Strongest Radioactive System

Volk's blood in his head began to slither through his brain to think carefully with a desperate fury as he tried to think of ways to expose the traitors hiding within the Dreadmaw Clan.

Every second counted, and shouldering the weight of the clan's survival was pressed down on Volk like a suffocating dust shroud.

He took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of focus he had.

The first plan that crossed his mind was simple: isolate and interrogate. He could round up anyone he suspected of betrayal and question them one by one.

He could put them under intense pressure until they either broke or exposed themselves.

The idea of using his newfound boxing skills to force answers out of them gave him a brief of force confidence.

He imagined grabbing Luk'Tar by the collar and demanding the names of every traitor, breaking bone if necessary.

But the reality of it all crushed the idea before it could take root.

Volk shook his head, knowing it would be impossible to interrogate so many.

Time wasn't on their side.

Even if there was no timing, he felt he had.

He couldn't afford to deal with one Orc at a time when the threat of annihilation loomed overhead.

Moreover, brutal tactics might further divide the clan.

Fear and mistrust would fester like an open wound, and soon they would tear each other apart even faster than the enemy could.

Volk's second plan involved magic. Surely there was some way to use it to expose the traitors.

He thought about enlisting the few magic users in the clan.

Maybe they could cast some kind of spell to reveal the truth.

He entertained the notion of forcing Lak'Ran to undergo a magical trial, where any Dark Elf enchantments would be unveiled in front of the entire clan.

But Volk knew deep down that magic wasn't reliable in this situation.

If the traitors had been working with the Dark Elves, they would likely know how to conceal themselves from such spells.

Plus, the clan's magic users didn't fully trust him.

Ever since he exposed Luk'Tar, suspicion had only grown between him and the rest of the tribe's elite. And him, being a young blood Kaz'rogal would likely get ignored.

It wouldn't work, Volk thought, dismissing the idea with a heavy sigh.

The third plan seemed more traditional: appeal to the tribal elders. .

The Dreadmaw Clan had always respected its elders, who possessed the wisdom of ages.

Maybe they would recognize something Volk hadn't noticed, some subtle behavior or clue that would expose the traitors.

But as the thought played out in his mind, he quickly realized the futility of it.

Most of the elders had already gone missing or were too paralyzed by fear to act decisively.

Those who remained lacked the strength or authority to impose order on the tribe.

They had become figureheads, unable to control the chaos that now threatened to tear everything apart.

The elders can't help me.

They can't even help themselves.

With each idea failing one after another, Volk felt a creeping sense of doom gnawing at his insides.

He clenched his fists, angry with himself for not having a clear solution.

There must be something I can do.

Anything.

Then, it hit him like a bolt of lightning—the Labor Orcs.

Aren't Labor Orcs supposed to be the first to sense danger?

Volk's pulse quickened as he remembered their keen ability to detect hazardous magic particles.

If the Dark Elves had infiltrated the clan, they would have needed to take out the Labor Orcs first to prevent detection.

His voice exploded with desperation, cutting through the air like a thunderclap. "THE LABOR ORCS! DON'T LET THEM GO! DON'T LET THEM GO!"

The sudden urgency in Volk's voice shook the tribe to its core.

For a moment, there as a heavy silence blanketing the crowd.

Then, as if a dam had burst, the Elves and Orcs sprang into action.

They had been wary of each other, unsure of who to trust, but now they moved with purpose.

Volk watched as the Labor Orcs began to rise.

At first, there were only three.

Then six.

Then nine.

His heart blood pumping quickened with hope as more of them stood.

Twelve.

Fifteen.

Nineteen.

But then... it stopped.

His hope shattered like glass.

Nineteen wasn't enough.

He needed at least thirty, maybe more, to expose the full scale of the conspiracy.

Where are the rest?

His heart sank into a pit of panic.

Where are they hiding?

They needed every last Labor Orc if they were going to survive this threat.

As Volk's eyes darted around the camp in a frenzy, a dark, mocking laugh rang through the air, cutting through his thoughts like a jagged blade.

He turned and saw Lak'Ran, bound but grinning like a madman.

"Looking for someone, little Labor Orc?" Lak'Ran sneered, his eyes gleaming with wicked glee.

Volk's teeth clenched, fury boiling within him. "What are you talking about?"

Lak'Ran chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with malice.

"You're too late. They've already fled, you fool. The moment you mentioned Lhum'Baggar, we knew our time was up. Some of us ran. And your precious Luk'Tar? His only job was to distract you long enough for them to escape.

Hahaha!"

Volk's blood ran cold. "No... no!" he stammered. He turned back to the crowd, his heart thudding in his chest. "Search for them! Find the Labor Orcs!" His voice cracked with desperation as he screamed.

But Lak'Ran's cruel voice sliced through the chaos once again, mocking him.

"Give it up, little Labor Orc. Plus who are you to order them? You're just a young blood Kaz'rogal! You've lost. All you did was waste time fighting Luk'Tar while the real threat slipped through your fingers."

Volk felt a chill creep up his spine, but he forced himself to ignore it. "I won't give up!"

Lak'Ran cackled even louder.

"Why not join us, little Labor Orc? You're strong. We could use someone like you. Pledge your loyalty to the Dark Elven Witches. Together, we could wipe out these Red Warlocks. Imagine the power you'd have!

Hahahaha!"

The laughter echoed in Volk's ears, threatening to drown him in doubt.

His chest heaved as he tried to push the despair aside.

He couldn't let the clan fall.

He couldn't lose.

Not like this.

Not after everything.

Suddenly, the Orcs pulled Lak'Ran away.

Just then, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

A system notification appeared before his eyes, and the words cut into his soul like a blade.

| Mission Failed.

| Star = Basic-level Muay Thai Kickboxing received.

| Dreadmaw Clan will experience annihilation in 7 hours. |

Volk's breath hitched.

Mission failed?

He stared blankly at the notification, unable to process it.

The words felt foreign, distant, as if they weren't meant for him.

I failed?

He looked up at the gathered Orcs and Elves, he could see their faces were blurred by his confusion and exhaustion.

Their expressions were a chaotic blend of panic and fear, but Volk couldn't focus on any of them.

Failed.

The word felt like it was imprinted in his mind, over and over, until it drowned out everything else.

Lak'Ran's laughter still rang in his ears, but Volk didn't react.

He couldn't.

He was numb.

The Dreadmaw Clan was doomed, and he couldn't help but feel it was all his fault.