Strongest Radioactive System

As the Bloodfang Clan moved toward the entrance of the catacombs, Grounad, the mightiest warrior of the Bloodfangs in their younger generation, paused.

His massive frame loomed over the crowd, and his eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze toward the Dreadmaw Clan.

There was something simmering in his mind, something that was eating his head ever since the first mention of the catacombs.

He finally spoke, with his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade.

"Hold on!" Grounad's deep voice echoed across the gathered Orcs, halting their movements. "The Dreadmaw Clan—they're not as weak as you think. Let us have a discussion first."

This sudden proclamation sent a ripple through the other Orc clans.

The murmurs started immediately, the confusion spreading like wildfire.

The Thunderstrike Clan, known for their speed and agility, were the first to exchange looks of surprise.

"The Dreadmaw?" one of them whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.

"The hunter Orcs? They're nothing but trackers and forest scouts. How could they possibly—forget it! Just enter Bloodfangs! We still have a lot of preparation once inside!"

The Fireblood Clan, always prone to heated tempers, interrupted the murmurings with their fiery skepticism.

"Why do we need to care? And the hunter clan? Completing a dungeon? Are you joking? The Dreadmaws are better at hiding than fighting!"

The Ironhide Clan leader snorted, his thick armor creaking as he shifted his weight. "They've barely survived out here as it is. If they're trying to claim victory in a dungeon, they're either lying or desperate. Which is it, young Bloodfang?"

But Grounad, unwavering, stood tall. His eyes gleamed as he continued, "Yes. They completed the dungeon. Volk, their warrior, did it. The Dreadmaw Clan finished the dungeon, and we didn't mean to keep quiet about it because of the looming threat of the Warlocks"

The reaction was immediate.

The murmurs exploded into full-blown discussions, each clan now buzzing with disbelief.

Orcs from every tribe began talking over one another, some in shock, others in outright denial.

It was as if a secret had been spilled that no one could believe.

The Stonefist Clan, known for their brute strength and straightforward attitudes, were visibly perplexed.

One of their warriors, a massive brute named Kragnar, scratched his head and turned to his fellow clansmen.

"The Dreadmaw? Completing a dungeon? That doesn't make sense. They hunt beasts, not Warlocks. And Volk? I thought he was barely more than a hunter himself."

The Shadowclaw Clan, silent and deadly as always, muttered in hushed tones from the shadows where they preferred to linger.

One of their assassins, a wiry Orc with sharp eyes, whispered, "If they completed it, why didn't they boast about it sooner? No Orc would pass up the chance to claim such a victory. It's in our blood. What are they hiding?"

The skepticism spread even further among the other Orcs, each clan sharing their doubts and disbelief.

"That Labor Orc, of all people?" one of the Thunderstrike Clan Orcs said. "He doesn't look like a warrior, not even a dungeon crawler. There's no way he could've faced down the dangers of a dungeon. Not without help."

But Grounad, unbothered by their disbelief, continued, "You heard me right. The Dreadmaw Clan completed the dungeon, and they've earned the right to be here just as much as any of us. In fact, more than that—they should have first access to the catacombs. They earned it."

Another wave of shock rippled through the Orcs.

The Bloodfang Clan, the fiercest and most battle-hardened of the tribes, exchanged incredulous glances.

Their Chieftain, still standing near the entrance of the catacombs, frowned deeply.

His pride, so carefully built over years of battle and victory, bristled at the thought of a lesser clan taking precedence over them.

"First access?" the Bloodfang Chieftain scoffed. "You're suggesting we let the Dreadmaw Clan go first? This isn't some kind of charity! They're hunters, trackers, nothing more. They don't deserve to lead."

Grounad's gaze sharpened, and he squared his shoulders as he fixed his eyes on Volk. His voice was steady but laced with challenge.

"But they did lead. Volk led them. And they survived the dungeon. It's no longer about who deserves what. It's about what they've earned."

Volk's heart raced as all eyes turned toward him.

The weight of the moment pressed down on him, and he could feel the tension thickening in the air.

He knew what was coming—he could sense it in the way Grounad looked at him, in the way the other clans muttered amongst themselves.

This wasn't going to end with words.

Grounad took a deep breath, his massive chest rising and falling before he shouted, "As saying goes, it seems they don't like it. However, how about let's prove them? By settling this the old way, Volk? Let's have a battle."

Grounad's eyes gleamed with ferocity, his voice rising to a near roar as he bellowed, "KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!!"

At the sound of those ancient words, the entire gathering of Orcs fell silent.

Every clan—Bloodfang, Ironhide, Thunderstrike, Fireblood, Stonefist, Shadowclaw, and even the Dreadmaw—froze, their collective breath held as the challenge echoed through the clearing.

Kornuum Drhakar—the sacred duel.

A battle of honor and strength, where only one warrior could emerge victorious.

It was a call that could not be ignored, a challenge that, once issued, had to be answered.

The Thunderstrike Clan exchanged nervous glances, their agility and speed useless in such a sacred, brute-force contest.

The Ironhide Clan, though tough as stone, remained stoic, knowing full well the gravity of the challenge.

The Fireblood Clan muttered amongst themselves, their fiery tempers flaring at the idea of such a monumental event unfolding right in front of them.

"Kornuum Drhakar?" one of the Stonefist Clan grumbled, his deep voice barely audible over the stunned silence. "This is serious now. This isn't just about pride. This is a fight for dominance."

The Shadowclaw Clan, ever the quiet observers, slunk further into the shadows, their whispers barely audible. "Grounad's calling for blood. This isn't just a scuffle. He means to prove who deserves to lead."

Volk felt his muscles tense, his mind racing.

The call to Kornuum Drhakar was no small thing—it was a test of not just strength but will.

A test of leadership.

To refuse would be to dishonor himself and his entire clan. But to accept... to accept was to invite a fight that could either solidify his clan's position or doom them all.

He stepped forward, his heart pounding but his voice steady. "So, it seems not all Orcs are shameless like those around and the Bloodfang Clans are not one of them," he said.

The other clans were speechless.

"And you really want to settle this now, huh?" Volk's eyes locked onto Grounad's, and he could feel the eyes of every clan watching them.

"Let's go, then. KORNUUM DRHAKAR!!!"

The Orcs around them shifted, eyes wide, whispers turning into shocked exclamations.

"A Kornuum Drhakar! Between the Dreadmaw and Bloodfang Clans?"

"This is madness! Unknown Labor Orc named Volk against Grounad? Can the Labor Orc even survive?"

"The hunter against the warrior—this will be a bloodbath!"

The tension was palpable, the air thick with the anticipation of violence.

All eyes were fixed on Volk and Grounad, one could see their forms looming over the others as they squared off.

Both of them felt as though the world had shrunk down to just the two of them.

But just as they prepared to clash, muscles tensed, and fists clenched, a voice screamed through the air, louder than either of them.

"STOOOOOOOOP!"

The shout tore through the gathered Orcs like a thunderclap, freezing both Volk and Grounad in their tracks.

All eyes turned toward the source of the voice.

Who was that?