Yes!
Yes!
Yes!
'Yes' should be the most logical answer he should answer.
But for Volk, it's not.
All it would take was one word, one simple thought to activate the Radioactive form that hummed within him, begging to be unleashed. But Volk knew what that would mean.
In the Orcs, the rules of combat were sacred, and to use the Radioactive form—a form so closely akin to the Grum-gar or Ogre form—would be considered a loss, a surrender, a forfeiture of his honor.
"No," he muttered under his breath, dismissing the notification.
As tempting as it was, Volk had no intention of winning through a form of power that would tarnish the victory. He wanted to defeat Lhum'Baggar on even ground, to prove to himself and to everyone watching that he, a Labor Orc could stand toe-to-toe with a warrior and emerge victorious.
The orcs surrounding them quieted slightly as Lhum'Baggar spoke, his voice laced with mocking disdain. "Is that all you've got, Kaz'rogal?" he sneered, referring to the title bestowed upon the year's most promising Labor Orc.
His words were accompanied by a deft display of skill as he twirled his massive war ax between his hands, the weapon seeming to dance as it moved fluidly from left to right, the sharp edge catching the dim light.
Volk's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent, watching Lhum'Baggar closely.
The other orcs began to murmur amongst themselves, their voices tinged with awe and fear.
"Did you see that? He's gotten even better with that ax since the last time."
"Yeah, I heard he's been training nonstop, day and night. No one's been able to match him."
"Look at the way he handles it—like it's just an extension of his arm. How can Volk possibly stand up to that?"
"He's already bleeding and bruised. I don't think he can take much more."
Volk could hear every word, each comment fueling the fire inside him. He knew Lhum'Baggar was trying to get into his head, trying to rattle him with his skill and taunts. But Volk had been through worse. He had faced challenges far beyond the physical realm, battles of the mind and spirit that had forged him into the fighter he was today.
Lhum'Baggar's taunts continued, his voice dripping with arrogance as he moved closer, his ax now pointed directly at Volk. "So, this is the mighty Volk, huh? The one who got lucky against my brother? Luk'Tar must have been exhausted after hunting those skinless beasts. That's the only way you could have beaten him."
Volk's grin was tense, a mask hiding the turmoil within.
The truth was, he had taken a beating from Lhum'Baggar not because he lacked strength or skill, but because he had been focused—too focused—on the ax.
Lhum'Baggar's mastery of the weapon had left Volk on the defensive, his mind racing to understand the patterns, the rhythm of the strikes. But now, Volk could feel it—he was starting to see through it, starting to recognize the timing, the tells that Lhum'Baggar unconsciously revealed.
Just then, another notification flashed across Volk's vision:
| Ding!
| Mission: Defeat the Weapon Handler Lhum'Baggar.
| Reward: Basic Mastery of Ax Handling.
Failure: Radioactive Time use will be reduced. |
Volk's eyes widened slightly at the reward.
The system had finally recognized the challenge he faced, and it was offering him something that could tip the scales in his favor.
Basic Mastery of Ax Handling would be invaluable, a key to understanding Lhum'Baggar's movements and countering them effectively. But failure would mean a reduction in his Radioactive Time, a resource he couldn't afford to lose.
His thoughts were interrupted by Lhum'Baggar's voice, dripping with sarcasm and challenge. "Why don't you try that little trick you pulled on Gozorm'al? I'd like to see if it works on someone like me."
Volk's mind raced back to the battle with Gozorm'al, a brutish opponent who had fallen for a simple ruse—a handful of dirt thrown into his eyes, followed by a quick, decisive strike.
Lhum'Baggar's words were meant to mock, to suggest that such a tactic would never work on him.
But that was his mistake.
Volk's grin widened slightly, a plan beginning to form in his mind. "If that's what you want, Lhum'Baggar," he said, his voice low and steady, "then let's do this."
Without wasting another moment, Volk lunged forward, feigning an attack with his right hand.
As expected, Lhum'Baggar's ax was there to meet it, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. But Volk was already a step ahead. He twisted his body, letting the ax graze his left hand, slicing through his fingers.
The pain was sharp, searing, but Volk didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he used the momentum to flick his hand, sending a spray of blood directly into Lhum'Baggar's eyes.
Lhum'Baggar roared in surprise, instinctively raising his hands to wipe the blood from his face, his vision momentarily obscured. It was all the opening Volk needed.
Without hesitation, Volk swung his right arm, bringing down the club with thorns that he had been gripping tightly.
The weapon crashed into Lhum'Baggar's side with a resounding thud, the force of the blow reverberating through the cavern.
The surrounding orcs erupted in shouts, their voices a mix of shock and excitement as they watched the unexpected turn of events.
Lhum'Baggar staggered, his hand still clutching his ax, but his movements were unsteady, his balance disrupted by the sudden, blinding attack.
Volk didn't stop. He pressed the advantage, his movements fueled by adrenaline and the deep, burning desire to prove himself. He swung the club again, this time aiming for Lhum'Baggar's legs, forcing the larger orc to stumble back.
Each strike was calculated, precise, aimed at keeping Lhum'Baggar off balance, preventing him from regaining his composure.
But Lhum'Baggar wasn't done yet. He snarled, his teeth bared in a feral grin as he finally managed to clear his vision. His eyes blazed with fury, his pride wounded by the unexpected assault. "You'll pay for that," he growled, swinging his ax wildly, trying to regain control of the fight.
Volk narrowly dodged the first swing, the blade whistling past his ear. He could feel the wind from the ax's movement, a reminder of just how close he had come to being decapitated. But Volk wasn't about to back down. He knew he couldn't match Lhum'Baggar's brute strength, but he didn't need to. He just needed to outthink him.
As Lhum'Baggar swung again, Volk ducked low, rolling to the side and coming up behind him. He brought the club down hard on the back of Lhum'Baggar's knee, forcing the larger orc to drop to one leg.
Lhum'Baggar roared in frustration, but Volk didn't let up.
Roar!
He moved quickly, using his smaller size and speed to his advantage, striking at vulnerable points, chipping away at Lhum'Baggar's defenses.
The battle was fierce, each strike met with a counter, each blow pushing both orcs closer to their limits.
Sweat and blood mixed on the ground, the air thick with the scent of iron and the sound of grunts, growls, and the clash of weapons.
But Volk could feel it—Lhum'Baggar was slowing down due to the hit on the temple and the ear upon the first contact.
The repeated blows to his legs, the blood in his eyes, the relentless assault was taking its toll. He was powerful, yes, but Volk was cunning, and in this fight, cunning was winning out.
Finally, with a roar of determination, Volk swung his club with all his might, aiming for Lhum'Baggar's side once more.
Kabag!
The impact was solid, the force driving the wind out of Lhum'Baggar's lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. His ax clattered away from his grasp, now was out of reach.
Volk stood over him, breathing heavily, with his body screaming in pain, but his eyes filled with resolve.
Lhum'Baggar looked up at him, his expression a mixture of shock, anger, and something else—respect.
With a final, defiant growl, Lhum'Baggar made to stand, but Volk was faster.
Bang!