…………

“Dull, Mak’gora!”

...Is it over?

"Someone challenged the chief."

...Enough...

Grott Death Strike opened his eyes. There was not a single person in his tent, just as usual.

The sound outside the tent sounded again. This time it was another sound, which seemed puzzled. "Someone wants to duel with the chief?"

Grott sat up and identified the sound outside. From the gap in the curtains of the tent, he saw who was yelling—the children of the two Dragon Throat clans.

Grott rubbed his sleepy eyes. Three days passed before the last duel. He thought to himself.

"A bunch of idiots." He whispered, but immediately regretted it again. They are not idiots. The chiefs of the clan cannot tolerate any weakness, and of course, there is no sympathy or mercy. Over the years, the Dragon Throat clan has replaced several chiefs, and each of them has not been in power for a long time. It was not until the current chief Moghall succeeded to the throne that the regime gradually stabilized, but this regime was completely based on blood and corpses. It is not that Moghall is so cruel, but that he has too many challengers. It is no wonder that Moghall is very different from other clan members. As long as he thinks of his appearance, Grott feels so nauseous.

"There is another corpse." Grot patted his forehead and slowly woke him up. He thought that he might be able to sleep for a while, because duels usually have to wait until sunset. He glanced at the entrance of the tent, and then he realized that the night had already arrived and he was sleeping all day long.

Then it was about to start? Grot shook his head helplessly. He knew that he had to get up immediately and then go to the arena to find a seat. However, Grot was disgusted with witnessing the scene - the scene where the chief's opponent fell in a pool of blood and everyone cheered. There was no glory at all. Mak’gora was obviously sacred, but now it has become a means of Moghall's control of the clan. Grot sighed, then stood up and brought his own boxing gloves.

What is the difference between this and the Deathwing control of the clan many years ago?

With a piece of jerky meat in hand, Grot walked straight to the camp's arena. A group of spectators had already gathered there - all members of the clan, Moghall asked everyone to come and witness his glory. The whole venue was surrounded, and Grott did not see clearly until he sat in the audience seat. The two sides of the duel were already inside and ready to fight at any time.

The audience quieted down. Moghall seemed to be saying something, but Grot had refused to listen to his voice. He only saw that the Challenger was a beast trainer, but he was not allowed to bring his beast companion in the duel. As for Moghall, Grot really didn't want to see him, but every duel he looked forward to Moghall's flaws, such as whether there were injuries that had not yet healed.

The orc glanced at it, and the Dragon-throated Chief was deeply engraved in his mind. It was an orc with blood-red skin all over his body. Yes, the cruel fact. Moghall was an orc who drank the blood of the demon.

This is also the reason why the Dragon Throat clan has never joined the tribes far away on the Western continent. So far, there are members of the clan who have drunk the blood of the demon, not to mention that a guy has become the chief.

"Start!" A roar kicked off the duel.

The two orcs rushed towards the other side and immediately fell into a melee.

The audience burst out and kept waving and shouting.

Grot sat there with his arms folded on his chest. A few minutes later, Moghall hit the trainer's forehead with a punch, and the entire battle came to an end. The winner stalked in the arena, immersed in the warm cheers of the clan members. The defeat fell to the ground and died thoroughly.

Anyway, this is not a rare thing. It's the same ending twice in three days and five in a week. Moghall is already very powerful, and he becomes even stronger after drinking blood, and the people who challenge him are pure blood orcs.

At this moment, Moghall raised a fist and everyone looked at him. "Who else?" he asked, a battle could not calm his demonic blood. "Who else dares to challenge your chief tonight?"

No one answered.

The Dragon-throat Chief laughed in the duel. It took him a while before he set his eyes on the audience, the only person on the field who did not cheer for his victory.

Grott stared at Moghall with fearless face. It was originally a very dangerous behavior. However, the chief did not accuse him, just glanced at him. Then he announced: "That's it. I'm looking forward to the next idiot."

The audience began to leave one after another.

The duel was over and Grot's extra work began. He waited for everyone to leave before slowly entering the arena and walked to the corpse. Although he still had a glimmer of hope to check the trainer's pulse, it was useless.

"You have a warrior's heart, may our ancestors bless you, warrior." He placed his hands on his left chest to pay tribute. Then he grabbed the trainer's arms with both hands and began to take him away. That's right, this is his job, specializing in handling the corpse.

In the Dragon-throated clan, Grott is old, but has rich experience, especially in taming a bipedal flying dragon. Moghall gave him the task of becoming a beast clan administrator and serving the clan.

After each duel, Moghall would ask Grot to feed the body to the two-legged flying dragon. Later, the Dragon-throated Chief didn't even have to speak, and just a look could let the orc know what to do.

For every corpse dragged around a hundred meters, Grot would stop and rest. He was no longer young and had white hair. More than twenty years have passed since the Second World War. Because of this, Moghall still let Grot survive when he knew that Grot was dissatisfied with him, because Grot had no ability to threaten him at all.

An hour passed, and Grott finally took the trainer to the place where the corpse was buried, a place with great scenery.

He sat by the corpse and rested, staring at the camp of the Dragon Throat clan with a dull expression, as if he had returned to the dark years of the past War II. The glory of the ancestors had been forgotten, and the blood of the demon still controlled the orcs.

"I hope Moghall will die next time." Grott muttered, and every time he started digging, the moon rose to the highest point before he could finish everything. The orc glanced at the surroundings and found that it was almost turned into a tomb. An inexplicable sense of loss suddenly hit him, exhausting him physically and mentally.

“Why are you feeling frustrated?”
Chapter completed!