Ironfang narrowed his dark green eyes, watching the seemingly frail human male opposite him with caution and solemnity.
He was so scrawny that he was not even half Ironfang's height.
He carried no weapons and stood there naked, no different from an ordinary lamb waiting for slaughter.
Yet the more Ironfang looked at him, the more an instinctive sense of danger and tension surged through him.
Even more surprisingly, this human was actually fluent in the Orc language.
That was something he had never encountered in the past two months of war.
This human was completely different from the crazed humans he had encountered before.
The humans here were like flowers raised in a greenhouse, looking utterly fragile.
They had nothing going for them except warships and equipment of a certain technological standard.
Their tactical thinking, capabilities, resolve, and individual combat strength were no different from those of primitives.
That had led Ironfang to believe there were no worthwhile human prey in this Star Sector.
But now, he realized he had been far too naive.
After the brief, tense standoff, Ironfang's thirst for battle and blood erupted.
He had missed that intoxicating thrill of walking the edge between life and death so much.
He tightened his grip on the Spinal Staff.
Under the power of his blood energy, the Spinal Staff transformed into a three-meter-long blade of bone.
The muscles beneath the skin of his thick, crimson arms and legs writhed and tightened as though they had lives of their own.
He drew great lungfuls of murky air, filling himself with oxygen.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, the vambrace on Ironfang's arm fired a dazzling beam of light.
The light burst apart the instant it shot out, turning into clouds of dense, scorching mist.
This was Ironfang's custom-made smoke bomb, whose heat could