The Orcs were tense and confused about what to do. They looked at the leader of their group, the High Orc, who seemed to be in equal dilemma, his staff-wielding hand trembling.
Sensing the heavy gazes of his subordinates, the High Orc grit his teeth, and his features shifted through different expressions, as if experiencing a myriad of emotions at this moment. The orcs stared at him, anticipating his decision, unaware that their expectant gazes placed the High Orc under immense pressure.
"Damn it, let's get this over with!" The High Orc spat out in a fed-up voice, his grip on his staff tightening.
"But, Baka, what should we do?" One of the orcs pointed out, and everyone's gaze settled back on their comrade, who was still in Solora's iron grip. His eyes reflected sheer terror, and his mouth made odd, silent movements, as if he were saying: Please, make this pain stop! I can't take it anymore!
