The moment the voice echoed across the tense battlefield, all eyes turned toward the source, and to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t a chieftain or a warrior stepping forward to halt the inevitable clash between Volk and Grounad.

It was an elf—a slender, fierce woman dressed in the sturdy armor of the Ironhide Clan.

Her long, silver hair shimmered under the light, contrasting starkly with her dark eyes, filled with a storm of fury.

“Are you all out of your damn minds?!” she shouted.

Her hands trembled with anger, fists clenched tightly as she strode forward, pushing past Orcs who were easily three times her size.

“Look at you! Brawling like common animals when the Warlocks and Dark Elves are breathing down our necks! This is madness!”

The Orcs collectively flinched at her words, though more in irritation than guilt.

Murmurs spread through the crowd, and the initial shock of seeing an elf command the attention of so many Orcs quickly turned to annoyance. But the elf was undeterred, her rage only building as she continued.

“You’re so obsessed with your pride and your stupid honor! You brutes, you’ll kill each other before the real enemy even has a chance! While you’re all busy beating each other senseless, the Warlocks and Dark Elves will swoop in and finish you off like the brainless cattle you are!”

She spat on the ground in disgust, her sharp gaze darting between the leaders of each clan.

Volk and Grounad stood motionless for a moment, blinking as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were hearing.

The rest of the Orcs, however, were far less restrained.

A low rumble of anger spread through the crowd, and several Orcs bared their teeth, their fists clenched at their sides.

One of the Fireblood Clan Orcs, a burly warrior with a scar running down his cheek, growled under his breath, “Who does this elf think she is? Talking to us like that. We’re in the middle of a Kornuum Drhakar! It’s sacred!”

The Stonefist Clan, ever known for their brutish strength and stubbornness, were even less kind.

One of their warriors, a massive Orc with arms like tree trunks, grunted, “Shut your mouth, elf! This is Orc business! Kornuum Drhakar cannot be stopped by the likes of you! Go back to your trees!”

The anger in the crowd grew, and several Orcs shouted their agreement, voices rising into a cacophony of jeers.

“Go back to the forest, elf! This is sacred!” “Do not meddle in Orc traditions!” “Who gave you the right to speak here?!”

The elf’s lips curled into a sneer, and her eyes were obviously blazing with fury as the Orcs hurled their insults at her. But before she could retort, a deep, booming voice cut through the noise, silencing the crowd in an instant.

“Enough!”

It was the Chieftain of the Ironhide Clan, a towering figure with skin as tough and scarred as the iron for which his clan was named.

His voice was like the grind of stone on metal, and when he spoke, even the most defiant Orcs lowered their heads, their anger tempered by his sheer presence.

The chieftain stepped forward, his gaze locking onto the elf.

There was a moment of tension, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them before he spoke again, this time softer, though no less commanding.

“She is right.”

The Orcs exploded with outrage.

“What?” one from the Bloodfang Clan spat, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Right about what?! This is Kornuum Drhakar!”

Others from the Thunderstrike Clan and Shadowclaw Clan joined in, their disbelief turning into curses and shouted objections.

“She knows nothing of our ways!” cried a warrior from the Stonefist Clan. “What do you mean she’s right?!”

“She’s not even one of us!” an Orc from the Fireblood Clan snarled, his hand inching toward the hilt of his blade.

The chieftain raised his hand, silencing them once more. His eyes, deep and unreadable, scanned the crowd before he continued.

“She is my wife and she is right about one thing. The Warlocks and Dark Elves are hunting us as we speak. And a battle between two warriors of the fifth Mag’Durotan will be long, drawn out.”

His voice was low but firm, each word a stone dropped into the collective anger of the crowd.

“The Warlocks will not wait for this sacred duel to end. And while we may hold our traditions dear, we cannot ignore the danger at our gates. A battle like this… could cost us time we do not have.”

The Orcs grumbled in discontent, but the chieftain’s words carried weight, and they knew it.

Still, the anger did not dissipate easily, and many continued to cast dark glares toward the elf.

The chieftain turned back to the crowd, his face stern.

“But the elf is not entirely correct, either. Our traditions matter. Kornuum Drhakar cannot be stopped, and we will not let anyone disrespect what is sacred to us. But there is another way. A way that both honors our traditions and saves time.”

The Orcs waited, confused.

The Ironhide Chieftain glanced around before letting out a sharp whistle.

Woyowiiiiiiit!

Moments later, the ground trembled slightly as something massive approached.

The crowd parted as a gigantic beast appeared—a Ground Bull, its thick hide like stone and its eyes burning with primal strength.

The massive beast snorted, shaking the earth with each step.

“This is Tomorrowhawk, my Ground Bull.”

The chieftain spoke with pride, his voice booming as he laid a hand on the beast’s thick, scarred hide.

“It took me three years to tame this beast. Three years of breaking bones, of bruises, of near-death experiences. Tomorrowhawk was not easily broken. But now, he stands here, my most trusted companion in battle.

“His hide is tougher than iron, his strength unmatched by any creature in the wild. He has trampled entire battalions under his feet, leaving nothing but devastation in his wake.”

The Orcs watched in awe as Tomorrowhawk snorted, stomping the ground impatiently.

“But his true strength is not in his size or his power. No. It’s in his instincts. Tomorrowhawk senses weakness like no other.

“He can find the weakest member of any group and strike them down without mercy. That is how he has survived every battle, how he has won every fight. He always targets the weakest first.”

The Orcs stared at the beast with a mixture of admiration and trepidation.

They knew the strength of Ground Bulls, but to see one this massive, this disciplined—it was awe-inspiring.

The chieftain smiled darkly.

“So, how about we let Tomorrowhawk decide? Instead of dragging out a long, drawn-out battle between Volk and Grounad, we’ll let my Ground Bull choose the victor.

“Whoever Tomorrowhawk attacks first—he is the weakest. He is the one who loses.”

The Orcs murmured among themselves, the proposal shocking and unexpected. But as they glanced at Tomorrowhawk’s massive form, some began to nod in agreement.

It was a fair alternative—one that would save time and blood.

Volk, his face still tense from the challenge, looked at the Ground Bull and then at Grounad.

Suddenly, a new mission would occur.

Ding!

| Mission: Win the contest.

| Reward: Unknown.

| Failure: Complete annihilation of the Dreadmaw Clan elves! |

He froze, a mission?

Volk had a terrible feeling of wasting time, so after he failed the last mission and thought for a moment, he immediately stepped forward. His voice was steady, though his heart was thumping heavily.

“Alright. Let’s do it. Let that beefcake decide.”

Grounad’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting Volk to agree so quickly.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if his pride were warring with the practicality of the situation. But eventually, he too nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“Fine. Let’s see who Tomorrowhawk finds worthy.”

The chieftain of the Ironhide Clan grinned, clearly pleased with the outcome.

He turned to the crowd and raised his arms. “Since both warriors have agreed, then let it be so! Tomorrowhawk will decide!”

After that, he tapped the butt of the bull and said, “Yip! Yip!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep