The moment the bull made contact, time seemed to slow down for everyone watching.

Kaboom!

The bull didn’t simply collide with its target—it lifted Grounad clean off his feet, as if he weighed nothing, and then, as if it was angry at Grounad’s very existence, he slammed him into the ground with a thunderous kabooming crashing sound!

The impact sent tremors through the earth, creating dust and massive crack down the ground, making the crowd of Orcs and Elves recoil in shock.

But the real shock came not from the sheer power of the bull’s attack, but from who was actually struck.

Every eye widened in disbelief.

“It… It hit Grounad?!” gasped an Orc from the Bloodfang Clan.

“What in the world just happened?!” an Elf muttered, shaking her head in confusion.

“I thought Volk was the one who was hit?” Another elf from other Orc Clan spoke.

The massive Tomahawk bull, with its hooves still raised, snorted angrily, oblivious to the stunned reactions of the crowd.

Grounad, who should have been standing victorious, was instead the one beneath the bull’s fury. His armor dented from the initial blow, he let out a blood-choked cough, spitting crimson onto the dirt.

Cough!

His body shook with the effort, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. But the bull wasn’t finished.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it reared back once more.

Slam!

The bull brought Grounad down again with tremendous force, his body bouncing off the ground like a ragdoll.

The crowd flinched, even the hardened Orcs grimacing at the sight of the brutal punishment.

Slam! Slam! Slam!

Three more times, the bull pounded Grounad into the earth, each impact more violent and more destructive than the last.

The final slam left him sprawled, his limbs twitching, his eyes rolled back in his head. His once-imposing figure now looked pathetic, broken.

Blood pooled around his battered form, and with every labored breath, a spray of blood and saliva splattered onto the ground.

The Orc and Elf crowd gasped as one.

“How did this happen?” whispered an Elf with wide eyes. “Grounad’s supposed to be stronger than him!”

“He’s unconscious!” another Orc exclaimed, his face pale with shock. “The bull… it’s going to kill him!”

The Ironhide Chieftain had a look of realization flash across his face as he finally noticed what had happened.

His eyes darted across the battlefield, searching for Volk, the supposed target of the bull’s wrath. But Volk… wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

He was standing off to the side, casually, as if he were just another spectator.

His arms crossed, his expression impassive. He stood there, as though the scene unfolding before him was no more than a passing interest.

“STOP! STOP!!” the Ironhide Chieftain roared, his voice filled with panic as he waved his arms. He knew that if the bull continued, it would crush Grounad into nothingness. “HIYIP! HIYIP!!”

The bull snorted in response, shaking its head, reluctant to obey but finally stepping away from Grounad, its massive horns lowering as if to apologize for the damage it had done.

The crowd watched in stunned silence as the battered form of Grounad lay motionless on the ground, his body twitching slightly, his once-proud form reduced to a broken heap.

For a moment, all eyes were on the Ironhide Chieftain, but then, slowly, the crowd’s attention shifted back to Volk. Whispers spread through the gathered Orcs and Elves, disbelief painting their faces.

“What… just happened?” an Orc from the Stonefist Clan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did… did he dodge that?”

“But he didn’t move! He was right there!” an Elf exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. “The bull should’ve hit him! How did he just… disappear?”

“Was it magic? Did someone feel any kind of magic?” another Orc questioned, his eyes darting around. “There was no magic! I didn’t see anything!”

“What did he do?” someone else murmured, the question spreading through the crowd like wildfire.

The whispers grew louder, as every Orc and Elf tried to piece together what had happened.

They had seen Volk standing directly in the bull’s path, and then… nothing.

In the blink of an eye, he had vanished, and Grounad had taken the blow meant for him.

“I didn’t even see him move,” one Elf muttered, looking around at his companions in confusion.

“Neither did I,” an Orc agreed, scratching his head. “What the hell did he do?”

The disbelief only deepened as more voices joined the murmurs. No one could understand how Volk had evaded the bull.

Theories ranged from teleportation to some sort of Grum-gar ability, but none seemed to fit.

Meanwhile, Volk stood quietly, ignoring the questions swirling around him. He knew exactly what had happened, but there was no need to explain.

The system had gifted him with an ability known as Sidestep, allowing him to vanish from one place and reappear in another in an instant.

It was a perfect escape for situations just like this, but he had no intention of revealing his secret to the crowd.

As the Orcs and Elves continued their chatter, Volk finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. “Can we go first now?”

The question sent a wave of confusion through the crowd.

They had barely processed what had just happened, and now Volk was acting as if nothing was amiss.

The Clans looked at him, bewildered, unsure of how to respond.

“Go… first?” one of the Elves stammered, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just transpired.

The Orcs of the Dreadmaw Clan, however, erupted in cheers.

They had seen Volk’s strength firsthand, and they knew, deep down, that their leader had triumphed.

“That’s Volk!” shouted Grashk, his voice booming as he raised a fist into the air. “As fast as a bullet!”

“He didn’t even need to fight! The bull couldn’t touch him!” laughed Grok’Thar, his broad grin spreading from ear to ear.

“Strongest there is!” another Dreadmaw Orc that was with Volk in their visit in this catacomb roared, pounding his chest heavily.

The rest of the Dreadmaw Clan joined in, their voices rising in unison as they chanted Volk’s name, celebrating their victory.

The other Clans, however, were left dumbfounded. Even the proud Bloodfang Clan and the Elves from Ironhide could only stand and stare as the Dreadmaw warriors celebrated their leader.

Suddenly, Volk turned toward Solluha’r, his expression softening. He reached out a hand, and Solluha’r, after a moment of hesitation, accepted it.

“Let’s go,” Volk said quietly.

Solluha’r nodded with an unreadable expression as she followed his lead.

The Dreadmaw Clan, now standing at the entrance of the Catacomb, was preparing to move forward when a familiar voice rang out through the air, cutting through the cheers.

“Wait!”

The crowd went silent, and all eyes turned toward the source of the voice.

Standing shakily on his feet, blood dripping from his mouth, was Grounad. His face was battered, his body bruised, but his eyes were filled with a fiery determination.

“I’m not… done yet,” he growled, his voice ragged but defiant.

The Dreadmaw Clan halted, their

eyes narrowing as they turned to face their fallen adversary of Volk.

The tension in the air was palpable, as the crowd waited with bated breath for what would happen next.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep