Volk's sinister grin quickly disappeared, replaced by a scowl of irritation.
Without warning, he kicked the Orc he had whispered to—a sharp, forceful blow that made the Orc stumble forward.
The other Orcs exchanged confused glances but said nothing, knowing better than to question their Warchief's actions.
The kicked Orc turned to face Volk, his face a mixture of confusion and betrayal. Volk's crimson eyes narrowed, and his voice was cold and biting. "No hesitation. Go."
Reluctantly, the Orc trudged forward, crossing the battlefield under the watchful eyes of both armies.
The humans noticed the lone figure moving toward them, and murmurs rippled through their ranks.
"What's this?" Sir Reginald sneered, leaning forward in his saddle. "A deserter? Or perhaps a pathetic attempt at negotiation?"
