The tension in the air was thick as the orcs of the Bloodfang Clan and the Ironhide Clan stood frozen, with their eyes wide, slightly shocked.

Especially the Ironhide Clan, who had entered the catacombs next to Bloodfang Clan.

They could hardly believe what they were seeing.

“How in the name of Gruul did the Dreadmaw Clan reach here first?” the leader of the Ironhide Clan muttered under his breath, one could notice his deep voice were barely containing the confusion.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the distant figures of Volk and his orcs, who were trudging steadily through the dark stone corridors, their backs hunched beneath the weight of massive crystals.

Behind the leader of the Ironhide Clan, his subordinates stood with their arms crossed, equally bewildered.

The blood-red eyes of every orc followed the trail of the Dreadmaw Clan.

The sight of those crystals—their shimmering surfaces reflecting the dim, flickering torchlight—was too much to ignore.

One of the orcs at the back whispered, “How did they complete the catacombs… that fast?”

The Bloodfang Clan orcs were just as stunned.

Several of them stood motionless, their tusked jaws slack as they gaped at the impossible sight.

Dreadmaw Clan, carrying those crystals, had completed the dungeon first. Even worse, the one leading the Dreadmaw Clan was Volk.

The massive orc walked with his usual, almost casual swagger, despite the exhaustion hidden behind his heavy gait.

The realization hit the Bloodfang orcs like a slap to the face.

“The Dreadmaw Clan finished it?!”

“Them? Volk’s tribe?” one of the Bloodfang orcs muttered, disbelief etched on his face. He glanced at his comrades, who were equally dumbfounded.

Volk, leading his clan with the immense crystals strapped to their backs, wasn’t in any hurry.

They had completed the dungeon, but his mind was on what would happen next.

He knew there were eyes on them, watching, calculating, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Bloodfang’s warriors were whispering amongst themselves, looking more and more tempted by the second.

If Volk had heard what they were saying, he would’ve been livid.

“Fast?

“What fast?”

He would have scoffed inwardly.

They had fought a warlock—a being far beyond what any of these orcs could comprehend.

They had struggled, bled, and barely made it out alive. But of course, the other clans knew nothing of that.

Ignorance bred arrogance.

Volk’s walk was interrupted when one of the orcs, in his Grum-gar form from his own clan stepped forward, his massive figure even casting a long shadow across the cavern floor.

“Leader,” the Grum-gar said, his deep voice rumbling. “Let me carry your crystal.”

Volk stopped in his tracks, considering the offer.

He glanced at the heavy crystal he’d been hauling across his back. His body ached from the weight, but his pride was far greater than his pain.

Still, he wasn’t stupid.

He knew when to conserve his strength.

“Okay,” Volk said, his tone gruff but accepting.

He unhooked the straps of the crystal from his shoulders and handed it over to the Grum-gar orc, who took it without hesitation.

His mutated muscles bulged as he heaved the crystal onto his own back with a thud.

The exchange was brief, but in that moment, Volk’s eyes met the gaze of the Bloodfang orcs.

He could see them watching, eyes narrowing, whispering to one another.

They weren’t just curious—they were calculating.

Volk could feel the tension rising. The question hung in the air: “Would the Bloodfang Clan make a move?”

He and his Dreadmaw Can was prepared for it.

Volk’s lips twisted into a smirk as he continued walking, eyes still locked onto the Bloodfang warriors.

Every step he took was slow and deliberate, as if daring them to challenge him.

As the Dreadmaw Clan marched past, the leader of the Bloodfang Clan stepped forward, his strides confident, almost swaggering.

Volk could see it in his posture—the arrogance, the self-assuredness. The leader of the Bloodfang Clan wore a smug grin as he approached.

Volk’s smirk widened. ‘Here we go,’ he thought. ‘They’re coming.’

The Bloodfang leader’s laughter echoed through the cavern, deep and mocking. “Congratulations, Volk,” he called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I see you and your boys managed to get your hands on some crystals… easily.”

Volk didn’t miss a beat.

“Naturally,” he responded with a matching tone, his smirk never leaving his face. “We’d be fools if we couldn’t.” His voice was laced with mockery.

Then, without hesitation, he cut straight to the point, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Do you plan on stealing them?”

The Bloodfang leader’s expression shifted slightly.

He stopped a few feet away from Volk, still smiling but now with a hint of something darker beneath it. “Stealing?” the Bloodfang leader repeated, raising an eyebrow as though the idea was absurd.

Then, he shook his head and began speaking, his voice rising as he addressed not just Volk, but everyone within earshot.

“It’s always been known that it is forbidden to interfere with the business of other clans,” he began, his tone turning righteous. “Whether they’re in need of help or not. To do so is seen as a challenge to their strength and their honor. In the catacombs, every clan must fight its own battles.”

The Bloodfang leader’s voice grew louder, and the other orcs began to listen more intently, his words gaining weight with each passing second.

“But you!!!!! aaaall interfered. You disrupted the balance,” he continued, his eyes now hard, focusing on Volk. “For us, it is an insult. A sign that you think we are too weak to handle our own affairs. And in our world, an insult like that is answered with blood.”

The silence that followed was palpable. Every orc in the cavern—whether Bloodfang, Dreadmaw, or Ironhide—stood still, absorbing the weight of the words.

The Ironhide Clan orcs, who had been standing at the edge of the scene, were wide-eyed with surprise.

They hadn’t expected this.

They knew the Dreadmaw Clan had entered the catacombs last, so how had things escalated so quickly?

As for the Bloodfang leader, his confidence only grew. He was sure of his assessment.

Volk’s clan had to be hiding something.

The Dreadmaw orcs, despite their bravado, had clearly fought something fierce.

The more confident they seemed, the more the Bloodfang leader believed they were masking their injuries.

But as the Bloodfang leader continued his speech, Volk’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something far beyond the other orcs’ comprehension.

He was reading the room, assessing every glance, every nervous twitch of the Bloodfang warriors.

He knew what they were thinking. And that’s why, instead of being scared or defensive, he did something unexpected.

He let out a low chuckle, loud enough to silence the murmurs around him.

Then, with a swift movement, Volk’s hands dropped the straps of the crystals from his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground with a resounding thud!

One by one, the other orcs of the Dreadmaw Clan did the same.

The crystals hit the stone floor in unison, echoing through the cavern like the beating of war drums.

The Bloodfang leader’s eyes widened in surprise.

His confident smirk faltered for just a moment as he saw the Dreadmaw orcs, bruised and battered, now dropping their burdens and standing tall, their chests heaving with the thrill of battle.

They were no longer hiding anything.

Instead, they were baring their teeth, ready for whatever came next.

Volk grinned, his eyes glinting with savage excitement. He raised his fist and bellowed, his voice booming through the chamber with raw energy.

“FINALLY!”

The rest of the Dreadmaw orcs roared in unison, with their voices filled with unbridled aggression.

In their feet, they could feel the sound of the ground reverberated off the walls, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

They wanted this.

The battle, it seemed, was about to begin.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep