. Steam rose from his body, mingling with the blood-soaked air.

The Ogre’s muscles seemed to ripple and grow, his already enormous frame swelling with newfound strength.

The Orcs watched in horror as the wounds on Gar’ruk’s body—small cuts and scrapes from previous battles or hunts before it came here—began to close.

The flesh knitted itself back together, leaving no trace of injury.

“He’s… he’s healing!”

“It’s the blood!”

“No! It’s not just the blood. It’s… something else!”

Gar’ruk finally stopped, his feast complete. He dropped the mangled remains of the fallen Ogre, the body now unrecognizable.

Blood dripped from his hands and face, his chest heaving with deep, guttural breaths. He turned back to the horde, his fiery red eyes burning brighter than ever.

“YOU SEE NOW,” he roared, his voice shaking the very trees around them. “ME STRONGER. ME REMEMBER.”

The Orcs stood frozen, their confidence shattered.

The Orcs stood frozen, their confidence shattered.

The victories they had claimed earlier now felt like distant memories, meaningless in the face of this abomination.

Volk, however, stepped forward, his gauntlet glowing faintly as he clenched his fist.

His crimson eyes locked onto Gar’ruk, unflinching.

“This changes nothing,” Volk said, his voice cold and firm.

“We are the horde. We do not retreat.”

Gar’ruk tilted his head, a cruel smile spreading across his blood-streaked face.

“GOOD,” he rumbled. “ME LIKE

FIGHT.”

Gar’ruk loomed over the horde, his massive frame casting a shadow over the blood-soaked clearing. His fiery red eyes darted between the Orcs, his sharp, broken-toothed grin almost feral. But there was a shift in his expression—something cunning and calculating. Despite his bravado, the Ogre understood his position. He was outnumbered, and while his strength was undeniable, he wasn’t invincible.

“ME LIKE FIGHT,” Gar’ruk boomed, his guttural voice reverberating through the air. “BUT ME NOT FOOL. FOUR OF YOU. ME FIGHT FOUR. YOU WIN, ME WORK UNDER YOU.”

The horde froze, glancing at one another in confusion. An intelligent Ogre was already terrifying, but an Ogre proposing terms of combat? That was unheard of.

“What’s he saying?” one Orc muttered, gripping his weapon tightly.

“He’s proposing… a deal?” another whispered, his brow furrowed.

Volk stood silent for a moment, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied Gar’ruk. The Ogre’s massive chest heaved, and though his demeanor was bold, Volk could see it—the faintest flicker of uncertainty. Gar’ruk was stalling.

“Chief,” one Orc spoke hesitantly, his voice tinged with fear. “What should we do? Should we… accept?”

Volk raised his hand, silencing the murmurs. He stepped forward, his crimson gauntlet catching the faint rays of sunlight filtering through the trees. The horde parted for him instinctively, their eyes filled with expectation.

Volk looked Gar’ruk straight in the eye, his expression cold and unreadable. Then, he smirked.

“Nah,” Volk said casually, his voice dripping with disdain. “Beat him up.”

The horde erupted into motion.

Gar’ruk’s grin faltered, his confidence wavering as the Orcs surged toward him. “WAIT! NO—”

The first Orc struck, his battle-axe swinging toward Gar’ruk’s legs. The Ogre leapt back with surprising agility for his size, the blade whistling past him and embedding itself in the ground with a resounding thunk.

“TO THE FLANKS!” Volk barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. “SURROUND HIM! DON’T GIVE HIM SPACE TO BREATHE!”

The horde obeyed instantly, spreading out to encircle Gar’ruk. The Ogre growled, his massive fists clenching as he prepared for the onslaught.

“TOO MANY!” Gar’ruk roared, his voice tinged with panic.

One Orc lunged forward, shield raised high. Gar’ruk swung his massive arm, the force of the blow sending the shield splintering into pieces with a deafening CRACK! The Orc was thrown back, crashing into a tree with a grunt of pain.

“KEEP MOVING!” Volk shouted. “HE’S STRONG BUT SLOW! DON’T LET HIM FOCUS ON ONE OF YOU!”

The horde adjusted their tactics, darting in and out like a swarm of hornets. One Orc swung his sword at Gar’ruk’s side, while another aimed for his legs. The Ogre roared in frustration, spinning to defend himself. His fists lashed out wildly, each strike powerful enough to shatter bone, but the Orcs stayed just out of reach.

“TO THE KNEES!” Volk commanded. “BRING HIM DOWN!”

Gar’ruk stumbled as an Orc’s hammer connected with the back of his knee, the sound of the impact echoing through the clearing. The Ogre’s massive frame wavered, but he didn’t fall.

“AGAIN!” Volk shouted, his eyes gleaming with determination. “DON’T LET UP!”

Two Orcs charged from opposite sides, their weapons slamming into Gar’ruk’s legs simultaneously. The Ogre let out a guttural scream, his knees buckling. He dropped to one knee, his fists pounding the ground in frustration.

“ENOUGH!” Gar’ruk roared, his voice desperate. He swung his arm in a wide arc, sending two Orcs flying with a single swipe. His chest heaved, his movements becoming more erratic. “ME NOT LOSE!”

“KEEP PRESSURE!” Volk yelled, stepping closer. “HE’S ON HIS LAST LEGS!”

The horde pressed forward, their confidence growing with each passing second. They struck in coordinated bursts, their blows landing harder and faster. Gar’ruk tried to fight back, but his movements were sluggish, his massive body unable to keep up with the relentless assault.

“FOCUS THE WEAK SPOTS!” Volk bellowed, pointing to the joints in Gar’ruk’s massive arms and legs. “HE CAN’T DEFEND THEM ALL!”

The Orcs obeyed, their strikes targeting Gar’ruk’s vulnerable points.

The Ogre’s roars grew weaker, his massive frame swaying like a felled tree.

Finally, with one last, desperate swing of his arm, Gar’ruk collapsed to his knees. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling from exhaustion and pain. Blood dripped from countless wounds, pooling at his feet.

The horde stepped back, their weapons still at the ready. They looked to Volk, waiting for his command.

Volk approached slowly, his crimson gauntlet gleaming in the dim light.

He stopped a few feet from the

fallen Ogre, his gaze cold and unyielding.

Gar’ruk looked up at him, his fiery red eyes flickering with a mix of fear and defiance.

“Me… no lose,” the Ogre muttered weakly, his voice barely audible.

Volk smirked.

“Oh, you’ve already lost.”.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep