March of Destruction (I)

Bloodshed was inevitable, but Mogtrakka walked in at that moment, seemingly with something to report.

However, when he saw the two bosses closing in on each other, he froze.

These two bosses were among the strongest in Scrap City. Their warbands were both enormous, and in Mogtrakka's future plans, they were excellent "seeds."

"Guk?"

He sent a message to his lord. Something had to be done before these lunatics lost control.

Sacrificing a big boss at a time like this would be meaningless.

Yet Guk merely watched in silence, seeming quite happy to see a brawl break out. But when his gaze met Mogtrakka's, he nodded, finally giving the Ork chancellor the signal he needed.

Mogtrakka drew his long staff—the Arm of Mork. It shimmered beneath the lights with a sacred green glow.

"Enough!"

His command was delivered to every Ork present through both voice and psychic force.

The Snotlings whimpered and lowered their heads in submission. The bosses looked at him with mixed expressions—reluctant obedience, along with displeasure at this fellow stepping in to interrupt a duel.

But the boss in the triangular helmet did not look at him.

"You got no right to interfere, Mogtrakka."

Buckethead shared the same sentiment.

"This is between us!"

Mogtrakka swung his staff, sending a bolt of lightning through the air between them.

"You!"

He pointed at the triangular-helmeted boss.

"Since the Overlord ordered Flamehead to be the vanguard, you got no right to question it. Go back to your warband and sort out your lads. When the aaagh begins, I want to see a whole warband!"

Then he spun around, the spiked head of his staff pointed at Flamehead.

"You! Wait for my summons. If you take the troops meant to be the vanguard and go causing trouble again, Flamehead, I'll personally