The air grew tense the moment Volk clasped forearms with the last Orc.
Something in their body language shifted—a subtle hardening, a slight narrowing of their eyes, and the faintest tightening of their grips on their weapons.
Volk wasn't caught off guard.
He'd expected something was off from the way they exchanged looks, but the speed at which they moved was startling.
The scarred male lunged first, his jagged blade slicing through the air with a whoosh.
Volk barely sidestepped in time, the blade grazing past his ribs with a sharp swish.
A club swung toward his face from the left, but he ducked, the heavy weapon missing him by mere inches and hitting the trunk of a tree with a loud CRACK!
Volk leaped backward, gaining distance from the sudden ambush. His sharp eyes scanned the group as they spread out, encircling him like predators stalking prey.
