As the chieftains of the Orc clans stood in a semicircle around Volk, Volk could sense and see with eyes that their chests were heaving deep.
Their sweat glistened on their thick, battle-scarred green skinned bodies, making a strange tension.
Each of them looked at the others, as if silently agreeing that brute strength alone wasn't going to be enough.
"Can we use... shamanism?"
The Bloodfang chieftain, still recovering from his earlier defeat, broke the silence, his voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion.
Volk's brow furrowed slightly.
"Shamanism?"
He blinked, confused for a moment.
Magic? He had almost forgotten that the Orc clans practiced what they called shamanism—their way of conjuring powerful magic through rituals and ancient runes.
Volk's lips curled into a smirk. "Use whatever you like. Do everything you can against me."
