The gathering at the entrance to the catacombs buzzed with the grim energy of impending battle.

The Orc clans stood together in a loose formation, their tension barely hidden under forced bravado.

They all knew what was coming, what fate awaited those who failed to hide or fight back against the relentless onslaught of Red Elven Warlocks and Dark Elven Witches.

Yet, despite the looming danger, there was an undeniable camaraderie between the Orc tribes—a mutual respect, though often laced with mockery.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the distance.

“Wait!”

The sound echoed across the gathering, halting all movement.

The various Orc clans turned their heads as one, their eyes falling on the approach of the Dreadmaw Clan.

Their numbers were fewer than the other tribes, and their heavy footsteps were slow, burdened with the weight of defeat and exhaustion.

The once-proud hunters now looked disheveled, their armor dented, and their eyes filled with a sense of despair.

They must have traveled fast and a lot.

A murmur spread through the crowd. Then, laughter broke the tense silence.

The leader of the Bloodfang Clan, a hulking Orc draped in red and black armor, barked out a laugh so loud it made the ground tremble beneath him.

His yellowed tusks gleamed in the faint light as he slapped his thigh in mock amusement.

“Look at this, boys!” he called to his clansmen. “Who would’ve thought the Dreadmaw Clan would make it this far? I thought they could only hunt fishes and wild animals. Seems like desperation sharpens even the dullest minds!”

Another round of laughter erupted from the surrounding Orcs.

The Ironhide Clan, known for their stoic demeanor, allowed themselves a rare chuckle, and even the normally silent Shadowclaw Clan let out a low snicker.

The Thunderstrike Orcs, always quick with their wit, were the first to pile on.

“Maybe they’ve finally started using their heads for more than just smashing rocks!” one of them quipped, prompting another wave of jeers.

Volk’s face twitched, his fists tightening at his sides, but he held his tongue.

‘Wait until the threat of Warlock and Dark elves is gone, I’ll smack you all at once!’ he mumbled.

The Bloodfang Chieftain wasn’t done yet, though. His laughter died down, but a wicked grin remained on his face as he cast his eyes toward a particular figure in his ranks.

“Hey, Grounad!” he shouted, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Come over here, warrior! You’re our mightiest, a Kaz’rogal this year, aren’t you? Tell me, do you really think these weaklings defeated a Warlock? You don’t have to lie to us, you know. If you’re scared to be blamed, just tell the truth.”

Grounad stepped forward, his massive form towering even over the other Bloodfangs. His every movement seemed to exude raw strength, but there was no laughter in his eyes.

Instead, there was a deep frown of confusion as he regarded the Dreadmaw Clan.

His gaze settled on Volk, studying him intently.

“Volk…” Grounad mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, but enough to break the atmosphere of laughter.

Soon, the laughter around him did began to fade, replaced by murmurs of curiosity.

Grounad’s reaction wasn’t what the others had expected. His usual bravado seemed dimmed, his confidence shaken by the sight of Volk and his clan.

The Dreadmaw Clan continued their approach, their faces downcast, clearly worn from the run.

The other Orc clans, though still mocking them, began to notice their condition.

The Ironhide Clan stepped forward, their leader, with his iron-like skin, addressing them with a smirk.

“Why so down, Dreadmaw?” he asked. “We’re all in the same boat. You’ll hide in the catacombs like the rest of us. As long as we suppress our mana and mend our forces, the Elves won’t find us. Once their war is over, we’ll come out, and you’ll still have your miserable lives!”

The Orcs from the Thunderstrike Clan laughed heartily, with their voices cutting through the air like blades.

They slapped each other on the back as though they didn’t have a care in the world.

The other clans joined in, their laughter filling the air with a false sense of ease, as if they were invincible, unaffected by the horrors waiting for them beyond the catacombs.

“It’s like a game to them,” one of the Fireblood Clan Orcs muttered under his breath, his fiery eyes scanning the group of warriors. “They laugh as though the Warlocks and Witches aren’t hunting us like animals.”

Volk gritted his teeth.

They had no idea what they were up against.

The catacombs weren’t a sanctuary—they were a death trap. And the creatures lurking in its dark, cold corridors wouldn’t hesitate to tear apart anyone foolish enough to think they were safe.

It was explained to him during the journey that once a catacomb was conquered, several new creatures would emerge from it.

They could stay inside, but they would only need a few days to hide there.

They could come out once the war was over because if they didn’t, they would be swept in an unknown direction.

The only problem was the monsters inside the catacombs.

The numbers are likely to be doubled. And they needed to defend themselves against them while inside hiding.

Before Volk could delve deep to his own thoughts, a powerful, authoritative voice broke through the laughter, commanding immediate silence.

“Bloodfang Clan, prepare to go inside the catacombs first!”

It was the voice of the Bloodfang Chieftain, who had grown tired of the mockery.

The other clans instantly straightened up, the jovial mood vanishing as the seriousness of the situation set in once more.

The entrance to the catacombs loomed ahead like a gaping maw, dark and foreboding. It seemed to call out to them, promising safety while hiding its true dangers.

The Bloodfang warriors moved to the front, preparing to enter first as ordered.

But just as they were about to take their first steps into the shadowed abyss, another voice rang out, strong and filled with authority.

“Wait.”

The voice belonged to the Chieftain of the Dreadmaw Clan, a large, powerful Orc whose presence demanded respect. .

His muscles bulged beneath his armor, and his tusks gleamed with the fire of battle in his eyes. His stance was one of confidence, unshaken by the mockery or the impending danger.

The other Orc clans turned to face him, their curiosity piqued.

The Bloodfang Chieftain raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sneer. “What now, Dreadmaw? Changed your mind? Afraid of the dark?”

The Dreadmaw Chieftain took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes locked on the Bloodfangs. His voice, though calm, carried a weight that silenced any lingering laughter.

“You think the catacombs will save you,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “You think hiding in there will keep you safe from the Dark Elves, from their war? You’re wrong. The catacombs are not the salvation you believe they are. They’re a graveyard. And if you enter without knowing the dangers, you’ll never come out again.”

A heavy silence settled over the gathering.

The other clans, once filled with bravado, now looked at each other with uncertainty.

The laughter immediately disappeared, replaced by the cold reality of the hairs on their shoulders.

The Dreadmaw Chieftain’s words hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over their hopes of survival.

The Bloodfang Chieftain narrowed his eyes, his sneer fading into a grim line. “Then what do you suggest, Dreadmaw? If not the catacombs, where? The Warlocks and Witches are closing in. We have no other options.”

The Dreadmaw Chieftain met his gaze, unflinching. “There are other ways to survive. But running blindly into the dark is not one of them. You’d do well to remember that.”

Volk felt a surge of pride and relief as his Chieftain spoke, standing tall against the mockery of the other clans.

Perhaps there was still hope after all.

As long as they had their wits and their strength, they could find a way to survive—even if it meant facing the horrors of the catacombs.

The Bloodfang Chieftain hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with the reality of their situation. Then, with a reluctant nod, he turned to his warriors.

“We’ll see about that, Dreadmaw. We’ll see.”

And with that, the Bloodfangs began to march into the catacombs, their footsteps echoing into the darkness.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep