Strongest Radioactive System

The Orcs regrouped at a safe distance, their lines straightening under Volk's watchful gaze.

He paced before them, his eyes sharp and assessing. "Look at them," he said, gesturing toward the recovering Ogres. "They think it's over. They think we're done."

The Orcs followed his gaze, watching as the Ogres drank from muddy streams and slumped into uneasy rests.

Confusion flickered across their faces. "Warchief," one of them said hesitantly, "if we're not done, then why did we fall back?"

"To train you," Volk said simply, his voice carrying a note of challenge.

"Do you think you've mastered your new strength? Your armor? Your formations? No. You've merely tasted the beginning of what it means to fight as a unit. And those overgrown beasts?"

He gestured at the Ogres, who were now licking their wounds. "They're perfect for this."

The Orcs exchanged looks, slowly beginning to understand.

The retreat wasn't weakness—it was strategy.

Volk wasn't letting them win too easily, but neither was he letting them lose.

He was using the Ogres as training dummies, pushing his horde to the brink and beyond, sharpening them into a weapon worthy of the Horde's legacy.

Your journey continues with empire

An hour later, the Ogres stirred, their strength partially recovered.

They rose from their positions, stretching their massive limbs and growling slowly among themselves.

The relief they had felt earlier was replaced by confusion when they saw the Orcs reforming their line in the distance.

The lead Ogre tilted his head, scratching it with a dirt-encrusted hand. "What… what Orcs doing?" he muttered, his voice a rumble of broken syllables. "They… leave?"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Before he could make sense of it, the Orcs began to advance again.

Shields locked, spears bristling, they moved in a coordinated formation that was far more disciplined than before.

The Ogres grunted in alarm, their primitive minds struggling to comprehend why the Orcs would return after retreating.

Volk's voice rang out from behind the line. "Shields up! Spears are steady! Advance at half pace—control your movement!" His commands were sharp, precise, and the Orcs obeyed without hesitation.

The Ogres roared in frustration. One of them grabbed a boulder and hurled it at the advancing line.

The rock flew through the air, spinning wildly.

WHOOOM!

CRACK!

It smashed into the ground just short of the Orcs, sending dirt and debris flying.

"Hold!" Volk commanded. "Maintain formation! Keep moving forward!"

The Orcs stepped over the debris, their shields held firm.

They were no longer rattled by the display of brute strength.

They had learned to trust their armor and their formation.

As they closed the distance, the Ogres, now on their feet and snarling, prepared to charge.

The clash that followed was a test of endurance and discipline.

The Ogres, despite their size and strength, found themselves outmaneuvered by the disciplined Orcs.

Every charge was met with a wall of shields, every swing of their clubs deflected or absorbed.

The Orcs' spear thrusts became sharper, targeting weak points with growing precision.

Yet, Volk did not allow his horde to finish the fight.

Whenever it seemed like they could deliver a decisive blow, he ordered them to retreat, to reform, to advance again.

The cycle repeated, grinding down the Ogres both physically and mentally.

The Ogres, for all their brute strength, were not clever creatures.

Their frustration grew with each failed attack, their roars turning to desperate bellows.

They could not comprehend the strategy unfolding before them.

They were strong, yes, but strength alone was not enough against an enemy that refused to falter.

Hours passed, and the battlefield became a war of attrition.

The Orcs, though tired, moved with increasing precision.

Their shields locked together like an impenetrable fortress, their spear thrusts sharp and deadly.

The Ogres, on the other hand, were stumbling, their massive forms sluggish and weary.

Finally, one of the Ogres, its massive body sagging with exhaustion, raised its hands in a gesture that seemed almost human. "We… give up!" it bellowed, its voice cracking with desperation. "No more fight! We… done!"

The Orcs paused, their weapons still at the ready, unsure how to react.

Their eyes flicked to Volk, who stood at the back of the line, his expression unreadable.

A faint smirk crossed his lips as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Well, well, well" he said. "It seems even beasts can learn to surrender."

The battlefield was quiet, save for the shallow, ragged breaths of the battered Ogres.

Their hulking forms sagged under the weight of exhaustion, their bloodied fists dragging against the dirt.

Across from them, the Orcs stood in formation, shields locked and spears held high.

They were tired, too, but their discipline remained unbroken. Victory hung heavy in the air, yet no one moved to claim it.

Volk broke the silence, stepping forward from his position at the back of the line.

His imposing figure cut a stark contrast against the fading light of the forest.

His golden eyes scanned the defeated Ogres, their massive forms slumped like discarded mountains.

"You said you surrender," Volk began, his voice low and deliberate. "What do you mean by that?"

The Ogres exchanged uncertain glances, their large, dirt-encrusted faces contorted in confusion.

Their dull minds couldn't form a cohesive answer.

They looked to each other for guidance, but none came.

Finally, one Ogre muttered, "We… no fight no more."

Volk tilted his head. "And what do you plan to do now?"

The Ogres blinked, as if the question was entirely foreign to them. "We… no know," another mumbled, scratching its head with a hand large enough to crush a boulder.

Volk's lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed none of his thoughts. "I see. Then perhaps I'll give you an option." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Would you like to join my horde?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The Ogres didn't react immediately, their sluggish minds processing the proposition at a glacial pace.

However, the reaction among the Orcs was immediate and explosive.

"What?!" one of them bellowed, his voice tinged with disbelief. He turned to Volk, his eyes wide with fury. "Warchief, you can't be serious! Ogres? In our horde?"

Another Orc stepped forward, shaking his head vehemently. "They're brainless, Warchief! They eat their own children! They'll eat us if they get hungry enough!"

A chorus of agreement erupted among the Orcs, their voices overlapping in a chaotic din.

"They're beasts, not warriors!"

"They can't even hold a spear properly!"

"They'll mistake us for food in the middle of the night!"

"We should kill them now before they turn on us!"

The anger and frustration in their voices were palpable, and for a moment, it seemed like the discipline Volk had instilled in them was unraveling.

The Orcs were no strangers to violence or hardship, but the idea of inviting their lifelong enemies into their ranks was too much for many to bear.

Volk let the uproar continue for a moment, his sharp eyes sweeping over his warriors. Then, with a single, commanding gesture, he raised his hand.

"Silence!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

The Orcs fell quiet, though their discontent was still written plainly across their faces.

"You doubt my decision?" Volk said, his tone cold and unyielding. He stepped forward, his presence like a storm rolling over the battlefield.

"Do you think I make this choice lightly? Do you think I don't know what these creatures are?"

He gestured toward the Ogres, who remained slumped and silent, their confusion palpable.

"Yes, they're beasts. Yes, they've eaten their own. But they're strong. Stronger than any of you. And if I can bend that strength to my will, then our horde will become unstoppable."

The Orcs shifted uncomfortably, their earlier confidence replaced by a mix of uncertainty and fear.

Volk's words were undeniable, but the thought of sharing their ranks with Ogres still made their blood run cold.

"Trust me," Volk continued, his voice softer now but no less commanding.

"Have I ever led you astray? Did I not guide you to victory time and time again? You've seen what discipline and strength can achieve. These Ogres will be no different. I'll mold them as I've molded you."

The Orcs exchanged uneasy glances, their resistance slowly crumbling under the weight of Volk's authority.

Reluctantly, they nodded, though their expressions remained wary.