The forest seemed to hold its breath as the rumbling grew louder.

The vibrations in the ground felt like a drumbeat, heavy and deliberate, and each step seemed to echo with ominous intent.

The shadows that had loomed large moments ago now emerged fully into the dim, murky light of the forest.

The Ogres were massive, towering over even the tallest of the Orcs.

Their skin was a mottled patchwork of grays, greens, and browns, with warts and scars marking their grotesque faces and thick, muscular limbs.

Their matted hair hung in greasy tangles, and the stench that accompanied them was unbearable—a rancid mix of sweat, decay, and unwashed filth.

Their tusks protruded unevenly from their jaws, yellowed and chipped, but sharp enough to puncture steel.

Each carried crude but brutal weapons: spiked clubs, jagged axes, and rusted blades, all stained with what could only be dried blood.

Their armor was a collection of scavenged metal pieces, animal hides, and bones, strapped together haphazardly but functional in their savagery.

Beady eyes glared down at the Orcs, glinting with malice and a twisted sort of intelligence.

The largest Ogre stepped forward, his breath rasping heavily, fogging the air with a noxious mist. His voice boomed, shaking the very leaves on the trees.

“Who come here? Tiny Orcs… think big enough to face us? Bah!” He spat to the ground, the globule steaming where it landed. “Orcs not welcome. You leave, or you DIE!”

The Orcs bristled at the insult, but their formation held firm.

Volk stepped forward, his presence imposing despite his smaller size compared to the Ogres.

His golden armor gleamed faintly in the muted light, and his eyes burned with determination.

One of the Orcs behind him whispered, barely audible, “What are they waiting for? Why haven’t they attacked yet?”

The largest Ogre growled, his heavy jowls quivering. “You speak? You want fight? Or you too scared?” His thick fingers pointed accusingly, his hand so massive it could easily crush the skull of an Orc with a single squeeze.

Volk raised his hand, silencing his horde. His voice was calm but commanding. “We come here not to run. We come here to conquer. If you think we’re afraid, then you’re even dumber than you look.”

The Ogres erupted into guttural laughter, their bellies shaking. One slapped another on the back with enough force to send him stumbling forward.

“Orc think they strong!” said a shorter, squatter Ogre with an oddly high-pitched voice. “Horde of Orcs no match for one Ogre, let alone us! HA! Maybe we squish you quick. Maybe we play with you first!”

Another Ogre chimed in, his voice like gravel grinding in a deep pit. “We no like Orcs. Orcs weak. Orcs coward. Orcs run from fight!”

One of Volk’s warriors, unable to hold back his rage, stepped forward. “Watch your mouth, you filthy overgrown beast!”

The largest Ogre’s face darkened, his grin fading into a dangerous snarl. He bent down, bringing his face level with the Orc. “What you say, little worm? Say again, so I hear before I crush you into dirt.”

The Orc hesitated, his earlier bravado faltering under the Ogre’s intense glare. Volk stepped in before the situation escalated.

“Enough.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. “We didn’t come here to argue. If you want a fight, then stop barking and prepare yourselves.”

The largest Ogre straightened, his thick neck cracking audibly. “You sure, little Orc? You sure you no run? No cry for mercy when we squish you and your friends?”

Volk met his gaze unflinchingly. “You think I’m afraid of you? Your size doesn’t scare me. Your smell, maybe.” He smirked, letting the insult hang in the air.

The Ogres growled, their hands tightening around their weapons. One snarled, “You got big mouth for small Orc. We shut it soon.”

The Orcs behind Volk shifted nervously, their confidence shaken by the sheer size and ferocity of the Ogres.

One of them whispered urgently to Volk, “Warchief… these aren’t like the other Ogres. They’re smarter… stronger. Maybe we should—”

Volk shot him a glare that silenced him instantly. “Cowards have no place in my horde,” he said, his voice cold. “If you’re too scared to fight, you can leave now.”

The Ogre leader chuckled darkly. “Your Orcs scared. They shaking like leaves. Maybe we no need fight. Maybe you leave now, save yourselves.”

Volk didn’t flinch. “Enough talk. If you’re ready to die, then come. But I warn you, Ogres—this horde is not like any you’ve faced before.”

The largest Ogre grinned, revealing rows of jagged teeth. “Good. We like Orcs with fight. More fun to break!”

The two groups began to spread out, forming a makeshift battlefield in the dense forest. The Orcs, though outmatched in size, formed tight ranks, their new armor glinting faintly. The Ogres stood in a loose, chaotic line, their sheer mass and raw power making them seem invincible.

Volk turned to his horde. “Hold the line,” he commanded. “Stay together. Follow my orders, and we will crush them.”

The Ogres snorted and stomped the ground, their massive feet shaking the earth. The largest Ogre raised his weapon high, a crude but deadly spiked club, and bellowed, “COME, ORCS! SHOW US HOW YOU DIE!”

Volk raised his sword, pointing it directly at the Ogre leader. “Horde, prepare to fight!”

The forest fell silent for a brief moment, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, with a deafening roar, both sides charged.

Each of their steps sent tremors through the earth, shaking the surrounding trees.

Their guttural roars reverberated through the forest, a cacophony of primal fury that made even the most battle-hardened Orcs flinch.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though the weight of the Ogres’ sheer presence might crush the Orcs before the battle had truly begun.

Volk, standing in the center of his horde, raised his hand.

His voice cut through the madness, sharp and commanding, like the crack of a whip. “Hold your ground!” he barked. “Focus on defense! Shields up! Form the wall!”

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The Orcs scrambled to obey, their earlier confidence wavering in the face of the towering, snarling Ogres.

Shields clanged together as they hastily formed a defensive line, their movements hurried and chaotic.

Spears bristled outward from between the gaps, but many wavered, the trembling hands of their wielders betraying their fear.

The Ogres wasted no time exploiting the disarray. One surged forward with a bellowing roar, swinging a club the size of a tree trunk.

WHOOOM!

The impact against the front of the shield wall sent a ripple of force through the Orcs. They stumbled back, their formation bending dangerously under the brute strength of the attack.

Volk’s eyes narrowed. “Tighten the line!” he commanded. “Push back! Don’t let them break through!”

An Orc near the front, barely holding his ground, shouted in desperation, “Warchief, they’re too strong!”

Volk’s voice rose above the din. “They’re strong because you let them be! Stand firm, or you’ll be the reason we fall!”

Another Ogre lunged, this one wielding a jagged axe. It came down in a sweeping arc, aimed to cleave through both shields and flesh.

CLANG!

A shield caught the blow, its bearer staggering but holding his ground.

The Ogre sneered, preparing for another strike, but Volk’s sharp command rang out:

“Brace! Lock shields together! Use their weight against them!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep