The cheers erupted like a storm within the catacombs.

The Orcs raised their fists in the air, their deep voices booming through the cavern as they surrounded Gurrak, now a hulking behemoth after successfully completing his third Grum-gar mutation.

The once dim-lit and tense cave now echoed with the sound of triumph.

“GURRAK! GURRAK! GURRAK!”

They chanted his name in unison, their voices bouncing off the stone walls.

Gurrak stood tall in the middle, his chest heaving, his massive form looming over the others.

He raised both his thick, muscled arms, flexing with pride as the rest of the Orcs slapped his back and grabbed his arms in congratulations.

“I can’t believe it!” one of the Orcs shouted, his voice barely audible over the roaring celebration. “Three mutations! Three!”

Another Orc, his eyes wide with astonishment, leaned in close to Gurrak, studying his enormous frame with disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like it… You’ve become a beast!”

The group of Orcs, now energized with excitement, couldn’t stop themselves. “If Gurrak can do it, so can we!” one of them shouted, thrusting his fist into the air.

“Three mutations!” another Orc exclaimed, punching the ground beneath his feet, causing a tremor. “If this is what we can become, the Bloodfang Clan is nothing! NOTHING!”

They continued to shout, each trying to outdo the other in their praises and celebrations.

The tension that had plagued them after their battle with Zenveil had completely evaporated, replaced with newfound confidence and pride.

It felt like their entire world had shifted.

Gurrak, one of their own, had achieved something only legends spoke of.

Suddenly, another Orc, his eyes gleaming with both excitement and envy, stepped forward. “I want to try too!” he declared, his voice cutting through the cacophony.

The others turned toward him, one could feel their excitement was palpable.

They were eager to see another of their own transform, to witness the impossible again. It was as if their blood was boiling, the primal urge to grow stronger burning in their veins.

But before the Orc could take another step, Volk’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Don’t.”

The Orc froze, blinking in confusion. He turned to Volk, his face scrunched up in bewilderment. “Why not?”

Volk’s gaze was firm, his voice low but steady. “There’s still the Bloodfang Clan,” he said. “Save it for later. We’ll need every bit of strength we can muster if they decided to antagonize us.”

The Orc hesitated, glancing back at Gurrak, who still stood triumphant in his third mutation. His desire to transform, to feel that surge of power, was undeniable.

“But what if it’s only Gurrak who can do it? What if we’re not the same?” he asked, voicing the doubt that flickered in the back of every Orc’s mind.

Volk’s eyes narrowed, his voice as steady as a mountain. “It’s not just Gurrak. It’s all of you.”

Still, the Orcs around him weren’t entirely convinced.

The doubt lingered, gnawing at them. After all, seeing one of their own mutate three times was an incredible feat, but surely not all of them could be that lucky, could they?

Volk sighed, sensing their skepticism. “Alright,” he relented, his tone softening just a bit. “I’ll let only one more of you transform. But just one. We need to prove this once and for all.”

At this, the Orcs exchanged eager glances, excitement buzzing in the air again.

They jostled one another, each wanting to be the one who got the chance. But it was Grashk, the older, battle-worn Orc, who stepped forward, a confident smirk on his face.

“I’ll do it,” Grashk said, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “I’ve only ever been able to mutate once in my life. If I can do it three times, then we’ll know Volk’s right.”

The others roared in approval, slapping Grashk on the back and cheering him on. He stepped forward, standing in the middle of the group, his muscles tensing as he prepared to attempt the impossible.

His eyes met Volk’s, and Volk gave him a single nod of approval.

Grashk closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself.

The familiar energy surged through his body, but this time, it was stronger, more intense. He could feel the primal power of the Grum-gar form coursing through his veins, and as he focused, his body began to shift.

His muscles expanded, his frame growing larger as his first mutation took hold. His skin darkened, his tusks grew longer, and his body took on the more brutish form of the Grum-gar.

The Orcs watched in awe as Grashk transformed, their cheers growing louder.

But he wasn’t done.

Grashk gritted his teeth, pushing himself further.

His muscles bulged even more, his skin thickening, his bones cracking and reshaping as his body grew larger still.

He roared as his second mutation took hold, his once large form now towering over the others.

The Orcs could barely contain their excitement. “He’s doing it!” one of them shouted, pumping his fist in the air. “He’s really doing it!”

Grashk, now in his second mutation, stood tall, his breathing heavy, his eyes wild with the power surging through him. But he knew there was still more.

He had to push himself to the limit, to prove to the others that Volk was right.

With a roar that shook the cavern, Grashk’s body expanded again.

His third mutation took hold, his form becoming monstrous, his muscles growing to nearly grotesque proportions. His tusks jutted out like massive spears, his arms thick as tree trunks.

His transformation was slow, deliberate, as though the very fabric of his being was reshaping itself into something more primal, more powerful.

The Orcs watched in stunned silence as Grashk completed his third mutation. His body radiated raw power, his presence dominating the room.

He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists, feeling the overwhelming strength that now flowed through him.

Then, without warning, Grashk jumped into the air, soaring high above the ground before landing with a thunderous crash that shook the very earth beneath them.

He threw back his head and let out a triumphant roar, his voice echoing through the catacombs.

“I DID IT!” Grashk bellowed, pounding his chest with his massive fists. “I DID IT! THREE TIMES!”

The other Orcs erupted in cheers, their voices deafening as they celebrated Grashk’s transformation.

“GRASHK! GRASHK! GRASHK!”

They crowded around him, slapping his massive back, hugging him, shouting his name with admiration and respect.

Grashk grinned from ear to ear, flexing his massive arms and letting out another roar of triumph. “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” he shouted, his voice booming. “THREE MUTATIONS! I’M A MONSTER!”

The celebration seemed to go on forever, the Orcs caught up in the sheer joy of the moment.

They had never felt so alive, so powerful.

They had never believed that such strength was possible, but now they knew that it was. And they owed it all to Volk.

Finally, as the excitement began to die down, Volk raised his hand, signaling for the others to quiet down.

“Alright,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s move. We’ve proven our strength today. Now we need to get these crystals back to the clan.”

The Orcs nodded, one could see their eyes gleaming with pride unlike earlier.

They picked up their crystals, their massive forms casting long shadows in the dim light of the catacombs. But this time, as they marched forward, they did so with smiles on their faces, their hearts full of confidence.

As they walked, one of the Orcs spoke quietly to another. “I’m glad I followed Volk earlier before entering the boss cave,” he muttered, glancing at their leader. “I hesitated at first, but now… Now I see.”

The other Orc nodded. “Aye. We’ve never had a leader like him.”

Volk, overhearing them, smirked but said nothing. Instead, he gave them a warning. “Don’t be yes-men,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not perfect. And I need warriors who can think for themselves.”

The Orcs nodded, understanding. They respected Volk not just for his strength, but for his wisdom.

They knew that under his leadership, they were destined for greatness.

…

Meanwhile, on the other side of the catacombs, the Bloodfang Clan was still locked in battle with the monsters surrounding them.

The Orcs who had been defeated were slowly being dragged away into the darkness by the catacomb creatures, their bodies disappearing into the shadows.

Though their ranks were thinning, the Bloodfang Clan fought on.

Those who had only transformed into their first Grum-gar mutations were no match for the relentless waves of monsters, but the stronger among them held their ground, with their eyes burning with determination.

Behind them, other Orc clans watched, waiting for the battle to end so they could move in.

Unlike Volk, who never stood idle, these clans were more cautious, more calculating.

They waited for the Bloodfang Clan to either emerge victorious or be wiped out entirely.

And as they waited, the ground beneath them began to tremble.

Dum! Dum! Dum!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep