“What’s happening up there?” Volk demanded, with a low growl.

One of the orcs, a younger warrior with a deep scar running down his cheek, answered, “A battle, Leader. It sounds like a fight between another clan and… something else.”

Volk’s eyes narrowed. “Should we interfere?”

The orcs exchanged uneasy glances.

Another orc, this one seemed older and more experienced due to his beard, stepped forward to explain.

“Let’s, it’s forbidden to interfere with the business of other clans, whether they are in need of help or not. To do so would be seen as a challenge to their strength and their honor.”

The orc’s voice was steady, but there was a tension beneath it, a tension that carried the weight of ancient traditions and unspoken laws.

“In the catacombs, every clan must fight its own battles. If we were to interfere, it would be seen as an insult, a sign that we think them too weak to handle their own affairs. And in our world, an insult like that is answered with blood.”

Another orc added, his tone grim, “If we step in now, they might challenge us once we’re back at the tribe. Blood feuds could be sparked, alliances shattered. It’s not just about the fight in front of us, Volk. It’s about the balance of power between the clans, the respect we must show each other even in this place.”

Volk listened, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

He understood the rules, the unspoken agreements that kept the fragile peace between the clans.

But the thought of standing idle while a battle raged nearby felt like something was eating his intestine. He was a warrior, bred for the heat of combat, not for the cold calculations of politics.

“So we just wait here? Like a kid waiting for their parents permission?” Volk’s voice was sharp, tinged with frustration. He would remember when he was used to that, he hated it.

Plus, he needed to check out something.

The older orc nodded solemnly. “Yes, we wait. It’s the only way to avoid unnecessary conflict. We don’t want to make enemies when we’ve already got enough to deal with in these catacombs.”

Volk shook his head, his jaw set in a hard line.

“That can’t be done. I’m not going to stand here and wait, I will pass through them if they want.”

He could feel the bloodlust rising in him, the urge to charge into the fray and smash his enemies into the ground.

Another orc, sensing Volk’s growing frustration, stepped forward. “Volk, if we interfere, it could lead to a war between the younger generation of our clans. We need to think about what’s best for our people, not just our pride.”

But Volk was already moving, his feet carrying him forward before he could even think. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice low and determined. “I’ll smash them all, no matter who stands in my way.”

The orcs behind him exchanged looks of shock and disbelief.

They had seen Volk in battle before, knew his strength, but this was different. He was defying the rules, challenging the very foundations of their society.

Yet, as they watched Volk’s determined stride, a few of them felt a thrill of excitement.

They had followed Volk this far, trusted his instincts and his power. And now, as he led them toward the sounds of battle, they couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

“Let’s go!” one of the younger orcs shouted, his voice filled with adrenaline.

The others hesitated for only a moment before following.

They fell in behind Volk, their weapons at the ready, their minds focused on the coming fight.

Whatever happened next, they knew they would follow Volk to the end, after all, he is now their leader.

As they emerged into a wider cavern, the sight that greeted them was one of chaos and violence.

The Bloodfang clan, known for their fierce warriors and unyielding spirit, was locked in a brutal struggle with a pack of massive, snarling dogs.

These beasts were like nothing Volk had ever seen before—muscular and powerful, with the build of a pit bull but standing nearly as tall as the orcs themselves.

Their eyes glowed with a savage intelligence, and their jaws snapped at anything that moved, teeth flashing like daggers in the dim light.

The Bloodfang orcs fought valiantly, their axes and swords cleaving through the air with deadly precision.

They moved with the fluidity of seasoned warriors, their bodies hardened by countless battles. But despite their skill, the dogs were relentless, their strength seemingly inexhaustible.

One Bloodfang orc, a massive figure with war paint smeared across his face, let out a furious roar as he buried his ax into the side of a dog, only for another to leap at him from behind.

The orc twisted just in time, slashing the beast’s throat open, but the bloodied warrior staggered, barely able to keep his footing.

