The hulking Ogre lay sprawled on the forest floor, unconscious and bloodied.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, mingled with the swampy stench of the forest.
The Orcs, still catching their breath from the brutal encounter, gathered around the fallen beast, their faces a mixture of awe, unease, and a tinge of pride for Garzuk's resilience.
"What should we do with it, Warchief?" one of the Orcs asked, his voice cautious. "Do we finish it off? Drag it back as a trophy?"
Volk stepped forward, his crimson gauntlet gleaming in the faint sunlight piercing through the thick canopy above.
He stared down at the Ogre with an expression that betrayed no sympathy, but also no interest.
"Leave it," Volk commanded, his tone flat but absolute.
"Leave it?" another Orc questioned, his brows furrowing. "But it's—"
