The crowd of Orcs and Elves around Volk began murmuring, one could see their voices were growing louder and louder, and each was filled with confusion and curiosity.

Volk could hear snippets of conversations swirling around him, bits of dialogue that made the tension in the air even thicker.

“Did he just say Lak’Ran is a traitor?”

“The Labor Orc must be mistaken… Lak’Ran? No way.”

“But why would he say that? Labor Orcs don’t just throw around accusations.”

“I thought Lak’Ran was one of the strongest among the Dreadmaw Clan… Why would he betray us?”

“Maybe the Labor Orc’s onto something. Labor Orcs are known for their sensitivity to magic. What if he’s right?”

Volk’s ears caught every word, every doubt and concern rippling through the ranks of the tribe. He could feel eyes boring into him from all directions, some suspicious, others filled with questions they didn’t dare to ask aloud.

Then, a sudden Ding! echoed in his mind, the unmistakable sound of the system’s notification.

| Ding!

A message flashed before his eyes:

| Mission Completed.

| You have found one of the traitors.

| Rewards received:

| High-level Boxing. |

—

| Name: Volk Mog’ger

| Status: Hornless Orc Tribe Kaz’rogal (Current Year), and the Warlock Slayer.

| Age: 18

| Level: Fifth Stage Mag’Durotan

| Passive Ability: Radioactive Form (Duration: Nine Minutes)

| Normal Abilities:

| – Radioactive Absorption.

| – Basic Mastery of Axe Handling.

| – High-level Boxing. |

The words filled Volk’s vision, but along with them came a sense of clarity.

The haze that had clouded his mind ever since the march were lifted, leaving him feeling more aware, more focused than ever before.

His body tingled with an unknown energy, as if his muscles were now perfectly tuned, ready to unleash powerful strikes.

Volk flexed his hand into a fist, feeling the strength surge through his knuckles. He could almost feel himself punching through solid rock without even breaking a sweat.

But before he could even revel in his new strength, another Ding! followed almost immediately, bringing with it a new wave of dread.

| Ding!

| New Mission: Expose all of the traitors with 3 star rating or higher without turning into Grum-gar form.

| Traitor: 054.

| Rewards:

| 5 Star = Grandmaster-level Muay Thai Kickboxing.

| 4 Star = Master-level Muay Thai Kickboxing.

| 3 Star = Expert-level Muay Thai Kickboxing.

| 2 Star = Basic-level Muay Thai Kickboxing.

| 1 Star = Low-level Muay Thai Kickboxing.

| Failure: Will be the annihilation of the Dreadmaw Clan. |

Volk’s brow furrowed deeply.

“What?!”

It was like a heavy sledgehammer from heaven.

This is heavy!

“And Fifty-four?” he muttered under his breath. His mind began to go round and round as he processed the impossible task before him.

How could there be so many traitors among the Dreadmaw Clan?

His system had never given him such an overwhelming mission, rewards and failure before.

Fifty-four traitors—how was he supposed to find and deal with all of them?

As the silence stretched and Volk tried to grasp the weight of his mission, a loud, deep laugh erupted from Lak’Ran.

“RUGAGHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The sound was booming, almost shaking the ground beneath Volk’s feet.

Lak’Ran doubled over, clutching his belly as his laughter echoed through the air.

“RUGAGHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The crowd fell silent, their attention drawn to the imposing figure of Lak’Ran Durghan.

“Me? A traitor?” Lak’Ran said, his voice thick with mockery as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“Labor Orc, you must have hit your head a little too hard in that last fight. Do you truly believe I would betray the Dreadmaw Clan? The very clan I’ve fought for, bled for, and protected for longer than you’ve been alive?”

He shook his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “This is the most absurd accusation I’ve ever heard.”

Volk stood his ground, his muscles tense, watching Lak’Ran’s theatrics.

The elder Orc’s laughter was filled with arrogance, and the crowd seemed to be caught between the absurdity of the accusation and the commanding presence of the accused.

Lak’Ran smirked as he glanced around at the gathered tribe members.

“Volk, you’re nothing more than a Labor Orc. You should have stayed among the ranks of your kind, used as nothing but cannon fodder to distract the Warlocks while the real warriors of the Dreadmaw Clan make their escape.”

He paused, his tone turning cold and derisive.

“You were never meant for anything more than labor and death. So what makes you think you have the right to accuse me—one of the Grum-gar elite—of something as ridiculous as treason?”

The crowd was silent now, waiting for Volk’s response.

Lak’Ran’s words hung heavy in the air, full of contempt, and Volk could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

Lak’Ran stepped forward, his towering form casting a long shadow over Volk.

“Tell me, Labor Orc, what proof do you have of this outlandish claim? What evidence could someone like you possibly present to make anyone believe that I, Lak’Ran Durghan, am a traitor?”

Volk clenched his fists, with his head working furiously.

He knew that this was his moment—he had to be convincing.

He took a deep breath, his voice steady despite the pressure.

“I may be a Labor Orc, but we are known for one thing—our sensitivity to hazardous magic particles. And right now, I can sense it all around you.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

Orcs and Elves exchanged looks, whispering to one another.

What Volk had said wasn’t a lie.

Labor Orcs were known for their heightened sensitivity to magic, specifically to dangerous, corrupt magic.

It was what made them valuable in mines and places where magical residue could poison normal beings. But it was also what made them expendable in war—easy to sacrifice for being weak.

“That’s ridiculous!” Lak’Ran spat, though there was a hint of unease in his voice. “Sensitivity to magic? That’s not enough evidence to accuse me of treason. You think your heightened senses make you some kind of truth-teller?”

Volk narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not just that. You carry something… something that feels wrong. It’s not just magic. It’s corrupted, tainted. And I’m not the only one who can feel it.”

This statement caused a stir among the crowd. More murmurs. More shifting.

The eyes of many Orcs and Elves flicked toward Lak’Ran, their expressions no longer as certain as they had been just moments ago.

Lak’Ran sneered, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“Tainted? You think you’re special because you can sense a bit of magic in the air? That’s laughable.” He spread his arms wide, as if daring anyone to step forward.

“Go ahead! Call every Labor Orc in the camp! Let them all come and tell me if they feel this so-called corruption. But you’ll find nothing. You’re grasping at straws, Volk.”

Volk stared at him. His face felt hard.

He could feel the tension building in the air.

This was his moment—if he faltered now, if he hesitated, Lak’Ran would slip through his fingers, and the traitors would continue to poison the tribe from within.

He raised his chin, his voice firm and resolute. “Do it. Call them all. Let every Labor Orc who’s awakened the Grum-gar form come and tell us what they sense.”

The challenge was unexpected.

The crowd watched in silence, their breaths held as they waited for Lak’Ran’s response.

There was no backing down now.

Lak’Ran’s sneer faltered for just a moment before he regained his composure, but the tension between the two Orcs was palpable.

The dawn was still, save for the crackling of the nearby fires, casting long shadows over the waiting tribe.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep