The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever, the air growing colder with each step Volk and Grok’Thar took.

The walls closed in, narrowing to a point where they had to walk single file.

The strange tugging sensation within Volk’s chest persisted, guiding him forward with an intensity that made him quicken his pace. Grok’Thar kept close behind, his eyes darting around, ever watchful for any sign of danger.

The silence was heavy, broken only by their footsteps echoing through the narrow passage.

Just as Volk felt the tension reaching its peak, the tunnel suddenly widened, opening into a larger chamber.

The space was dimly lit by the faint, eerie glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the walls, casting long shadows across the uneven floor. And there, in the center of the chamber, stood a group of orcs—eight of them, each adorned with the unmistakable bone maws of creatures they had slain, trophies of their prowess in battle.

The orcs were tall, broad-shouldered, and intimidating, their muscles rippling beneath the layers of armor and furs they wore.

Their faces were painted with the war symbols of the Dreadmaw Clan, their eyes gleaming with the fierce determination that marked them as true warriors.

They turned as one when Volk and Grok’Thar entered, their gazes sharp and appraising.

Grok’Thar immediately recognized them as fellow clan members and relaxed slightly, though he kept a hand near his weapon, just in case. “Looks like we’re not alone in here after all,” he muttered to Volk, who nodded in agreement.

One of the orcs, a towering figure with the largest bone maw draped across his shoulders, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Volk and Grok’Thar. “More from the Dreadmaw Clan,” he rumbled, his voice deep and resonant, echoing off the cavern walls. “Who are you?”

Grok’Thar stepped forward, offering a respectful nod. “I am Grok’Thar, Bone Cleaner of the Dreadmaw Clan. This is Volk, the years Kaz’rogal, also of our clan. We seek the crystals within these catacombs.”

The orc leader grunted, his gaze shifting to Volk. “Volk, huh? The name has reached our ears already. The one who defeated Luk’Tar, is that right?”

Volk tensed slightly at the mention of Luk’Tar, but he nodded, holding the orc leader’s gaze. “Yes. I defeated him.”

A low murmur ran through the group of orcs, and one of them—a shorter, stockier orc with a fierce expression—spoke up. “We’ve been looking for a leader among us,” he said, his tone measured. “And we’ve chosen Lhum’Baggar. He’s the strongest among us.”

At the mention of Lhum’Baggar, Volk’s eyes narrowed.

The name stirred something deep within him—a vague sense of unease. And then, from behind the group, a figure emerged.

Lhum’Baggar was a tall orc, even taller than Volk, with thick, corded muscles and a presence that radiated authority. But there was something off about him—his eyes were closed, and his hands were crossed over his chest, as if he was blind or disinterested.

Yet, despite his closed eyes, Volk could feel the animosity radiating from him. The air seemed to grow thicker, charged with an undercurrent of tension. The other orcs fell silent, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Lhum’Baggar tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then, in a low, almost casual tone, he spoke. “So, you’re Volk.”

Volk’s grip tightened on his weapon, his heart beating faster. “Yes. I’m Volk.”

Lhum’Baggar’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile, though his eyes remained closed. “Volk… current Kaz’rogal, correct?”

Volk felt a shiver run down his spine at the way Lhum’Baggar said his name, as if he was savoring it. “That’s right.”

For a long moment, Lhum’Baggar said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. They were dark, piercing, and filled with a cold, simmering hatred. “My name is Lhum’Baggar… son of Lak’Ran Durghan.”

The name hit Volk like a punch to the gut. He froze, his mind racing as he tried to process what he had just heard. Lak’Ran Durghan… the father of Luk’Tar. And that could only mean one thing…

Lhum’Baggar’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it—only malice. “Yes,” he said softly. “I am the brother of Luk’Tar, the one you defeated. The one you shamed.”

Volk swallowed hard, his throat dry. He could feel the weight of the other orcs’ gazes on him, their eyes flicking between him and Lhum’Baggar, anticipating what would happen next. “You’re the brother of the thief?” Volk said, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “You want to avenge Luk’Tar?”

Lhum’Baggar uncrossed his arms, his fingers flexing as if testing the weight of an invisible weapon. “Revenge is a strong word,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “But yes… I will make you pay for what you did to him.”

Volk’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to meet Lhum’Baggar’s gaze without flinching. “Let’s get on with it, then,” he said, his voice hardening with resolve. He wasn’t about to back down, not now.

But before either of them could make a move, the other orcs surged forward, placing themselves between Volk and Lhum’Baggar. “Enough!” one of them shouted, his voice authoritative. “This is not the time for settling old grudges. We’re in the catacombs, on a mission. Fighting among ourselves will only lead to disaster.”

Another orc, his face stern, stepped in front of Lhum’Baggar, blocking his path. “Forget the past, Lhum’Baggar. We’re all here for the same reason. The crystals, remember? We need to work together if we’re going to survive this place.”

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Lhum’Baggar’s eyes flicked to the orc standing in his way, then back to Volk.

For a moment, it looked as though he might disregard the others and attack anyway, but then he hesitated.

“If you win, you become the leader,” Lhum’Baggar said, his voice low and menacing. His gaze never left Volk, the challenge clear.

The other orcs exchanged uneasy glances.

They knew the risks of fighting in the catacombs, but they also knew that this conflict wasn’t going to be resolved easily.

Finally, one of them sighed, stepping forward. “If you must fight, then do it. But keep it to a challenge. No Grum-gar forms. If one of you uses it, it’s an automatic loss. We can’t afford to waste our strength here.”

Volk hesitated, his mind racing. He had never tested his Radioactive form against another orc, let alone one as dangerous as Lhum’Baggar. But he knew that if he backed down now, it would only embolden his opponent. And besides, Lhum’Baggar had already made it clear that he wasn’t going to let this go.

“No problem,” Volk said, his voice firm. “Let’s get on with it.”

Lhum’Baggar’s lips curled into a predatory grin, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “As you wish, Volk,” he said, his tone dripping with dark promise. “Let’s see who the true warrior is.”

The orcs around them stepped back, creating a wide circle in the center of the chamber.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with the anticipation of the impending clash.

Volk took a deep breath, steeling himself for the fight. He knew this wasn’t just about proving his strength—it was about survival, about showing that he wasn’t to be underestimated.

Lhum’Baggar’s grin widened, his hands flexing at his sides. “Prepare yourself, Volk,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Volk squared his shoulders, his eyes locked on Lhum’Baggar. “So have I,” he replied, his voice steady. “Let’s get on with it.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep