Volk stood among the Dreadmaw Clan Orcs, his voice resonating with an intensity he had just discovered but couldn’t fully grasp yet.

“This skin,” he said, lifting his arm for all to see, “this is the skin of a true Orc.”

The Orcs exchanged stunned glances.

Their light-colored skin shimmered in the faint glow of the cave, and Volk’s declaration sent ripples of shock through the group.

Grok’Thar was the first to react, his eyes wide. “True Orcs?” he muttered under his breath, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Grashk, usually stoic, couldn’t hide his amazement. “We came from other dimensions?”

Volk nodded, his eyes dark and thoughtful.

“That’s what the Warlocks did. They summoned us from other worlds. But our race was too strong for them. To weaken us, they took our horns—our source of power. Without our horns, we couldn’t awaken our true form. And the proof of that was we are often called the Hornless Orc tribe.”

The Orcs listened, and then their faces changed; their eyes widened, and their mouths opened wide.

However, immediately, in a split second, it was replaced with an expression painted with a mixture of curiosity and anger.

One of the Orcs, his voice a low growl, asked, “What about the Grum-gar form? What is it really?”

Volk’s gaze drifted to the ground for a moment, then he continued.

“The Grum-gar form isn’t what we think it is. It’s a replacement. We used to have something called the Diabolical form, but without our horns, we lost it. The Warlocks replaced it with the Ogre form.”

At this, several Orcs grunted in frustration. The idea that their form was merely a substitute, an inferior version of something greater, was difficult to stomach.

Grashk, his brow furrowed, muttered, “They took our horns, took our strength, and left us with this?”

Volk looked at his hands, flexing his fingers carefully.

“Maybe this skin… maybe this is how our ancestors looked, before the Warlocks weakened us. Or maybe, after running from the Warlocks and Dark Elves, our ancestors went to hazardous places, causing our skins to turn to hazardous skins.”

And then, Grashk would add, “and the reason we only survive those places was because of the Elven Witches? The elves who turned into elves that cannot go or survive in other hazardous places?”

Volk would nod.

There are normal elves here, but there are elven witches too, which are entirely different.

The difference is that the elves have adapted to the hazardous magic particles of the forest; the more hazardous magic they possess, the stronger they become.

However, the elven witches are born, but not adapted, to the hazardous magic particles of the forest.

They are the ones who help the Orcs hide from being hunted, and in exchange, the Orcs work for them until they become one in their way of living.

Suddenly, a loud chime rang in Volk’s mind.

| Ding!

| Mission: Survive the first wave of the beasts.

| Rewards: Automatic cleansing of the Dreadmaw Clan.

| Failure: Hazardous Skin. |

Volk blinked, the words flashing before his eyes.

Automatic cleansing?

He had an idea what it meant, like cleaning other Dreadmaw Clan members, right? But there was no time to think.

A deafening trumpet roar echoed through the tunnels, sending shivers down the spines of every Orc present.

AAAAAAANNNNGGGHHHHH!!!

The ground trembled beneath their feet as the sound grew louder, more menacing.

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

Grounad’s voice cut through the tension, filled with urgency. “Volk, to fuse with this catacomb and survive the travel, we need to protect you! We have to fight these beasts—to the death if necessary!”

Volk, bewildered, could hardly process Grounad’s words before a massive shadow loomed at the entrance of the cave.

A gigantic magical elephant emerged, its skin crackling with magical energy. Its tusks were razor-sharp, and its eyes burned with an otherworldly glow. This was no ordinary beast.

Grounad gasped, recognizing it immediately. “That’s a Magruphants! A level five, as strong as one of our peak Mag’Durotan Orcs!”

The Dreadmaw Clan braced themselves, weapons ready, but something felt off. The Magruphants were supposed to be nearly unstoppable, yet as it charged, something seemed… different.

The massive creature charged with a speed they didn’t expect. Its huge feet pounded against the ground, creating tremors that knocked smaller rocks loose from the cave walls.

“RRROOOOAARRRR!” the elephant bellowed, its sound echoing like a thunderstorm in the enclosed space.

One of the Orcs, expecting to be thrown back by its sheer momentum, grabbed hold of the creature’s tusk as it sped past.

The Orc, whose name was Druk’Kar, held tight, and to everyone’s shock, the massive beast came to a stop.

“What the…?” Druk’Kar gasped, his face contorting in disbelief. “How… how am I going to stop it?”

The other Orcs, including Volk, stared, completely dumbfounded.

“It’s an elephant! It should be stronger than us!” Grashk exclaimed, stepping forward with wide eyes.

Volk narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. “Something’s wrong… Handle it alone, Druk’Kar. We need to see how strong our new form is.”

Druk’Kar swallowed nervously but nodded. He took a deep breath, immediately his muscles tensed as he gripped the Mag’Durotan.

With a sudden burst of strength, he threw the elephant across the cave.

“RRRRROOOOOAAARRR!” the beast let out another ear-splitting roar, this time in pain as it crashed into the wall with a loud thud.

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The ground shook as dust and debris rained down from the cave ceiling.

The other Orcs stood frozen, their mouths agape.

Volk and the others were speechless.

How could Druk’Kar have done that?

He was only third stage Mag’Durotan!

Third stage!

How did he throw one of the Magruphant easily when it should be comparable to one of them in peak, which is Fifth Mag’Durotan stage!

“How did he…?” Grashk whispered, staring at the scene in awe.

Volk, still watching the downed elephant, muttered, “Have we… become stronger?”

The Magruphant staggered to its feet, shaking off the rubble. Its eyes burned with raging fury, and it let out another roar, preparing to charge again.

“ROOOOAARR!” it bellowed, louder this time, the rage palpable in its voice.

But before it could make its move, another Orc, a smaller one named Rak’gor, stepped forward. His eyes burned with determination. “Let me deal with it next.”

Without waiting for a response, Rak’gor charged at the beast.

Despite his smaller stature, he moved with incredible speed, with his feet barely making a sound against the stone floor.

The Magruphant trumpeted in anger, but Rak’gor was already on it.

He leaped into the air, delivering a flurry of strikes to the beast’s neck and chest.

Each blow landed with mean destruction, and the massive elephant staggered under the assault.

In mere moments, Rak’gor put the beast on the ground, his fists and feet a blur as he relentlessly pummeled the creature. And not long, the elephant let out one final trumpeting wail before collapsing in a heap, utterly defeated.

“RRRRUUUUUHHHHHHHH…” the elephant moaned in its final moments, the sound of its defeat resounded through the whole catacombs.

The Orcs stood in stunned silence, watching the scene unfold.

Rak’gor, panting but uninjured, stepped back, his fists clenched at his sides.

“How did you…?” one of the Orcs asked, unable to finish the question.

Rak’gor shrugged, still catching his breath. “I don’t know… I just felt… stronger.”

Volk exchanged glances with the others, their confusion mirrored in each other’s eyes.

Whatever had just happened, it was clear that they had changed—become something more.

But there was no time to reflect.

From the dark recesses of the tunnels, a new sound emerged—the rumbling of footsteps, the roars of unknown magical beasts, growing louder and closer with every passing second as they stood there and wait.

Grounad, his face pale, turned to Volk. “They’re coming…”

Volk drew his weapon, with his heart pounding.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep