Luk’Tar’s voice echoed over the gathered crowd as he shouted again, “KORNUUM DRHAKAR!”

His voice was full of raw energy, hate and desire for destruction as if meant to stir the Orcs and Elves alike, announcing the impending duel with fervor.

The crowd was silent for a moment, making the tension in the air almost unbearable for everyone around.

Then, as if to drive the point home, Luk’Tar shouted the challenge again, “KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!”

Volk stood his ground, his eyes locking with Solluha’r’s. Her face was calm, but in her eyes, he saw concern.

He gave her a small nod, and she returned it, with her lips forming a tight line.

She believed in him.

“Fine! Let’s do this!”

Volk’s voice rang out, steady and strong, signaling his acceptance of the challenge that Luk’Tar was offering.

Lak’Ran stepped forward, patting his son’s shoulder. “Are you sure about this, Luk’Tar?” he asked, his tone almost paternal, though there was an undercurrent of something darker in his words.

Luk’Tar smiled confidently, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

“I’m sure, Father. Volk is strong with weapons and in his Grum-gar form, I’ll give him that. But in hand-to-hand combat? He’s weak. I’ve faced him before, and there’s no way he’s improved so much in such a short amount of time. This is going to be easy.”

After that, another glint appeared in his eyes, “Plus, we have that, I won’t lose even if it was a fight to death!”

Volk, however, was pacing back and forth, his thoughts focused.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

He was punching the air, making a sound similar to that of a whip.

He had no doubts now. His body felt different, lighter, more flexible and confident.

The system’s gift—high-level boxing—had already begun coursing through his muscles.

He could feel it in the way his fists clenched, the way his body moved with newfound precision.

Luk’Tar, noticing Volk’s movements, called out, “No weapons! We’ll fight barehanded. We need to save our weapons in case the Warlocks catch up to us. And no Grum-gar forms either! If you shift into your form, you lose!”

Volk nodded in agreement, and without a word, he dropped the Axe of Dissection in front of Solluha’r.

His armor followed, clattering to the ground as Solluha’r stepped forward, picking up the axe and the other bone armors she could carry.

Luk’Tar’s expression twisted into a snarl when he saw that. He was furious, the sight of Solluha’r holding Volk’s weapon stoking something in him, but he quickly masked his anger with a mocking smile.

“LET’S GO, VOLK! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!”

The crowd shifted, eyes glued to the two combatants, murmuring amongst themselves as the tension built.

Lak’Ran watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, confident in his son’s victory.

The fight began with Luk’Tar charging forward, his fists swinging with brutal force.

Volk narrowly dodged the first punch, slipping to the side as Luk’Tar’s fist passed by him.

The air whistled with the power behind Luk’Tar’s strike.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

He was fast, stronger than most Orcs, but Volk felt something else.

He felt… calm.

BANG!

Volk’s fist connected with Luk’Tar’s ribs before he could recover from his missed punch.

CRACCK!

The impact was swift, solid, and precise. Luk’Tar gasped, stumbling back, surprised by the force.

Luk’Tar gritted his teeth and charged again, this time more aggressively.

He threw a barrage of punches, each one aimed at Volk’s face and chest, his movements quick and sharp.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Volk dodged them all, slipping to the side, ducking low, his body moving fluidly as though he’d been fighting like this for years.

Then, without warning, Volk’s right hand shot out in a lightning-fast jab.

BANG!

The punch slammed into Luk’Tar’s jaw, snapping his head to the side.

The crowd gasped, murmurs rippling through the onlookers.

“The Labor Orc was this strong?”

“He was fast and can evade easily too?”

Luk’Tar staggered, disoriented, wiping blood from his lip as he glared at Volk, with intense fury burning in his eyes.

Luk’Tar couldn’t believe it.

What’s going on?

Volk wasn’t like this before.

He’s faster—stronger!

He snarled, trying to push the thought aside.

No matter.

I’ll crush him still!

Luk’Tar rushed again, but this time he tried to grapple Volk, aiming to use his larger size to overpower him.

Swish!

Volk shifted, using the momentum of Luk’Tar’s charge to throw him off balance.

THUD!

Luk’Tar hit the ground hard, gasping for breath. Volk loomed over him, and before Luk’Tar could react, Volk delivered a powerful punch to his stomach.

BANG!

Luk’Tar doubled over in pain, wheezing as the wind knocked out of him.

Keeeesh!

How is he this strong?

They were in the same strength now, in Fifth Stage Mag’Durotan!

Luk’Tar believed that he should have the upper hand!

However, he was being beaten black and blue and no matter what he does, he cannot even touch Volk!

He was never like this in the past!

This can’t be Volk. Not the Volk I knew. He tried to push himself up, but Volk didn’t give him the chance.

BANG!

A right hook crashed into Luk’Tar’s cheek, sending him sprawling across the dirt.

The crowd was silent now, stunned by the spectacle.

They had expected a quick victory for Luk’Tar, but Volk was dominating the fight.

Luk’Tar’s confidence began to waver. He couldn’t keep up. Every punch he threw was either dodged or blocked, and Volk’s counters were devastating, precise. He was getting beaten black and blue, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Volk moved without a grace but he look fluid that was almost unnatural, every strike seemed deliberate, and every movement seemed calculated.

Like he is not wasting his energy on unnecessary motions, and his fists… his fists felt like iron.

BANG! BANG!

Two more punches landed squarely on Luk’Tar’s face, snapping his head back, and even making his nose spray a fountain of blood.

The pain was overwhelming now, blinding him with every blow.

How… How did he get this strong?

This fast? Luk’Tar’s mind began to whirl as he was punched left and right. His body was now screaming in agony, but he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t allow himself to lose in front of everyone—especially not to Volk, a Labor Orc.

But every time he tried to gather his strength, Volk was there, delivering another punishing blow.

BANG!

Luk’Tar’s body jerked with the impact of Volk’s punch, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. His vision blurred, but through the haze, he could see the crowd watching, stunned into silence.

Volk delivered one final punch, a solid uppercut that lifted Luk’Tar off his feet before he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

The crowd was shocked.

They had expected Luk’Tar to win easily, but now, Volk stood victorious, barely breaking a sweat, while Luk’Tar lay battered and broken on the ground.

Volk wiped sweat from his brow, his breathing steady. The high-level boxing from the system had been more powerful than he ever imagined. He felt like he could take on an army with his bare hands.

But something gnawed at the back of his mind.

As Volk stood over Luk’Tar, victorious, he couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Luk’Tar had been beaten thoroughly, yet he hadn’t gone down. He was still conscious, still moving despite the severe beating.

Why isn’t he going down?

Volk’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at Luk’Tar’s bloodied form.

Something wasn’t right, and he could feel it.

There was something unnatural about how Luk’Tar kept standing up, even after receiving punches that should’ve left him unconscious.

His head was clawing of possibilities why as he tried to piece it together.

What is going on?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep