The tension in the air was thick enough for them to taste.

As the circle of orcs surrounding Volk and Lhum’Baggar began to chant, their voices rising in a crescendo of anticipation, Volk could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire body.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

The two agree in combat, they could only comply.

The stakes were high, and every orc present knew it. This was more than just a fight—it was a battle of pride, strength, and survival.

Lhum’Baggar’s eyes were cold, calculating. He slowly unclenched his fists, the muscles in his arms bulging as he took a deep breath. “To make this fair,” he began, his voice dripping with condescension, “I’ll lower my Brute Mending Force to the level of a three Mag’Durotan. After all, you’re just a Labor Orc. No need to make this unfair, right?”

Volk felt a spark of anger flare within him, but he kept his expression neutral, only allowing a small, fearless grin to curl his lips. “Yeah, a Labor Orc who thrashed your little brother,” he shot back, his tone mocking. “And now big brother’s here to rescue him. How touching.”

Lhum’Baggar’s expression remained stony, unfazed by Volk’s taunt.

Instead, he merely nodded, his muscles flexing and tightening as he focused his energy, clearly preparing himself for the fight.

The transformation was subtle but powerful; his already imposing physique seemed to become smaller, for their eyes however, it seemed to grow even more formidable as the Brute Mending Force took hold.

“Alright,” Lhum’Baggar exhaled, his voice calm but deadly serious. “Let’s fight.”

Volk rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms out to prepare himself.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins sharpened his focus, the weight of the upcoming fight pushing everything else to the back of his mind. “Let’s go,” he responded, his voice steady and resolute.

The surrounding orcs, now fully invested in the battle that was about to unfold, began to pound their chests in a rhythmic beat, the sound growing louder and more intense with each passing second.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” they chanted, their voices echoing through the cavernous chamber, filling it with an almost tangible energy.

And then, without any further warning, the battle began.

Lhum’Baggar moved first, closing the distance between them with a speed that belied his massive size. His fist shot out, a blur of motion aimed directly at Volk’s head.

Swoosh!

Volk barely managed to dodge, feeling the air rush past his face as Lhum’Baggar’s fist narrowly missed its target. But the next punch came faster, and before Volk could react, it slammed into his ribs with the force of a battering ram, sending him staggering back, the breath knocked out of him.

Kabag!

The pain was immediate and intense, but Volk gritted his teeth, refusing to show any sign of weakness. He quickly regained his footing, shifting his stance as Lhum’Baggar came at him again, this time with a flurry of blows that seemed impossible to block or dodge.

Volk did his best, using every trick he had learned, every unorthodox technique he had developed, but it was clear that Lhum’Baggar’s strength and speed were on a different level.

Blow after blow rained down on Volk—punches, kicks, brutal strikes that sent shockwaves of pain through his body. He could feel his muscles straining, his bones creaking under the relentless assault.

Every time he tried to counterattack, Lhum’Baggar was already there, blocking or dodging with a fluidity that made him seem almost untouchable.

Volk was fighting to survive, every move he made driven by pure instinct. He was bleeding from his mouth, his nose, his body covered in bruises and cuts, but he refused to give up. He could see the looks of concern and fear on the faces of the orcs watching, but he knew he couldn’t afford to think about them. All that mattered was the fight.

And yet, as the pain grew more intense, as his vision started to blur from the relentless pounding, Volk’s mind began to drift. He found himself transported back to his past life, back to a time when he was weak, helpless, and trapped in a body that had betrayed him from the moment he was born.

He was back in his childhood home, lying in a bed that had become his prison. His body had been small, frail, with limbs that barely functioned.

Volk remembered the frustration, the anger, the deep, gnawing sense of inadequacy as he watched others do things he could only dream of—running, jumping, fighting. Things that had been impossible for him.

He had spent his days watching others live the life he could never have, his only solace found in books, games, and the internet.

He had become a student of combat, devouring every bit of information he could find about martial arts, tactics, anything that could make him feel like he was a part of that world, even if only in his mind. He had trained his mind, sharpening it, preparing himself for a life he would never get to live.

But despite the limitations of his body, Volk had never given up. He had refused to let weakness define him, refused to accept that this was all there was for him.

He had fought, in his own way, against the unfairness of it all. And now, in this new body, in this new world, he had been given a second chance. A chance to be strong, to fight, to live the life he had always dreamed of.

And Volk wasn’t about to let that chance slip away.

Volk’s mind snapped back to the present as Lhum’Baggar landed a particularly vicious blow to his side, making him gasp in pain. But even as he stumbled, his vision blurring, Volk’s determination only grew stronger. He wasn’t just fighting Lhum’Baggar—he was fighting the memories of his past life, fighting the weakness that had haunted him for so long.

With a grunt of effort, Volk dodged the next punch, using the momentum to deliver a quick, unexpected strike to Lhum’Baggar’s knee.

Swoosh!

The bigger orc grunted in surprise, stumbling slightly, giving Volk the opening he needed. He followed up with a series of rapid, precise blows, targeting weak points, using techniques that were foreign to the orcs watching.

But Lhum’Baggar was far from beaten. He recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing as he realized Volk wasn’t going down as easily as he had expected.

With a roar of frustration, he lunged at Volk, catching him with a powerful backhand that sent him crashing to the ground. Pain exploded in Volk’s head, his vision going dark for a moment as he struggled to stay conscious.

He could feel the ground beneath him, cold and unforgiving, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Every part of his body screamed in pain, begging him to give up, to surrender. But Volk knew he couldn’t. He had come too far, fought too hard to let it end here.

He forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he faced Lhum’Baggar.

The other orc was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face, but his eyes were still filled with that cold, burning hatred. Volk could see it now—this wasn’t just about revenge.

Lhum’Baggar wanted to prove something, to himself, to the others. He wanted to show that he was stronger, better, that he was the true warrior.

But Volk wasn’t going to let him have that satisfaction.

With a renewed sense of determination, Volk charged at Lhum’Baggar, using every ounce of strength he had left. He fought with everything he had, using unorthodox moves, quick strikes, anything that might give him an edge.

The pain was overwhelming, but he pushed through it, focusing on the fight, on the next move, the next strike.

And then, just as he was starting to feel like he couldn’t go on, a strange sensation washed over him. It was as if time had slowed, the world around him fading away.

He could feel something within him, a deep, powerful energy that he had never felt before. It was raw, untamed, but it was there, waiting to be unleashed.

And then, a notification appeared before his eyes, clear and bright in the darkness of the battle:

| Ding!

| Activate Radioactive Form? |

For a moment, Volk hesitated, his mind racing as he weighed his options. He knew that activating the form could change everything, could give him the edge he needed to win. But at what cost?

The power was dangerous, uncontrollable. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to handle it.

But as he looked at Lhum’Baggar, at the determination in his eyes, the desire to crush him, Volk knew that he didn’t have a choice. He had to win. He had to survive.

Even then, with a deep breath, Volk made his decision.

No!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep