The air in the made up arena of crowded Orcs and Elves was thick with tension as the massive Ground Bull snorted, its breath coming out in heavy puffs of steam.

Its massive hooves dug into the dirt, ready to charge.

Suddenly, Volk took a deep breath, his muscles tightening, and with a swift motion, he stomped his feet against the ground.

BANG!

The sound echoed like a thunderclap, silencing the murmurs of the gathered Orcs.

The Ground Bull, towering and ferocious beasts just moments before, suddenly froze in place.

Its eyes locked onto Volk, but something had changed.

For the first time, the beast looked… afraid?

A collective gasp swept through the Orc clans.

“What the hell?!” an Orc from the Thunderstrike Clan exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief. “Did that bull just… stop?”

“Is it scared of him?” another one from the Bloodfang Clan muttered, his brow furrowed. “No way, how could a Labor Orc do that? He didn’t even use an ability!”

The Chieftain of the Ironhide Clan narrowed his eyes, watching intently as the scene unfolded.

Even he had not expected this.

“This can’t be right,” he muttered under his breath. His gaze shifted from the bull to Volk, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his usually stoic face. “How can a simple stomp from a Labor Orc cause the Ground Bull to hesitate?”

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, Orcs from all the clans looking at each other with wide eyes, trying to make sense of what they were witnessing.

The Dreadmaw Clan, previously mocked and belittled, now stood with newfound confidence. Grashk grinned, his tusks gleaming in the dim light.

“Told ya,” he said, nudging Grok’Thar in the ribs. “That bull knows what’s good for it. Volk’s got something special about him. Always has.”

“He didn’t even break a sweat,” Grok’Thar added, chuckling. “This is gonna be over before it even starts. Grounad’s got nothing on Volk!”

From across the field, the other Orc clans watched with growing disbelief. An Orc from the Stonefist Clan crossed his arms, his voice filled with skepticism. “A Labor Orc? Really? That beast’s afraid of a Labor Orc?”

“Impossible,” a warrior from the Fireblood Clan muttered. “Volk didn’t even use magic or power. It was just… a stomp.”

The Ironhide Chieftain, still taken aback by what had happened, tried to maintain his composure. “The bull’s probably confused, that’s all,” he reasoned quietly to himself. But deep inside, even he was starting to doubt.

This was no ordinary Orc standing before them, and now the entire arena could feel it.

The bull, however, wasn’t done.

Despite its fear, it seemed to shake off its hesitation and turned its massive head toward Grounad.

The beast’s nostrils flared as if realizing it didn’t need to confront Volk after all.

Its eyes locked onto Grounad, and with a furious snort, it began to shift its weight, ready to charge.

“Wait, what’s happening?” one of the warriors from the Thunderstrike Clan asked, his voice barely containing his surprise. “The bull’s turning away from Volk… Is Grounad really the weaker one?”

“No way,” an Orc from the Bloodfang Clan scoffed. “Grounad’s a Kaz’rogal! One of our mightiest warriors! There’s no way that bull’s choosing him over some Labor Orc. This doesn’t make any sense!”

The murmurs grew louder, the shock spreading like wildfire through the crowd.

“Did you see that?” one Orc whispered to his companion. “The bull looked scared of Volk… and now it’s going for Grounad? Does that mean… Volk is stronger?”

Another Orc, this time from the Shadowclaw Clan, muttered, “Grounad’s not weaker… is he?”

Grounad, for his part, felt all eyes were on him.

His heart thrump fast as the bull turned in his direction.

He had never imagined that Volk could be stronger than him—Volk, the Labor Orc.

This was supposed to be a simple challenge, an opportunity to prove his dominance over the Dreadmaw Clan once and for all. But now… now it felt like everything was slipping out of his control.

With no other choice, Grounad clenched his fists. His eyes burned with determination. “I won’t lose to a Labor Orc,” he growled under his breath.

And then, with a swift motion, Grounad activated his Bloodfang ability.

The temperature around him shifted dramatically, the air growing cold and then sweltering hot in an instant. His skin seemed to glow with an inner heat as the blood within him surged, giving him a terrifying, otherworldly presence. His muscles bulged, and the very earth beneath him seemed to tremble with his raw power.

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted into murmurs once again.

“The Bloodfang ability…” one Orc whispered. “He’s changing the temperature of his own blood. He’s manipulating it to make himself more imposing.”

“That’s what makes the Bloodfang Clan so dangerous,” another Orc muttered. “They can control their blood, make themselves more intimidating, more powerful. It’s like their very presence can crush you.”

“Look at Grounad now,” an Elf from the Dreadmaw Clan observed, her voice dripping with disdain. “He thinks that pressure will scare Volk. But he doesn’t understand, does he? That bull isn’t going to stop just because he looks scarier now.”

Even Volk could feel the shift in the air.

As much as he hated to admit it, Grounad’s new form was far more intimidating.

The temperature changed, the pressure—it was like standing next to a furnace that was ready to explode. But Volk wasn’t about to back down. Not now.

The Ground Bull, however, seemed to reconsider.

Its eyes flickered back to Volk, torn between fear and duty.

It was clear the bull didn’t want to face Volk, but with Grounad standing there, pulsing with power, the beast had no choice.

It snorted loudly and turned back toward Volk.

The crowd erupted into laughter.

“Look at that!” a warrior from the Frostbite Clan shouted. “The bull’s going back for Volk! It knows Grounad’s stronger!”

“The Labor Orc’s in over his head,” another Orc yelled. “He doesn’t belong here! This isn’t a task for someone like him. He should be out breaking rocks, not trying to lead warriors!”

The taunts grew louder and louder, with Orcs from nearly every clan mocking Volk. “He thought he could scare the bull with a little stomp, huh? Look at him now! He’s gonna get flattened!”

“A Labor Orc trying to act like a leader,” one of the Elves sneered. “This is why the Dreadmaw Clan is a joke. They’re nothing compared to the rest of us.”

Amid the cacophony of jeers and insults, the Chieftain of the Ironhide Clan stood silently, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He had seen this coming.

Although he was surprised that his Tomorrowhawk Bull was scared of Volk at first, he knew this would end like this.

He had arranged this entire challenge knowing exactly how it would play out.

The Dreadmaw Clan was a nuisance, a group he had long since lost respect for.

By letting them take this test, he was certain they would fail—and in doing so, lose whatever little standing they had left.

Volk glanced over at the Ironhide Chieftain, his sharp eyes reading the subtle smirk on the man’s face.

He wasn’t a fool—he knew this was all a setup, a ploy to embarrass him and his clan. But Volk wasn’t about to give in. He was stronger than that. He’d survived worse.

He locked eyes with the chieftain and asked, “The goal was to see who would get hit first, right?”

The Ironhide Chieftain’s smirk deepened. “Yes, that’s right,” he replied, his voice smooth and calculated.

Volk’s gaze hardened. He turned back to the bull, his resolve firm.

“So be it.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep