Volk stood among the Dreadmaw Clan members, watching as the Old Orcs of the clan sat in silence, suppressing the natural strength in their bodies while the Elves, their partners, held back their mana.

It was a strange sight, one that felt wrong to Volk, who was part of the younger generation.

The Old Orcs remained still, one could see their faces were all blank, as if waiting for something unknown.

The atmosphere was tense, a quiet resolve hanging over the group. No one moved, no one spoke.

Their goal, Volk reminded himself, was simple: stay in the dungeon until the war on the surface subsided.

Survive.

That was all they had to do, but something about it bothered him.

Yes, it bothered him so much.

Volk felt like this wasn’t the Dreadmaw Clan he knew—hunters, trackers, fighters.

They were warriors, not passive bystanders waiting for the storm to pass.

Volk’s brow furrowed as he looked at everyone again to watch them suppress their physique and abilities.

Maybe, just maybe, he was new to the internal workings of the Dreadmaw Clan, so he didn’t know much about them.

The catacomb itself was different from what he remembered.

When he had entered it last, it had been a narrow, dark space, with walls of jagged stone closing in on every side.

Now, the place seems to have expanded.

It was almost… alive.

Lush greenery covered the once barren ground, with vines creeping up the walls.

The air was thick with a strange energy, like the pulse of something vast and ancient beneath the surface.

“Why is it different?” Volk muttered under his breath. “Are the beasts coming out now? Should we all prepare and not listen to the Old Orcs to stay and just be prepared?”

There was a growing sense of unease inside his head, and it seemed to want to drill deep at it.

Something was missing, something important. But what?

Suddenly, cutting through his thoughts, a voice called out.

Familiar.

It seemed to resonate through the dense atmosphere of the dungeon, clear even among the silent crowd of Dreadmaw Orcs and Elves.

“Volk!”

At first, he thought he had imagined it. But the call came again, louder this time.

“Volk!”

He scanned the sea of Orcs and Elves around him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Who could it be?

As his gaze swept over the crowd, his heart skipped a beat when he finally saw the source of the voice.

“Grounad?” Volk whispered in disbelief.

At his side, Solluha’r, his wife and his Main Nuclear Reactor, stepped forward, hugged his shoulder and followed his gaze. “Isn’t that the guy you defeated? The one from the Bloodfang Clan?”

Volk nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the scene unfolding before him. “Yes… it’s him.”

Why was Grounad here, among the Dreadmaw Clan?

The Bloodfang Clan had always looked down on the Dreadmaws.

They were not enemies, nor rivals but they looked down at the Dreadmaw Clan for being a hunter Clan.

However, here Grounad was, walking toward him with eagerness, looking like he had purpose, sign his broad shoulders squared, and wearing a serious face.

When Grounad finally stood before Volk, he panted a little, and when he finally recovered, he bowed slightly, a gesture of respect that made the younger Orc’s eyes widen in surprise.

Beside Grounad was a tall, graceful Elf woman, her sharp features softened by a calm smile. Her long, silvery hair fell over her shoulders, and her green eyes glinted in the dim light of the catacomb.

“Volk, I come before you not as an enemy, but as a follower.” Grounad’s voice was deep, and there was a strange pride in his tone.

Volk blinked. “A follower? What are you talking about?”

“You remember our fight, don’t you? I gave my word. If you defeated me, I would join you. I, Grounad of the Bloodfang Clan, am a warrior who does not go back on his word. From this day forward, I am no longer of the Bloodfang Clan. I will follow you, Volk, and become part of the Dreadmaw Clan.”

The murmurs began immediately.

The younger Orcs and Elves surrounding them exchanged confused glances. Volk could hear the whispers clearly.

“What? He’s leaving the Bloodfang Clan?”

“Didn’t they hate the Dreadmaw? Why would he join us?”

“Is this some kind of trick?”

But Grounad stood tall, unbothered by the murmurs.

He turned to the Elf beside him and gestured toward her. “This is my wife, Mishina. She stands by my side in all things, and today, she, too, chooses to follow me in this new path. We pledge our loyalty to you, Volk.”

Volk’s eyes flickered between Grounad and Mishina, still trying to process what was happening.

He had never expected Grounad to take their fight seriously enough to leave his clan. But here he was, standing in the heart of the Dreadmaw Clan, declaring his loyalty.

It was… bewildering.

“Mishina,” Grounad said, turning to his wife. “What do you think of this? Are you sure you want to follow me? I won’t force you into this life.”

The Elf woman smiled softly, her voice calm but firm.

“Grounad, where you go, I will go. We have always faced challenges together, and this will be no different. Whether we are part of the Bloodfang Clan or the Dreadmaw Clan, my loyalty is to you. And if you believe in this new path, then I will walk it with you.”

Their words hung in the air, and for a moment, Volk didn’t know what to say.

He can go and shamelessly command anyone to action, and he would be comfortable if it was inside his clan. But this?

A warrior from a rival clan swearing loyalty to him?

Is this for real?

He felt somewhat uncomfortable with this idea.

“You… really mean it?” Volk muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

“I do,” Grounad replied proudly. “I am Grounad, once of the Bloodfang Clan, now a follower of Volk. My accomplishments in the Bloodfang will mean nothing now, for I will earn new ones under your leadership.”

Volk scratched his head awkwardly, unsure how to react. “Uh… I, uh… I accept your loyalty.”

Grounad grinned, his fierce eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

Before the conversation could continue, Grounad suddenly looked around, his brow furrowing. “But tell me, Volk, why is the Dreadmaw Clan not moving? You’ve led them this far, but now everyone is just standing still. Why?”

Volk blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why is no one advancing? Why are they all suppressing their strength and mana?” Grounad’s voice was filled with confusion. “Is this some kind of strategy? Are they waiting for something? Because from where I stand, it looks like they’re… hiding.”

The question sent a ripple through Volk’s head. He had been thinking about these thoughts since earlier, about the strange change in the catacomb that he had noticed.

Should the Dreadmaw Clan move?

Should they progress deep into the dungeon?

Volk could see that Grounad was really confused.

What was really happening here?

Should they really move and not stay and wait for the war to settle?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep