The entire crowd fell silent, watching Volk with intense curiosity.

His every move seemed calculated, each step taken with purpose, yet there was still a question looming in everyone’s minds:

What was he going to do now?

What can he do now?

Is he gonna make it?

Or he can complain?

Volk’s expression remained calm, now his eyes were glancing a little between the massive Tomorrowhawk bull and Grounad.

Then, almost as if a spark had ignited in his mind, he remembered something from the head of the body he occupied—a core trait of the Dreadmaw Clan, the very essence of their unique abilities.

The Dreadmaw Clan’s innate gift was infamous, albeit in a strange and often underestimated way.

While many Orc clans boasted powerful combat techniques, unrivaled strength, or mystical abilities, the Dreadmaw Clan had developed something entirely different.

Their ability, passed down through generations, was tied to their role as hunters.

The Dreadmaw Orcs could taste food and instantly determine if it was safe.

This wasn’t some trivial skill for a weak-stomached Orc—it was a survival trait, a gift that allowed them to forage through dangerous, poison-ridden lands and find nourishment where others would starve.

Volk’s jaw clenched.

‘That ability is useless now,’ he muttered. ‘But knowing that I could use an ability means I have something like that in me. It’s not from the clan; it’s from my beloved… system,’ he added confidently.

Cracking his neck, Volk would hear his surrounding murmurs.

“What? Is he going to taste the bull?” an Orc from the Fireblood Clan sneered, laughing heartily. “Does he think his fancy jaw is going to save him now?”

“Right!” another Orc from the Thunderstrike Clan added. “What’s he gonna do? Take a bite and decide if the bull is safe to eat or not? HA!”

The crowd burst into laughter, the mocking voices coming from all corners.

Orcs jeered and pointed, unable to fathom how Volk’s clan’s ability could be of any use in a situation like this.

“Maybe he’ll offer the bull a snack,” an Elf from the Bloodfang Clan scoffed, and she was crossing her arms as if she was looking down at Volk. “After all, they’re known for hunting, not fighting! This is just pathetic.”

Despite the insults being hurled his way, Volk’s expression didn’t change.

He had long grown used to these taunts.

The Dreadmaw Clan had always been seen as odd by the other Orc clans.

Their abilities were essential for hunting and survival, but in the eyes of the battle-hardened Orc warriors, it was seen as a weakness.

But they didn’t understand.

Suddenly, Volk’s muscles tensed as his body started to emit a faint, eerie glow. His radioactive particles began to stir, his energy spiking.

His plan had always been to rely on his Radioactive form, an ability that had allowed him to command respect from beasts, avoid attacks, and take down even the most formidable foes. But just as he was about to fully transform, the Ironhide Chieftain’s voice rang out, loud and sharp.

“Turning into your Grum-gar form is forbidden!” the chieftain declared with authority. “If you do, you’ll be declared the loser!”

Volk’s brow furrowed in frustration as he glanced over at the Ironhide Chieftain.

The man’s smug face was almost unbearable.

He was clearly manipulating the rules, setting Volk up for failure.

The chieftain’s eyes held a mocking gleam, and Volk could feel the weight of this setup pressing down on him.

Grounad, standing tall beside the bull, grinned ever so slightly, as if amused by Volk’s predicament. “I won’t move a muscle,” he said, loud enough for all to hear. “Do whatever you like, Volk. This bull’s going to run you down no matter what.”

A thought struck Volk at that moment.

Move?

His eyes narrowed as something clicked in his mind.

Without hesitation, his lips curled into a smirk.

‘You really want me to use that, huh?’

He started walking forward, casually, without a hint of worry, positioning himself directly between Grounad and the Tomorrowhawk bull.

The crowd went wild, their voices filling the air with disbelief.

“What’s he doing?” an Orc from the Stonefist Clan shouted. “Is he… walking in front of Grounad?”

“Does he not realize what that bull is capable of?” a warrior from the Thunderstrike Clan muttered. “He’s just standing there, like a fool!”

“He doesn’t know the Tomorrowhawk bull is about to tear him apart!” an Orc from the Fireblood Clan scoffed. “That thing can triple its speed! He doesn’t stand a chance!”

More voices chimed in, the jeers and taunts growing louder as the Orcs from various clans began discussing Volk’s seemingly foolish move.

“Does he really think he can stop the bull by just standing there?” another Orc scoffed. “He can’t even transform! Without the Grum-gar form, he’s going to be torn to pieces.”

“It’s suicide,” an Elf muttered, shaking her head. “He doesn’t stand a chance against that beast’s charge. No ability, no transformation, just… what? Standing there? Laughable.”

In the midst of the mockery, Grounad’s voice cut through the noise, low and dark. “Volk, if you manage to avoid the bull and I’m hit instead,” he began, his tone almost mocking. “I’ll do more than admit defeat. I’ll recognize you as my Warchief… and transfer myself to the Dreadmaw Clan.”

The entire crowd burst into laughter, the idea too absurd for anyone to take seriously.

“Grounad, submitting to a Labor Orc?” one Orc cackled. “Now that’s rich!”

“Him, a Bloodfang warrior, joining Dreadmaw? The weakest of all the clans? HA!”

“It’ll never happen,” an Elf scoffed, rolling her eyes. “He’s as good as dead if he thinks that bull won’t crush him.”

But Volk, his expression calm and composed, replied simply, “So be it. Although I have no use for weaklings like the members of Bloodfang Clan, it would be fun to see one of them submit and kneel down in my presence.”

The crowd was shocked when they heard that.

“What did he say?!”

The Orcs from the Bloodfang Clan would mutter.

“Heh! So arrogant, a mere hunter Clan,” the elves of the Bloodfang Clan would sneer.

Volk knew listening to them would give him nothing, so he immediately turned his attention to the bull, with his presence immediately changed as if it was steady as a rock.

The Tomorrowhawk bull, clearly hesitant, snorted in frustration.

Its massive hooves stomped the ground, kabooff! creating small clouds of dust as it prepared itself for the charge.

With much reluctance, the bull let out a final, frustrated bellow and began to move forward.

Grounad watched, grinning as the bull gathered speed, fully confident that this would end in Volk’s demise.

The crowd tensed, eyes wide with anticipation as the massive beast charged straight toward Volk.

The bull’s movements were swift, almost a blur as it picked up momentum, its speed doubling in an instant.

Swoosh!

The ground shook beneath the weight of its charge, dust swirling around as it barreled toward Volk.

The crowd could barely keep up with the bull’s speed, their collective breath held as they watched the beast close in on its target.

And then…

Swoosh!

The bull tripled its speed, a blur of muscle, horns, and fury.

The massive beast thundered forward, its path set, its horns gleaming as it charged straight at Volk.

The crowd’s eyes widened, gasps filling the air as they watched in stunned silence.

The bull was mere moments from hitting Volk, the force of its charge powerful enough to break bone and tear flesh.

And yet, Volk remained perfectly still, his calm, steady figure casting a shadow in the path of the oncoming beast.

Just as the bull was about to make contact, the entire arena fell silent.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep