Strongest Radioactive System

Volk squinted upward as he saw it again—another wave. This time, the harpies carried with them sharpened javelins, glinting cruelly as they hovered ominously over the horde like reapers in the clouds.

Volk's jaw tightened. "SHIELDS UP!" he roared.

Orcs scrambled, raising battered shields above their heads, forming makeshift domes of steel and bone. The Ogres growled, hunching their massive bodies over their smaller kin in a show of unity.

The harpies struck.

FWOOOOOSH!

The first wave of javelins fell, hurtling down like deadly rain. The impact was monstrous. Shields splintered. Screams erupted as the deadly projectiles pierced through armor, embedding themselves deep into flesh.

BOOM! BOOM! CRASH!

Volk's glowing fists pulsed as he swatted an oncoming javelin out of the air with a swing so powerful that it sent shockwaves across the dirt. But the attacks kept coming, each one breaking away more of their already fraying defenses.

All around him, his army crumbled piece by piece.

An Orc near Volk let out a final roar as he was impaled through the chest, his shield useless against the unrelenting barrage. Blood sprayed into the air, hot and red against the pale gray sky.

Volk felt his rage boil as he turned his gaze upward, staring at the circling harpies, their mocking screeches drilling into his ears. He couldn't reach them—not from here. And that fact gnawed at his pride, sinking its claws deep.

"Cowards," Volk growled under his breath, his radioactive aura flaring outward with every furious pulse of his body. The earth beneath him cracked as his power intensified, but he knew even his might couldn't break the skies.

More harpies descended in quick swoops, claws lashing at exposed throats, backs, and limbs. Some Orcs fell outright, others staggered, screaming as blood sprayed in arcs.

The winds howled louder, as if the harpies themselves were commanding the very air to suffocate Volk's forces.

Suddenly, Volk caught sight of another attack incoming—a storm of wind magic condensed into spinning vortexes. These attacks carved through the ground like blades, tearing up dirt and flinging Orcs aside as if they weighed nothing.

Volk's fists trembled at his sides. He gritted his teeth as he forced himself to remain calm. Think, think, think!

Their options were diminishing.

The harpies were too high to strike with physical weapons, and magic defenses barely lasted against their unrelenting attacks.

"FOCUS ON DEFENSE!" Volk roared, his voice cutting through the storm like a whip. "TURTLE DOWN UNTIL THEY TIRE!"

It wasn't a strategy he relished—defense had never been Volk's style. But right now, survival outweighed pride.

The Orcs obeyed. Shield domes formed again, bodies clustered tightly together beneath layers of iron and skin. The wounded were dragged into the center of the formations.

Ogres, their massive bodies riddled with gashes and embedded projectiles, formed a final, outer barrier, their broad backs shielding their smaller brethren.

The storm raged on.

THWACK!

A javelin pierced an Ogre's shoulder, sinking deep. The beast grunted but didn't fall.

FWOOOOOSH!

Another wind blade slashed across an Orc's shield, leaving a gouge the width of a fist.

Volk planted himself at the front, arms raised high, his radioactive energy radiating like a beacon of defiance. The air around him shimmered with heat and raw power, and even as the winds pushed against him, he stood firm, a mountain amidst a hurricane.

The harpies continued their assault, but Volk could see the first hints of hesitation in their movements. Their cries seemed more frustrated now—less mocking, more impatient.

They wanted Volk and his forces to break.

But they hadn't broken. Not yet.

Volk grinned through gritted teeth. "Is that all you've got, cowards?" he snarled toward the skies.

And then—

Ding!

The sound cut through the chaos like a bell tolling in the distance.

Volk froze, his glowing eyes narrowing as the familiar notification rang in his head.

Then he smiled.

---

[New Missions Available]

1. Scare Off the Harpies (Minimal Conflict)

Objective: Force the harpies to retreat through sheer intimidation.

Reward: Partial Map to Orzaroth (Section 1 of 4).

Failure: You and your forces remain stranded on the human continent for three years.

2. Kill 25 Harpies

Objective: Eliminate at least 25 harpies.

Reward: Partial Map to Orzaroth (Section 2 of 4).

Failure: You and your forces remain stranded on the human continent for three years.

3. Kill 100 Harpies

Objective: Eliminate a significant portion of the harpy flock.

Reward: Partial Map to Orzaroth (Section 3 of 4).

