Luk’Tar stood amidst the grandeur of the ceremony, with the towering brick structures of the Tribe casting long shadows in the morning light.

The enchanted fires atop the towers flickered in his eyes, as if their glow were intensifying the magic that was blended with the wind.

He could feel an eagerness amongst everyone, like a hum of energy that was flowing through all around the gathered Orcs and Elves.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice rang out over the crowd and Lu’Tark’s ear, as if it were echoing through the towering structures.

“Wrrraaak! Today, we honor the warriors who have returned victorious!”

Her voice sounded very powerful, almost as though it were reverberating with the highest authority.

“First, we have Uru’kar,” she paused, waiting for the tension to build, and she felt it was enough, “who has slain six venomous earth moles!”

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers, resembling the sound echoing through the forest like a thunderclap.

“Raaaargh!” they roared, their voices mingling in a powerful symphony of approval.

“Next,” the woman continued, her tone now building obvious suspense, “we have Bra’gorn,” she paused again, “who has slain eight venomous earth moles!”

The crowd’s response was even louder, a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very ground they were standing on.

“Rooaaarrr!”

Lu’Tark felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a fellow Orc, with a plastered wide grin on his face.

“How many partners do you wish to take?” he asked with his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

Lu’Tark glanced over to the tent where Solluha’r stood. Her green eyes met his, and they were now looking at each other, soon enough, her lips parted and formed a cheerful smile.

“I only need one,” he replied, his voice was incredibly firm when he said this. “And that is Solluha’r.”

Solluha’r stepped out of the tent, her presence couldn’t help but radiate an obvious grace and strength.

She walked over to Lu’Tark, with her smile widening on her face as she took his hand.

The hornless Orc who had spoken to him nodded, “Alright, follow me,” and he led them toward the center of the ceremony.

Suddenly, the announcer’s voice boomed again, capturing everyone’s attention including Lu’Tark and Solluha’r.

“Wrrrrraaak! Now, we come to the most extraordinary achievement. The slayer of the skinless venomous earth mole!”

The crowd’s tone shifted, one could hear an undercurrent of excitement and awe threading through their voices as they cheered.

“Champion!” “Champion!” “Champion!” “Champion!” “Champion!” “Champion!”

“To kill a skinless, venomous earth mole,” the announcer continued slowly, as if savoring each word, “is a feat of unimaginable skill and bravery. These creatures are far more elusive and deadly than their venomous counterparts, and their skinless bodies make them tougher and more resistant to attacks, making them harder to catch.

To face one, corner it, and emerge victorious is to be among the greatest of our warriors!”

As the announcer finished, the crowd’s anticipation reached a fever pitch, their voices rising in a wave of thrumming sound.

“Roooooaaaaaaarrr!” they chanted.

Lu’Tark, watching and hearing all this beside Solluha’r, couldn’t help but feel an incredible amount of gratitude.

However, guilt slowly built up in his head, and to avoid this, he shook his head and forced himself to step forward, immediately silencing the crowd.

The announcer’s voice rang out again, “Luk’Tar Durghan! Our champion of this year! The earth mole king catcher!” His name seemed to reverberate through the assembly of the crowd. “And he has chosen only one companion, the ever beautiful Solluha’r!”

When all was declared, the tribe erupted in cheers once more, and the sound of their cheer was so powerful, almost reaching the sky as a testament to their approval.

“Raaaargh! Raaaargh!”

Luk’Tark smiled and waved his hands.

The cheers that were supposed to make him feel even more proud of whatever he had done was making even more guilty, but he swallowed his saliva and his pride.

The announcer’s voice continued, “Despite having the right to choose two more wives, he has chosen only one! What a faithful warrior! What a faithful future leader! And now, to let this ceremony be completed, let the two become one!”

Luk’Tark and Solluha’r faced each other, with their movements slow and deliberate, as if they wanted to enjoy every moment.

Both of them eventually reached out, with their hands gently cupping each other’s faces.

Their eyes were locked, as if there was a silent communication passing between them as one already. And as they held each other, a phenomenon began to unfold.

Leaves began to rustle around them.

It was as though the air was caught in a mystical wind that circled their bodies.

Flames danced in the air, making both their bodies feel warmth from each other’s presence alone, wrapping around the two of them as one.

The ground beneath them seemed to hum with friendly energy, resonating with the magical moment.

Their chests began to glow, with a soft light emanating from within.

Lu’Tark and Solluha’r nodded at each other, their eyes meeting. Finally, they were going to become one – the moment they had been waiting for ever since they were children.

“I never thought this moment would come,” Solluha’r softly said, making Lu’Tark guilty, but he only smiled on the surface to hide it. “I will do anything for you,” he whispered back.

