Strongest Radioactive System

The Orcs lounged around the makeshift camp, their armor clinking softly as they settled into a moment of well-earned rest.

The earlier battles with the Ogres had left them physically tired but emotionally charged.

As the crackle of the fire cast flickering shadows across the clearing, groups of Orcs began to chatter amongst themselves, their voices filled with a mix of awe, humor, and camaraderie.

"I still can't believe it," one burly Orc said, running a hand across his sweat-slicked brow. His voice carried a hint of amazement. "We fought those giants. And not only did we survive, we won. You saw how huge they were, right? Like mountains with arms."

Another Orc, younger and leaner, laughed as he poked at a stick in the fire. "Aye, I saw you freeze up when one swung that club at you. Thought you were gonna piss yourself!"

"Shut it!" the first Orc barked, but his grin betrayed his words. "You weren't much better, you know. Scrambling around like a headless chicken when Volk yelled at you to hold the line."

The younger Orc chuckled, shaking his head. "You're right. I didn't think we'd make it through that first charge. But when Volk shouted that command—'Hold the defense!'—it was like my body just moved. Didn't even think about it. Just raised my shield and hoped for the best."

Another cluster of Orcs leaned against a fallen tree, their conversation quieter but no less lively.

"Did you see those Ogres?" one of them murmured, his voice low as though speaking the word 'Ogre' might summon one from the darkness. "The way they moved… It wasn't like before. They were smarter, more coordinated."

"Smarter?" another Orc scoffed. "They're still brutes, even if Volk got 'em in line. Did you see that big one stumble when Volk made him squat? Funniest thing I've seen all day."

"Funny, sure," the first Orc replied, his tone more contemplative. "But did you notice how they didn't give up? They kept going, even when it was clear they were outmatched. Almost makes me respect the bastards."

A few Orcs near the edge of the group exchanged quieter, more personal reflections.

"I thought I was dead," one of them admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "When that Ogre swung its fist at me… I froze. Just stood there. If Volk hadn't yelled at me to duck…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Same here," another Orc said, his tone somber. "I've fought plenty of battles, but nothing like this. Those things could crush us with a single blow. And yet… we're still here. Still standing."

"Because of Volk," a third Orc interjected firmly. "He's different. He doesn't just fight; he commands. Makes you believe you can do the impossible."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The others nodded in agreement, their expressions a mix of gratitude and awe.

Volk stood apart from the others, his piercing golden eyes scanning the camp. He could hear snippets of their conversations, their words a testament to the battles they had faced together.

However, his attention was elsewhere—focused on the shimmering system interface that only he could see.

Each Orc and Ogre in the camp was listed in neat, glowing text, their names, races, and levels displayed with crisp clarity.

The Orcs, hardened warriors all, ranged in levels from 16 to 20.

The Ogres, now shackled and bound to his command, were even more formidable, their levels hovering between 29 and 30.

He studied the information with a critical eye. This wasn't just a horde—it was becoming a disciplined army, each member a piece in a larger, more intricate puzzle.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke his concentration. Discover stories with empire

Volk turned to see one of the Ogres approaching, its massive form looming over him.

The shackle around its neck clinked softly with each step, the severed chains swaying with its movements.

"Warchief," the Ogre rumbled, its voice deep and guttural. "Why… you smell like Ogre? You… an Orc."

The question hung in the air like a challenge. For a moment, the camp fell silent, every Orc and Ogre turning to look at Volk.

Volk tilted his head, a sly smile playing at his lips. "My bloodline," he said simply, his voice calm and steady. "It's not just Orc. It's Ogre as well."

The reaction was immediate. The Orcs erupted into murmurs, their voices a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"What did he just say?" one Orc whispered, his eyes wide.

"Ogre blood?" another muttered, shaking his head. "That can't be right."

"Is that why he's so strong?" a third Orc speculated, his voice tinged with awe. "Because he's part Ogre?"

The Ogres, meanwhile, stared at Volk in stunned silence.

Their simple minds struggled to process the revelation, but the impact was clear.

For the first time, they looked at him not just as a leader but as something more—a kindred spirit, perhaps even a kin.

Volk let the moment stretch, savoring the weight of their gazes.

Then, an idea began to form in his mind.

If he was destined to transform into his Radioactive form in the future, why not begin planting the seeds of loyalty and awe now?

Clearing his throat, Volk raised his voice so that all could hear. "Listen up!" he called, his tone commanding yet inviting. "I can see the questions in your eyes. The doubts. The curiosity. You want to know more, don't you?"

The Orcs and Ogres nodded, their attention fully on him now.

"Then sit down," Volk said, gesturing for them to gather closer. "I'll tell you a story."

There was a moment of hesitation before the horde began to move, their curiosity overriding their weariness.

They settled around him in a rough semicircle, their eyes fixed on their Warchief.

Volk waited until the last of them was seated, then took a deep breath, letting the silence build.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate, drawing them in like a flame draws moths.

"Alright," he said, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight. "Listen closely. This is a story you won't want to miss."

The camp fell into an expectant hush, every face turned toward Volk, their anticipation palpable.

The distant group of Orcs, lounging against the far side of the campfire, let out a chorus of chuckles. Their laughter was guttural and coarse, a sharp contrast to the hushed atmosphere surrounding Volk.

"Oi, what's all this about a story, eh?" one of them called, his voice dripping with mockery. "Didn't know we were at a bedtime camp, eh boys?"

Another Orc from the same group smirked, leaning forward with exaggerated curiosity. "Maybe the Warchief's got a fairy tale for us. You think it's about Orcs finding golden treasure?"

The group burst into laughter again, their voices echoing across the clearing.

The Orcs from Volk's side bristled. One of them, a tall warrior with a prominent scar across his jaw, rose to his feet.

"Shut your filthy mouths!" he bellowed, his deep voice cutting through the laughter. "The Warchief's about to speak!"

Another Orc stood up beside him, pointing a finger toward the other group. "You think this is funny? You want to mock him? Go ahead and see what happens when Volk hears it!"

The laughing Orcs exchanged wary glances, their chuckles fading into uneasy murmurs. They may have been bold, but they weren't foolish enough to push their luck. One by one, they quieted, leaving the camp in a tense silence.

Satisfied, the Orcs loyal to Volk turned back toward their Warchief, nodding in deference.