The battle raged on, the cavern echoing with the sounds of snarling, the clash of steel, and the cries of wounded orcs. But then, something changed.

The dogs, those ferocious beasts, suddenly froze mid-attack.

Their snarls ceased, their ears perked up, and their glowing eyes shifted to a single point in the cavern.

The Bloodfang orcs, panting and bloodied, paused in confusion. They followed the gaze of the dogs, and their eyes widened in shock.

The entire pack of monstrous hounds, just moments ago on the verge of overwhelming the Bloodfang warriors, was now retreating, their tails tucked between their legs, their whimpers echoing off the cavern walls.

“Wh-what’s going on?” one of the Bloodfang orcs muttered, wiping blood from his brow as he stared in disbelief.

The answer came soon enough as a line of orcs emerged from the darkness, their silhouettes gradually becoming clearer. It was the Dreadmaw clan, led by Volk at the forefront, walking in a straight, unbroken line.

The sight was imposing, and somehow, they could feel their presence sending a shiver down the spines of the Bloodfang warriors.

“How…?” another Bloodfang orc began, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and fear. “How did the Dreadmaw clan get here? They were the last to enter the catacombs. How are they here, overtaking everyone?”

The dogs, now fully aware of the approaching Dreadmaw orcs, let out high-pitched whines, the sound of their fear clear as day.

They scrambled over each other, their once mighty forms reduced to cowering beasts as they fled into the darkness, their retreat a stark contrast to the dominance they had shown just moments before.

The Bloodfang orcs were left standing in stunned silence, their eyes wide as they watched the spectacle.

The enemy that had nearly driven them to the brink of defeat was now fleeing, not from their blades, but from the presence of Volk and his warriors.

“They’re scared… of them?” one of the Bloodfang orcs whispered, disbelief coloring his tone.

But as they stood there, trying to process what they were seeing, memories surfaced in their minds. Stories, whispers of rumors, about the Dreadmaw clan’s strange new leader, an orc who was not like the others.

An orc whose body was riddled with hazardous magic particles, making him a terror to any who crossed his path.

Before the Bloodfang warriors could fully grasp the situation, one of them, unable to contain his shock any longer, let out a shout.

“Hey!!”

His voice echoed through the cavern, a mixture of anger and confusion.

The rest of the Bloodfang clan turned their attention fully to the approaching Dreadmaw orcs, their weapons still gripped tightly in their hands, unsure whether to prepare for a fight or to thank the gods for their unexpected saviors.

Volk, his eyes scanning the battlefield, met the gaze of the Bloodfang leader.

There was a moment of silence between them, an unspoken understanding passing through the air.

The Dreadmaw orcs came to a stop, their formation solid and unmoving, as if waiting for some sign or signal from Volk.

The Bloodfang leader, his chest heaving from the exertion of battle, took a cautious step forward. “Dreadmaw Clan,” he called out, his voice carrying across the cavern.

“Why are you all here? What do you want? Why do you all interfere? Do you all have any idea what you are doing?”

Volk, his expression unreadable, simply raised his head slightly, his eyes flickering with a cold, determined light. “I heard the sounds of battle,” he replied, his voice steady. “And I don’t stand by when I can pass through this easily.”

The Bloodfang leader’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He knew the rules of the clans, knew the implications of Volk’s presence here. But he also knew that without the Dreadmaw orcs’ sudden appearance, the battle might have ended very differently for his clan.

“Your timing is… fortunate,” the Bloodfang leader said carefully, his voice still tinged with caution.

Volk didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he let his gaze sweep across the battlefield, taking in the wounded orcs, the blood-stained ground, and the retreating forms of the hounds.

He could feel the weight of tradition and expectation pressing down on him, but his instincts, as if honed through countless battles of his ancestors, told him something different.

“I’m not here to challenge you,” Volk said finally, his voice firm. “But I won’t stand by and do nothing at the side like a child waiting for his ration. If you see this as a challenge, so be it. I’m ready.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep