Strongest Radioactive System

As Volk prepared to launch his next attack, with his muscles tensed and eyes locked on Gozorm'al, the tension in the air was shattered by the sudden arrival of an unknown orc.

Thud!

A massive hand landed on Volk's shoulder, pulling him back just as he was about to spring forward. "Hold up, kid!" the orc barked, his voice booming over the clamor of the training ground.

Before Volk could respond, another orc stepped in, and then another, until several burly figures stood between him and the enraged Gozorm'al.

The air hummed with tension as the crowd of orcs, who had moments ago been cheering and taunting, now shifted their tone. "Old man, calm yourself down!" one of the orcs called out, his voice a mix of amusement and caution. "You're only supposed to strengthen to the fourth stage of Mag'Durotan! No need to go further!"

"Yeah, Gozorm'al!" another orc added, laughing. "You're training a young orc, not trying to kill him!"

"Take it easy, old man!" a third voice chimed in, this one tinged with a teasing edge. "We know you're strong, but there's no need to show off by breaking the kid in half!"

The orcs surrounding Gozorm'al continued to voice their playful admonishments, each one trying to diffuse the old orc's anger with light-hearted jests.

Despite their happy tones, it was clear that they were trying to prevent the situation from escalating further.

Gozorm'al's eyes still blazed with fury, but the chorus of voices seemed to be getting through to him.

Thud! Thud!

He finally lowered his weapon, his heavy breathing slowly beginning to calm, though the tension in his massive frame remained palpable.

Meanwhile, another orc—a warrior with a rugged, scarred face—stepped up to Volk and pulled him away from the scene, laughing heartily.

Ha! Ha! Ha!

The sound was deep and booming, echoing across the training ground. "You really are something, kid!" the orc said, clapping Volk on the back with enough force to make him stagger. "Managed to piss off old man Gozorm'al that much, huh? No one's ever done that before! You're an animal!"

Volk, still catching his breath and trying to process what had just happened, looked up at the orc in surprise. "But I think from their words, I almost got myself killed…" he muttered, the reality of how close he'd come to serious harm starting to sink in.

The orc grinned, his sharp tusks gleaming in the light. "You almost did, alright!" he said, his tone a mix of admiration and amusement. "That old man was a peak stage of Brute Mending, one of the strongest powerhouses in this tribe. And his Grum-gar? It's on the third level, which means his aura together with his physique at peak can be strengthened to a twenty-six stage Mag'Durotan powerhouse level!

You're lucky you didn't get your head knocked clean off!"

Volk's eyes widened in shock.

According to the memories of the Orc he had occupied, their peak physical prowess was called tenth stage Mag'Durotan. However, when they took on the mysterious "Grum-gar" transformation, their capabilities would undergo a complicated transformation.

Rather than a direct increase from the Mag'Durotan's ten, the Grum-gar form seemed to start from a base of two - half the original peak. But this base held untapped potential. By multiplying it by two, again and again, a powerful progression unfolded.

First, two became four. Then four multiplied by two resulted in eight. Doubling eight yielded sixteen.

Yet, this was not the end of the transformation. The Orc's original Mag'Durotan form of ten was then added to the Grum-gar's culminating sixteen, resulting in a staggering final tally of twenty-six.

He knew Grum-gar form was strong, but he hadn't realized just how powerful an orc would become who can turn into this. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

The orc who had pulled him away laughed again, this time more softly. "Don't worry, kid. He can't turn into his fifth form freely, he was on decline due to old age and because of the hazardous magic particles on his body, maybe he can only morph his Grum-far form twice now.

Plus, once the old man calms down, instead of making things harder for you, he'll probably reward you." Seeing the disbelief on Volk's face, the orc continued, "It's true! It means you, Kaz'rogal, are strong. Strong enough to piss him off in combat. He might even give you something valuable."

Volk raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. "For real?"

The orc nodded emphatically. "For real! He said it himself—if a younger orc can manage to anger him during a competency test, it means the tribe is elevating, getting stronger. And he rewards anyone who can do that. That's why everyone was so happy to see him angry. They know it means you've got potential."

Volk was speechless.

Orcs were that unpredictable?

The body he occupied had grown up among them, but this was a side of his people he had never fully understood. It was both baffling and… exhilarating.

The respect that came from earning the ire of such a powerful elder—it was more than he had ever expected.

The orc grinned at Volk's reaction. "Name's Orzuk, by the way," he said, extending a hand. "Son of Grogthar, the tribe's chief weapon master." His tone was proud but friendly, and Volk could see that this orc was someone of importance in the tribe.

Volk grasped Orzuk's hand firmly, his own grip still a bit shaky from the intense encounter. "Nice to meet you, Orzuk. I'm Volk Mog'ger… a laborer," he said, the last part coming out almost automatically.

Orzuk laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made the other orcs nearby turn to see what was so amusing. "A laborer, huh? Not anymore, Volk! You're the Kaz'rogal of this year! You should be proud of that. Only a few orcs in our tribe ever bear that title, and you're one of them so you should stand proud.

Add it to your name, Volk Mog'ger, the Kaz'rogal of this year!"

Volk nodded, the weight of his new role settling on his shoulders. It was still strange to him, being seen as more than just a laborer, but he could feel the pride swelling in his chest at Orzuk's words. He was Kaz'rogal, and it's just starting to settle in his head now.

That meant something—something big.

Before Volk could say anything more, Orzuk reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small, glittering crystal. It shimmered with a faint, otherworldly light, catching Volk's eye immediately. "Here," Orzuk said, handing the crystal to Volk. "You might need this. It's a Mana Crystal. Use it wisely."

Volk stared at the crystal, feeling the energy emanating from it. He had heard of these before—rare and powerful, capable of restoring Mana to those who needed it. It was exactly what Solluha'r needed to recover faster, to regain her strength so they could… No, he couldn't let his thoughts drift there right now. He had to focus.

"Thank you," Volk said, his voice sincere. He looked up at Orzuk, seeing a hint of approval in the older orc's eyes.

Just as Volk was about to pocket the crystal, he noticed Orzuk glancing back at him with a curious expression. "Don't tell me you're thinking of using that on your partner?" Orzuk's tone was incredulous, and for a moment, Volk didn't know how to respond.

"Isn't that normal?" Volk finally managed to say, his voice uncertain. In his limited experience within the tribe, it seemed like everything revolved around Mana and the strengthening of bonds through it. Why wouldn't he use it on Solluha'r?

Orzuk's response was immediate and filled with laughter. "Ha! Ha! Ha! No, no, no!" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as his laughter subsided. "Seriously though, that Mana Crystal in your hand is empty.

It's meant for Wildling Mag'Durotan like you to use during tasks inside the clan. It's not for anything special like entering catacombs or enhancing your partner."

Volk blinked, absorbing the information. "Then… what do I do with it?"