As Hagrid stripped off every piece of armor he wore, neither he nor the Enchanter said a word. The scars revealed across the Ork's upper body wound around him like thick ropes.
"Only one of us will be left standing."
Hagrid spoke, and all the while, his eyes remained fixed on the Enchanter.
"Let's see who's stronger."
Varnacus's face trembled with rage, while Hagrid felt his own heartbeat begin to quicken.
Hagrid walked over to the weapon rack standing nearby, where longswords and all manner of polearms were crammed together.
Thick wooden clubs lay beside spiked maces, along with short stabbing daggers, round shields, and various other implements.
Hagrid's weapon had broken during his brutal clash with the Bloodletter, so he needed another one.
He chose a short chopper.
Though its edge was rusted and dull, and its thick blade could no longer truly cut, it could still break bones and tear flesh in an Ork's hands.
"Good choice—"
Varnacus muttered as he raised his malformed right arm. The bone axe upon it was wreathed in an evil red aura.
"—your head will make a fitting sacrifice."
Hagrid grinned at the rebuke. He could not understand what the other was saying anyway.
Then the Ork picked up a long, thick iron chain and wrapped it around his left hand.
"This will be a painful, bloody fight."
Armed and ready, they took their positions at opposite ends of a five-step gap.
Hagrid saw nothing but his opponent.
A sudden gale swept into the stone hall. The howl of wind scraping through the passages gradually sank beneath the roar of blood rushing through Hagrid's muscles.
He leaned forward, using all his strength to hold himself in place.
Hagrid imagined the first instant of their collision: his blade knocking aside the other's axe