As the dawn dragged on and the atmosphere in the cold windy air continued to thicken, a murmur passed through the crowd as someone had gone to fetch the Labor Orcs who had awakened the Grum-gar form.

In the stillness that followed, Lak’Ran’s booming voice cut through the quiet.

“So, Volk,” Lak’Ran began, his tone dripping with mockery, “you accuse me, Lak’Ran Durghan, of being a traitor? You stand here, trembling in your little boots, calling on the Labor Orcs to vouch for you?”

He took a step forward, chest puffed out with arrogance. His eyes gleamed as if enjoying the spectacle.

“You think I don’t have friends among the Labor Orcs? People who would stand beside me rather than listen to your ridiculous claims?”

Lak’Ran paused, grinning as his eyes roved over the gathered crowd.

“If I were really a traitor, tell me—who am I working with? The Warlocks? Oh, that’s rich! Let me guess, little Labor Orc, you believe that I’ve been sneaking around in the shadows, plotting with the Warlocks against our tribe, against our people?”

Volk remained silent, his jaw clenched, waiting for Lak’Ran to finish his tirade.

The crowd was watching, hanging on every word, their murmurs filling the gaps between Lak’Ran’s speeches.

Lak’Ran’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

“Or is it something else, little Labor Orc? Hmm? Maybe you’re trying to conspire against my son, Luk’Tar. Maybe you’re trying to get him kicked out of the tribe so you can have Solluha’r all to yourself?”

The words cut through the air like a blade, and the crowd seemed to draw in a collective breath.

Solluha’r stiffened at Volk’s side, with her eyes narrowing as she focused on Lak’Ran’s accusations.

Volk felt his blood rising and becoming hot within him, but he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to give Lak’Ran the satisfaction of a reaction.

Lak’Ran smirked, noticing Solluha’r’s discomfort. His eyes flicked toward her, and the smirk widened into a full, wicked grin.

“Ah, I see her now,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.

“This is the Labor Orc you’ve chosen, Solluha’r? The one you’ve cast your lot with instead of my son? Can’t you see the deceit in his eyes? Can’t you see the plan he’s hatching? It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s jealous of Luk’Tar.

He wants to be the hero, the savior, and the lover all at once, doesn’t he?”

Solluha’r shifted uneasily, her face carefully neutral, but Volk could sense her discomfort growing.

Lak’Ran’s voice grew louder as he continued. “Oh, Solluha’r, have you forgotten the promises you made to Luk’Tar? Have you forgotten all those moments you shared with him? The bond, the future, the destiny that you two were supposed to have together?”

His grin turned even more malicious, and his tone dripped with false concern. “And now you’ve just… replaced him with this? A deceitful Labor Orc?”

Lak’Ran’s eyes glittered as he leaned in closer, his voice becoming even more venomous.

“If I were Luk’Tar, I’d have taken your purity long ago, before this traitor could ever lay his filthy hands on you. But here you are, standing by this… this nothing of an Orc. How shameful.”

Volk’s eyes flared with rage.

His fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. He could see the discomfort growing in Solluha’r, the subtle flinch in her posture, the tension in her jaw.

Before he could stop himself, Volk growled, with a sharp and extremely commanding voice he would shout, “ENOUGH!”

Lak’Ran’s mocking laughter echoed once again, but before he could continue his verbal assault, a voice called out from behind the crowd.

“Here is Vulnarran!” someone announced.

The crowd parted slightly as a figure approached—a Labor Orc, just like Volk, but there was something off about him.

Vulnarran stood tall, his muscles rippling beneath his rough, scarred skin, but unlike most Labor Orcs, a dark aura seemed to cling to him.

His eyes, though bright, held a strange shadow, something that made the hairs on the back of Volk’s neck stand on end.

Volk’s heart sank.

He could feel it—there was something deeply wrong with Vulnarran.

“Look at him,” Lak’Ran said, waving a hand toward the approaching Labor Orc. “This is one of my friends, Volk. A Labor Orc, just like you. Are you going to tell me that he’s a traitor, too? I’m sure he could have told anyone if I was a traitor long ago, so what’s you say?”

Volk’s gaze fixed on Vulnarran.

His head began to spin as he tried to process what he was feeling and what he was seeing in his eyes.

The dark aura surrounding Vulnarran was undeniable.

The sensation was unmistakable—it was the same corruption he had sensed around Lak’Ran.

Suddenly, without thinking, Volk blurted out, “He is also a traitor.”

A gasp rippled through the crowd, louder this time.

The gathered Orcs and Elves looked between Volk, Lak’Ran, and Vulnarran, confusion and alarm evident on their faces.

Murmurs began to rise again, louder than before.

“What did he say?”

“Another traitor?”

“Don’t tell me labor Orc is just making things up?”

Lak’Ran threw his head back and laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. “Volk, what’s your plan here? Are you going to accuse every Orc in this tribe of being a traitor? Are you going to start pointing fingers until no one is left? It’s pathetic.”

Volk stood firm, though doubt felt was digging at him from within.

How could so many traitors exist in the tribe?

The number was staggering—fifty-four.

It didn’t seem possible.

Lak’Ran stepped closer, his face twisted into a sneer. “Why don’t you just return to the Labor Orcs where you belong, little Volk? You seem to be better at digging in the dirt than standing with warriors. Why not take your little accusations and crawl back into the holes we’ve dug for you?”

But Volk’s thoughts were racing. Something Lak’Ran said struck a chord deep within him. His breath hitched as the realization crashed over him.

His eyes widened as his mind raced through the recent days, the faces of those he had interacted with, and the one glaring absence among them.

“Where is Lhum’Baggar?” Volk suddenly asked, his voice low but firm.

Lak’Ran’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to confirm Volk’s suspicions.

The crowd, sensing the shift in the air, quieted down, waiting for what was to come next.

“Where is Lhum’Baggar?” Volk repeated, his voice louder now, demanding an answer. “He was with us yesterday, in the catacombs. Where is he now?”

Lak’Ran’s sneer slowly returned, but there was a new edge to it, something darker, more dangerous. “Lhum’Baggar?” he drawled, his voice thick with condescension.

“You think he has something to do with this? Are you going to drag him into this absurd accusation of yours, too?”

But Volk wasn’t backing down. His fists clenched, his jaw set, and his eyes burned with determination. “Tell me where he is.”

The crowd was on edge, their murmurs silenced as they waited for Lak’Ran’s next move.

Everyone was watching, waiting to see what would happen next.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep