Kragath groaned, clutching his ribs as he sat up, his labored breathing echoing in the tense silence.
The surrounding Orcs remained frozen, their gazes fixed on the two warriors.
Then, with a grunt of effort, Kragath muttered, "Okay." He extended a hand as if accepting defeat and offering peace.
Volk nodded, letting out a small sigh of relief. "You've made the right choice," he began, taking a step forward. But as he reached out, Kragath's fingers twitched.
Suddenly—SWOOSH!
The arena-hardened Orc lunged forward with a speed that belied his injuries. His fingers curled into claws, aiming for Volk's throat.
The crowd gasped, their collective breath held in suspense.
But Volk's reflexes were sharper. He sidestepped with uncanny grace, Kragath's strike missing him by inches. WHOOSH!
Volk spun around, his eyes narrowing. "Really?" he barked, his voice sharp with disappointment.
