Kragath's battered frame trembled as he fixed his eyes on Volk, his smirk fading into something far colder.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he let out a slow, gravelly sigh.
"You," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word carried like a thunderclap in the silence.
"You think you're strong. You've reached the twenty-fifth stage of a Mana Orc. That's impressive for someone like you, I'll give you that. But do you even know what that means in the grand scheme of things?"
Volk's brows furrowed, his fist still clenched at his side. "What are you talking about now, Kragath?"
"What am I talking about?" Kragath spat, forcing himself to sit upright despite the immense pain wracking his body. His eyes glinted with a dangerous light.
"I'm talking about the monsters you're about to face. You think you've accomplished something, climbing to twenty-five?