Just as the ceremony reached its crescendo, a voice suddenly cut through the phenomenon like a knife.

“Thief!! Ambusher!! You have no honor!!”

The cry was filled with nothing but anger.

“That damned bastard stole my skinless venomous earth mole! I came here to challenge him to a duel!”

The words were like thunder rumbles, a stark opposite to the harmony of the ceremony.

“KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!! KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!!”

Everyone froze, the entire assembly falling into an exaggerated pause.

All eyes turned to the source of the interruption.

It was an unknown Labor Orc; they could see his face twisted in indescribable rage and determination.

He stood at the edge of the gathering, with his chest heaving in an exaggerated manner as if he ran for a thousand miles as he caught his breath.

“Wrrraaaakkk!” he screamed again. “KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!!”

The words “KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!!” rang through the clearing like a battle cry, it reverberating off the towering stone structures while shaking the leaves on the trees that were scattered to the whole place beside the towers.

In the horde of Hornless Orcs and Elven Witches, this was the word that sealed destinies.

It meant a challenge, a duel to settle disputes in the only way Orcs knew—through raw, primal combat.

The Tribe had used it for centuries to resolve conflicts, to prove one’s strength, or to claim what was rightfully theirs.

The rules were simple: the stronger Orc won, and the loser had to accept the consequences, whether it was death, dishonor, or exile.

In the past, it was called Mak’Gorah, but an unknown spell prevented them from using the word Mak’Gorah, probably due to the origin of the hornless Orc tribe.

So, they created a version of themselves called KORNUUM DRHAKAR!

Volk stood at the edge of the assembly, with his muscles tense, and his breath ragged with fury.

The scene before him was a mockery, like a cruel twist of fate.

The crowd’s roars of approval for Luk’Tar, the warrior who had stolen his prize, filled him with a burning rage.

How dare they celebrate him?

How dare they cheer for the thief while he, Volk, had been left for dead?

If it wasn’t for him being powered by radiation, he would have been left and wouldn’t have received a wife!

In this one in a lifetime chance, he would’ve missed it!

He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, his vision narrowing to a tunnel of anger that focused solely on Luk’Tar’s smug face.

You will pay for it!

You will pay for it!

He clenched his fists hard, and he didn’t care if his nails were digging into his palms as he tried to rein in his temper. But it was no use.

The anger he could feel in his chest boiled over like a hot breath, spilling out of him in a guttural roar.

“Uraaaa!!! KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!!”

The words erupted from his throat with a force that seemed to shake the very ground beneath him.

“Accept my challenge, you coward!!!” he bellowed, his voice thick with rage and desperation. “Accept my challenge, scum! Thief!!!”

Hearing this, the crowd fell silent, their previous cheers fading into a shocked murmur.

They looked at Volk, with their eyes wide with disbelief.

A Labor Orc?

Issuing a challenge?

It was unheard of.

Labor Orcs were not warriors; they were the backbone of the Tribe, the ones who built, who toiled, who did the work that others couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

They were strong, yes, but not in the ways that mattered in combat.

They lacked the training, the skill, the bloodthirsty instinct that defined a true warrior. And yet, here was one, shouting for a duel as if he belonged among the elite.

Volk could see the doubt in their eyes. He couldn’t help but sneer!

They didn’t believe him. They thought him mad, delusional even. And why wouldn’t they?

To them, a Labor Orc capturing a skinless venomous earth mole was as likely as a mouse taking down a lion. It was impossible.

But Volk knew better.

In the fragmented memories of the body he now occupied, he found a term—Grum-gar form.

It was similar to the radioactive transformation. He will use it!

Soon, his body started cracking!

It was slow, he immediately felt an agonizing process as his body twisted and morphed into something stronger, something more terrifying.

His muscles began to bulge, straining against his skin as they grew larger.

His bones cracked and reformed, expanding to support the massive frame he was becoming.

The transformation crawled up his limbs, his arms thickening, his chest broadening. His veins pulsed with energy, glowing faintly as they pumped more green blood through his rapidly expanding body.

Finally, the change reached his feet, his toes curling and elongating into powerful claws that dug into the earth beneath him.

Volk could feel every inch of him radiated power, an unstoppable force that was only just beginning to show itself.

The air around him seemed to vibrate, releasing small shockwaves unseen to the naked eyes, and the crowd watching were now stunned into silence as Volk completed his transformation.

Then, with a final surge of energy, Volk threw his head back and let out a roar that split the sky.

“ROOOOOOAAARRRRRRRR!!!”

Volk roar wasn’t just challenging Luk’Tar anymore. He was challenging the entire Tribe, demanding that they see him not as a Labor Orc, but as a true warrior.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep