Outside the entrance of the catbs, the air was tense with murmurs and discussions.


    The leaders of the gathered Orc ns stood in small circles, their imposing figures casting long shadows in the dim light.


    It was an unusual alliance: the Bloodfang n, the Ironhide n, the Thunderstrike n, the Stonefist n, the Shadoww n, the Fireblood n, and the Frostbite n.


    Despite the uneasy truce, none of them could hide their disdain toward the Dreadmaw n—a n known for its hunting prowess but not much else.


    "Hmph, can you believe it?" sneered Garnok, the chieftain of the Thunderstrike n, his massive arms crossed over his chest. "A hunter n, of all things, is the first to enter the catbs. They probably think tracking animals is the same as conquering dungeons."


    The Ironhide Chieftain, Raghur, chuckled heartily, hisrge frame shaking with mirth.


    "Hunters, not warriors, indeed. The Dreadmaw n may know how to stalk prey, but they know nothing of realbat. That Volk is no warrior—he''s a mereborer! A grunt who moves rocks, not mountains."


    Several of the Orcs from the surrounding ns snickered, nodding in agreement. Their voices were filled with arrogance and a deep sense of superiority.


    "Exactly," said Brakkas, leader of the Stonefist n, his deep, gravelly voice carrying through the group.


    "The Dreadmaws are skilled in hunting beasts and scavenging, but they''ve never stood in the front lines of a true battle. They don''t have the strength or the courage for it."


    "Nor the bloodlust," added Zarrath, the shadowy leader of the Shadoww n, his eyes gleaming with malice. "They can sneak through forests and hide in the brush, but in the open, they are nothing. They don''t know the taste of a true kill."


    The Elves standing nearby, from various allied tribes, exchanged knowing nces.


    Though their expressions were neutral, they, too, seemed to share the opinion that the Dreadmaw n was far beneath the other Orc ns in terms of prowess.


    "I''ve seen more battle spirit in a deer," an Ironhide Orcughed, his voice thick with derision.


    "They''ll lose themselves in those catbs," said another Orc from the Fireblood n, his massive form illuminated by the flickering mes of a nearby torch.


    "The moment they run into something they can''t hunt, they''ll be finished. This ce isn''t a forest—it''s a dungeon. It''ll eat them alive."


    Theughter grew louder, more boisterous.


    It was clear that no one among the gathered ns took the Dreadmaw n seriously.


    To them, the Dreadmaws were barely more than a nuisance—useful for hunting and tracking, but worthless in the heat of battle or the depths of the dungeon.


    "Hunters, not warriors," one Frostbite Orc muttered under his breath, shaking his head.


    Yet, as theughter echoed through the gathering, it was Varrok, the chieftain of the Bloodfang n, who broke the mirth with a deep, rumbling voice.


    "True, the Dreadmaws are hunters. But this Volk... there''s something different about him."


    The words hung in the air for a moment, silencing the mocking conversations.


    Varrok''s voice carried weight, for the Bloodfang n was among the most feared and respected of all the Orc ns.


    "Different?" asked Garnok, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "He''s just abor Orc. What could possibly be different about him? Plus, it was just pure luck after all, just a simple unique skill that they identally discovered. Not much of a strong indication that it would rm us."


    Varrok stroked his chin thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the catbs, where Volk had vanished.


    "I''ve seen plenty ofbor Orcs in my time, but none like him. He defeated Grounad, one of our strongest warriors, with... I don''t even know what he did. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone, and the bull mmed into Grounad. Do you all feep a magic?"


    There was a murmur of surprise and confusion among the other n leaders.


    "A trick, maybe," suggested Zarrath, his voice dripping with skepticism. "A trick of the eye. The Dreadmaws are cunning hunters, after all. But they rely on deception, not strength."


    Varrok shook his head. "It wasn''t a deception. It was something else. He teleported. Or moved so fast that none of us could see him. Whatever it was, it''s why we lost.


    And I don''t think we should dismiss him so easily."


    A tense silence fell over the group as the words sunk in.


    For a moment, the arrogance faded from their expressions, reced by something closer to wariness.


    But then, Raghur, the Ironhide Chieftain, burst outughing, the sound echoing through the air. "Haha! Oh,e now, Varrok. You can''t be serious! Abor Orc from a hunter n? Teleporting?


    Outpacing a Bloodfang warrior like Grounad? The Dreadmaws got lucky, that''s all. Nothing more."


    Theughter spread like wildfire, rolling through the gathered Orcs and Elves.


    "Lucky indeed! Maybe it''s because his body was made from a Labor Orc that we didn''t see or feel a disturbance of magic in the air, making it seem invisible!" one Orc from the Shadoww n cackled, pping his knee.


    "Luck runs out in the dungeons, though," added another Orc from the Stonefist n, hisughter booming like thunder.


    But theughter pause when a curious Elf, standing near the back of the group, raised a question. His voice, soft and lilting, cut through the noise like a whisper carried on the wind.


    "But... what if the Dreadmaw n reaches the bottom of the dungeon first? What if they im the treasure that lies within? Will we follow them then?


    "After all, it was agreed that the Bloodfang n would lead us once we entered. But now that the Dreadmaw n has gone in first, they might take what we came for.


    Plus, since they are a hunter n, aren''t they experts at hunting animals and beasts? What if they clear it before us? What will happen then? Are we going to acknowledge them as our leaders?"


    The question was like a sharp thin m of whip in the air, casting a brief silence over the crowd.


    There was a flicker of unease among the Orcs, a moment where they seemed to consider the possibility.


    But it was Brakkas, the Stonefist Chieftain, who broke the silence with a derisive snort.


    "Follow the Dreadmaws? Hah! Impossible. They won''t make it halfway through the dungeon before they''re torn apart by the creatures within. They''re hunters, not warriors. They''ll track the beast but won''t be able to kill it."


    "The moment they encounter something bigger than a deer, they''ll be finished," Raghur added with a cruel smile.


    "Even if they did manage to find the treasure, it would be wasted on them," muttered Zarrath, his dark eyes gleaming with contempt. "They wouldn''t know what to do with it."


    The Elves and Orcs alike erupted inughter once more, the sound filling the air with mocking mirth. The idea of the Dreadmaw n seeding where others had failed was simply too ludicrous for them to entertain.


    "Impossible!" they chorused, their voices full of condescension.


    And so, they stood,ughing at the thought of the Dreadmaw n ever bing anything more than simple hunters.


    The idea of them reaching the bottom of the dungeon, iming the treasure, or leading the rest of the Orc ns was absurd to them.


    Completely impossible, very impossible.