Failure: You and your forces remain stranded on the human continent for three years.

4. Kill the Harpy Commander

Objective: Defeat the harpy leader orchestrating the attack.

Reward: Full Map to Orzaroth.

Failure: You and your forces remain stranded on the human continent for three years.

5. Exterminate the Harpy Flock

Objective: Wipe out the entire harpy population attacking you.

Reward: Map to Orzaroth + Elven Refugee Token.

Failure: You and your forces remain stranded on the human continent for three years.

6. Capture a Harpy Alive

Objective: Capture one harpy without killing it.

Reward: Harpy's Whistle (Summons harpies for limited assistance).

Failure: You and your forces remain stranded on the human continent for three years.

---

Volk's radioactive glow pulsed faintly as he stared at the screen, jaw clenched tightly.

The windstorm screeched around him, waves of dust and debris swirling violently against his massive figure.

His thoughts churned like molten stone.

"Three years…?!"

The mere idea gnawed at him, like chains slamming shut around his neck.

Staying stranded here—in the miserable human lands, surrounded by the constant threat of death and no path forward—was unacceptable.

Three years was a lifetime in a war, in a march, in a leader's journey. His Orcs would stagnate, their morale crushed under the weight of futility.

He growled low in his throat, his sharp teeth grinding together like iron.

"Scare off the harpies?"

The easiest mission.

Volk almost laughed. How could he scare an enemy that was raining death from the skies, laughing as they did so?

These harpies weren't frightened prey. They were predators—agile, untouchable, and taunting.

To scare them off without shedding their blood would require overwhelming intimidation… but Volk's forces were already battered. His warriors were struggling just to shield themselves.

A show of power would require resources Volk didn't want to waste.

"No," Volk muttered, voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Weak leaders scare off their enemies. Strong leaders end them."

"Kill 25 harpies?"

A reasonable challenge. Twenty-five was a small dent in their numbers, enough to turn the tide and force a retreat. But Volk frowned, his glowing gaze narrowing as he calculated the risks.

It would require breaking their defensive formation—sending his Orcs out into the open, where harpy talons and wind blades could tear through their ranks like wheat before the scythe.

The cost in lives would be steep.

Is a quarter of the map worth it? Volk thought bitterly.

"Kill 100 harpies."

This was an escalation—a bloodbath waiting to happen. If his forces were already struggling to survive a relentless storm, how could they hope to eliminate a hundred of the winged fiends?

Even if they succeeded, their losses would cripple the horde, leaving them vulnerable for the journey ahead.

Volk's pride bristled at the thought of the harpies grinding his army down through sheer attrition.

"Damnable birds," Volk spat.

"Kill the Harpy Commander."

Now this mission… Volk's eyes glinted darkly. If he could strike at their leader, it would send the entire flock spiraling into disarray. A decapitated force was a broken force, and Volk understood that better than anyone. This was his favorite option—quick, decisive, brutal.

But there was a problem: the Harpy Commander was undoubtedly hidden. Somewhere high above the battlefield, beyond reach, watching his forces like a spider in its web. Volk clenched his fists. Reaching the leader would require a solution—some way to defy the skies.

"Could we…" Volk paused, his mind spinning. He'd need magic, catapults, something to bring the harpies to him. He filed the thought away for later.

"Exterminate the harpy flock."

The boldest mission.

The most rewarding. The map, plus the elven refugee token—a diplomatic bargaining chip he desperately needed.

If Volk could annihilate the harpies here, he would achieve absolute dominance over the battlefield, and his path to the elven lands would become clearer than ever before.

But Volk was no fool. Extermination wasn't a challenge.

It was a war.

To kill every single harpy meant outlasting them, breaking their will, and fighting to the very last.

The cost in Orc lives would be devastating.

Could they even survive such a battle?

"Ambitious," Volk murmured, "but madness if unprepared.

"Capture a harpy alive?"

Volk's brow furrowed. The strangest option. Why capture one? It wasn't Volk's style to take prisoners when he could leave behind corpses.

Yet the Harpy's Whistle was intriguing—an item capable of summoning the very creatures currently attacking them. Turning enemies into tools? That was tempting.

But how would they even capture a harpy? The moment his warriors lunged to grapple one, they'd be torn apart midair. The harpies would never allow themselves to be caught.

"Risky. Impractical," Volk muttered.