Strongest Radioactive System

The training grounds were alive with the rhythmic clash of steel, echoing through the air like a drumbeat.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The sounds of metal striking metal filled the clearing as Volk sparred with Gozorm'al under the watchful eyes of other orcs. Sweat dripped from Volk's brow, his chest heaving with each labored breath. His muscles ached, burning with the strain of the relentless training.

No matter how hard he tried, Gozorm'al's defense was impenetrable. Each strike, each lunge, was effortlessly parried or deflected by the elder orc.

On the sidelines, a group of orcs watched the bout intently, their rough voices mixing with the sounds of battle. "Who's Gozorm'al torturing this time?" one of them asked, a smirk on his face as he leaned on his battle-axe.

Another orc, this one with a broad scar running across his chest, squinted at the two combatants. "I heard it's the Kaz'rogal of this year," he replied, his voice tinged with curiosity. "They say his female is the biggest one anyone's seen since the last symbiotic union celebration."

The first orc raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "The Kaz'rogal? This year's? Isn't he supposed to be some labor orc?"

"Aye," a third orc chimed in, joining the conversation. "Born from Labor Orcs, they say. Never thought I'd see the day a laborer was named Kaz'rogal. It's said his female's size is a sign—it might be the biggest since our ancestors!"

The group fell into a thoughtful silence, their eyes fixed on Volk and Gozorm'al.

There was an undercurrent of disbelief among them.

A labor orc, no less, wielding the title of Kaz'rogal was something none of them had expected.

The more they watched, the more curious they became, though none of them dared to voice their skepticism outright.

Gozorm'al, for his part, seemed to be enjoying himself. He chuckled every time he deflected one of Volk's attacks, responding to the shouts from the sidelines with a carefree wave of his hand. "Don't be too hard on the kid!" one of the orcs called out, his voice tinged with amusement.

Another orc grinned, "Hey, Kaz'rogal! Gonna let an old orc bully you like that?" he jeered, earning a ripple of laughter from the others.

"He's a labor orc!" another shouted. "What do you expect? Swingin' a pickaxe ain't the same as swingin' a sword!"

Volk gritted his teeth, feeling the frustration mount with each taunt.

Every attempt he made to strike Gozorm'al was met with a quick, precise counter, leaving him increasingly battered and bruised. His body screamed in protest, but the pain only fueled his desire to penetrate and hurt the old man and prove them wrong. What should I do? What should I do? he muttered under his breath, trying to find a way through Gozorm'al's seemingly unbreakable defense.

Gozorm'al, noticing Volk's growing frustration, couldn't resist mocking him further. "Are you really the Kaz'rogal?" he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The weakest Kaz'rogal of them all, it seems! Others at least managed to land a hit!"

Volk's anger flared at the insult, but he forced himself to stay focused. He wasn't going to let the old orc's words rattle him, not when so much was at stake. He needed to think, to find an opening, a weakness he could exploit.

As he continued to study Gozorm'al, something clicked in Volk's mind. The elder orc was much larger than him, towering over him with a physique that seemed almost invincible. But with size came certain…vulnerabilities. His eyes traveled downward, assessing Gozorm'al's stance, and a plan began to form in his mind.

Gozorm'al, seeing Volk hesitate, pointed his sword at him, a confident smirk on his lips. "Is that all you've got, Kaz'rogal?" he challenged. "You can change into your Grum-gar form if you want. I won't hold it against you."

Volk didn't respond. His mind was trying to study the old Orc, calculating his next move. He could feel the eyes of the watching orcs on him, their expectations hanging in the air like a thick fog. But he ignored them, focusing solely on Gozorm'al and the opportunity that lay before him.

With a sudden burst of energy, Volk drove his sword into the earth, sending a cloud of dirt flying up into the air.

Thum!

The dirt sprayed everywhere, and Gozorm'al instinctively raised his arm to shield his eyes from the attack.

But before Gozorm'al could fully recover, Volk was already moving. He dropped to the ground, sliding beneath Gozorm'al's guard in a blur of motion. Gozorm'al's eyes widened in surprise as Volk closed in on his target—his little brother between his massive thighs.

With all the strength he could muster, Volk swung his sword upward. Clang! That part was armored but the impact was loud, as if the sound of metal striking metal resonating through the training grounds. It has a metal shield but it was a direct hit, right where Volk had aimed.

The entire training ground fell silent.

The orcs who had been laughing and jeering moments before now started in stunned disbelief, their eyes wide with shock. Gozorm'al himself was frozen, his expression a mixture of pain, shock, and grudging admiration.

For a moment, nobody moved.

The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, as the reality of what had just happened began to sink in, the silence was shattered by a collective gasp from the crowd.

One of the orcs on the sidelines broke the tension with a loud, incredulous laugh. "Did you see that? The kid actually did it!"

Another orc doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed. "Right in the little Gozorm'al! Hahahhaha!"

Another one made a remark while clutching his stomach, "Even if it's protected by armor, it must have hurt a lot! Haha! Haha! Haha!"

Gozorm'al, still reeling from the unexpected attack, slowly straightened up, his face a mix of pain and grudging respect. He let out a pained grunt, shaking his head as he looked down at Volk, who was now on his feet, breathing heavily, but with a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

"Well," Gozorm'al said, his voice strained but amused. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that."

Volk, still panting from the exertion, met Gozorm'al's gaze with a steady look. "You said to use whatever means necessary," he replied, his voice hoarse but defiant.

The other orcs, still in varying states of shock and amusement, began to cheer and shout, their earlier jests forgotten in the wake of Volk's unexpected victory.

"Looks like we've got a real Kaz'rogal here!" one of them shouted, slapping another orc on the back.

"Maybe there's more to this labor orc than we thought!" another called out, grinning broadly.

Volk could hardly believe it himself. He had done it. He had finally landed a hit on Gozorm'al, and in the most unexpected way possible.

As the realization settled in, he felt a surge of pride and determination. He had a long way to go, but this was the first step toward proving himself, not just as the Kaz'rogal, but as a true warrior of the tribe.

Gozorm'al, still rubbing his sore spot, gave Volk a nod of approval. "Alright, Kaz'rogal," he said, his tone more respectful now. "Let's see what else you've got."

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