Strongest Radioactive System

The group of orcs, now under Volk's leadership, marched forward through the winding corridors of the catacombs.

The flickering light from their torches cast long shadows on the stone walls, creating an eerie atmosphere that would have unsettled any ordinary orc. But the Dreadmaw Clan was anything but ordinary.

Each step echoed in the silence, but there was no fear in their hearts—only a sense of purpose.

Volk, at the front of the group, felt the weight of his new role pressing down on him.

He was their leader now, and he intended to lead them well.

Their journey has been remarkably smooth so far.

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the occasional whiff of decay, but nothing seemed to challenge their advance.

It was almost too easy.

As they moved deeper into the catacombs, they passed several other orcish bodies, sprawled lifeless on the ground.

Some were from rival clans, their armor and weapons distinctive in the dim light, but all bore the same gruesome fate.

The group slowed to a stop as they came across yet another cluster of dead orcs.

One of the Dreadmaw warriors, a burly orc with a jagged scar running across his cheek, turned to Volk with a puzzled expression.

"How come we haven't run into any monsters?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet.

"Usually, these dungeons are swarming with creatures ready to rip us apart, but it's been quiet. Too quiet."

Grok'Thar, who had been walking just behind Volk, let out a hearty laugh. "You lot haven't figured it out yet?" he said, clapping the questioning orc on the back. "It's because of Volk here!"

The other orcs looked at Grok'Thar in confusion, clearly not understanding. Volk himself raised an eyebrow, curious about what his friend would say next.

Grok'Thar grinned widely, showing off his sharp teeth.

"You see, Volk might have been a Labor Orc, but that's exactly why we haven't seen any monsters. His body is riddled with hazardous magic particles, so much so that the monsters probably think he's some kind of powerful beast. They're scared of him, that's why they're avoiding us!"

The orcs stared at Volk, their expressions a mix of awe and shock.

They had known he was different, that he had been a Labor Orc before proving his worth in combat, but they hadn't realized just how much his past had affected him.

One of the orcs, a younger warrior with bright, curious eyes, stepped closer to Volk, examining him as if seeing him for the first time.

"I knew you were tough," he said slowly, "but I didn't think it was to this extent."

Volk shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the attention.

He had never asked for any of this—being a Labor Orc was something he had been born into, not something he had chosen.

Yet here he was, leading a group of warriors through a deadly catacomb, and apparently scaring away monsters just by his presence.

Grok'Thar, noticing Volk's discomfort, decided to lighten the mood.

"You should have seen some of the things that happened before we met up with you all," he said, chuckling.

"There was this one time we were about to be ambushed by a pack of something—I couldn't even tell what they were, just a blur of teeth and claws—and the moment they caught wind of Volk, they turned tail and ran! Didn't even give us a chance to swing our weapons. They just bolted like their tails were on fire!"

The orcs laughed, the tension easing as Grok'Thar continued to recount the strange and funny encounters they'd had while traveling with Volk.

The mood in the group lifted as they realized just how fortunate they were to have such an intimidating presence leading them.

But the light-hearted atmosphere didn't last long.

As they continued their journey, Lhum'Baggar approached Volk, his expression serious.

He walked beside Volk in silence for a few moments, as if gathering his thoughts, before finally speaking.

"Volk," Lhum'Baggar began, his voice low, "I've been thinking about something. About those hazardous magic particles in your body."

Volk glanced at him, curious. "What about them?"

Lhum'Baggar hesitated, his brow furrowing in thought. "Do you know the extent of how hazardous they are?"

Volk shook his head. With a cross finger, he would lie. "I don't. All I know is that they've been with me for as long as I can remember. Back when I was a Labor Orc, it was just something I lived with."

Lhum'Baggar nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something for him.

"I remember now… back when we were preparing to enter these catacombs, I forgot about something that happened with you and a warthog." Then he would swallow his saliva, "Do you remember the Adulthood ceremony?"

Volk's interest piqued. "The ceremony of Adulthood?"

"Yes," Lhum'Baggar continued. "Most of the adult orcs, especially the strongest warriors in the tribe, don't pay much attention to that ceremony. But what they do is double-check if the chosen Orc and the talented Elf are perfect for each other. If an orc has extremely hazardous magic particles in their body, it means there's a chance that they might produce less talented offspring.

And in such cases, the tribe's elders will break the bond between the Labor Orc and the Elf."

Volk's eyes widened as he processed Lhum'Baggar's words.

"You mean… they would take the Elf away from the Orc?"

Lhum'Baggar nodded solemnly.

"Yes. If the Orc is deemed too hazardous, they will take away his partner or wife and replace him with another Orc—one who's stronger, more suitable to produce talented offspring."

A cold fury began to build in Volk's chest as the implications of Lhum'Baggar's words sank in. "So, you're saying… Solluha'r could be taken from me?"

Lhum'Baggar didn't respond immediately, his silence speaking volumes. But he remembers her, his brother.

Still, he looked at Volk with a mixture of sympathy and understanding, knowing all too well the pain of such a realization.

"Yes," Lhum'Baggar finally said. "It's a possibility."

Volk clenched his fists, his anger and fear battling for control.

Solluha'r was very useful to him.

The thought of losing her, of having her taken away because of something he had no control over, was unbearable.

The rage inside him boiled over, but he forced himself to stay calm.

There had to be a way to prevent it.

There had to be something he could do.

"What can I do to stop this?" Volk asked, his voice tight with desperation. "How can I prevent them from taking her?"

Lhum'Baggar shook his head slowly, his expression regretful.

"I don't know, Volk. I wish I did, but I don't. The elders make those decisions, and they're not easily swayed. Your hazardous particles… they're not something you can just get rid of."

Volk felt a deep sense of hopelessness settle over him.

He was ready to face down orcs, monsters, and challenges that would have broken lesser warriors, but this—this was something else entirely.

This was a fight he didn't know how to win.

As they continued to walk, the weight of Lhum'Baggar's words hung heavily in the air.

Volk's mind raced, searching for solutions, for any way he could protect Solluha'r and their future together. But for now, there were no easy answers.

All he could do was keep moving forward, leading his warriors deeper into the catacombs, all while wrestling with the fear that he might lose the one thing he needed the most.

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