The morning sun painted the fields gold.
Orin stood in the dirt yard, arms flopping at his sides, swaying like a drunkard. His knees bent the wrong way, back hunched, toes pointed in opposite directions.
Across from him, Code pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That," Code said flatly, "is not a stance."
Orin grinned, leaning even lower until he looked like he might topple. "Sure it is! Look, see how low I am? Bet even a gator couldn't knock me down!"
"You look like a broken chair."
From the fence, Yira buried her face in her hands while two villagers snickered behind her. "He's hopeless," she muttered.
Orin wobbled, arms swaying. "Hopeless? Ha! This is the stance of a future legend!"
"Legends don't fall over."
"I'm not falling, I'm—whoa!" His foot slipped. He landed on his rear, dust puffing up.
Yira groaned. The villagers burst into laughter. Orin just slapped his thigh and laughed with them.
"See? Even gravity can't handle my style!"
Code exhaled slowly. Teaching this boy… it's like trying to leash lightning.
Hours later, sweat streaked Orin's face as he mimicked Code's steady movements—feet planted, weight centered, breathing timed with each shift.
For three whole breaths, he looked focused.
Then he bounced, crouched low, and sprang sideways with a wild grin. He rolled across the dirt, popped up in a crouch, then lunged forward like a beast.
"This is better! My Beast Style!"
Code's gray eyes narrowed. "You think chaos is style?"
Orin bared his teeth in a grin. "It works, doesn't it?!"
He charged, aura snapping alive—black smoke trailing his body, blue sparks hissing across his arms. His wild kick tore the air, forcing Code to shift his stance for the first time.
Orin's fist came next, messy but fast. Code deflected, redirecting it aside, but his sleeve fluttered as he stepped back.
Orin's eyes lit up. "Ha! Made you move!"
Code's brows twitched. Unrefined… but he learns mid-strike. This is no ordinary brat.
That evening, the Capillet home buzzed with noise.
Mira placed bowls of stew on the table, her hands trembling. Hegar guffawed as he tore into a leg of roasted boar. Yira sat stiffly, glaring at Orin across the table.
Orin crouched low in his seat, one leg cocked high, arms bent at awkward angles. "Behold! The Laughing Gator Stance!"
He snorted, shaking with suppressed laughter, nearly toppling into his stew.
Mira clutched her head. "He'll break his spine!"
Hegar pounded the table, roaring with laughter. "By the gods, boy, you'll break the world before you break your back!"
Yira's face flushed. "Stop that! You look ridiculous!"
Orin leaned forward, still in his twisted crouch, eyes glinting. "Careful, Yira… with this stance, I can see everything under the table…"
Her jaw dropped. "YOU—!"
The spoon cracked against his forehead. Orin reeled, laughing even as stew dripped down his face.
Night fell heavy.
The forest at the village edge stirred with something foul. Branches snapped. Leaves trembled.
Then it stepped out.
An Orc.
Two and a half meters tall, muscles like boulders beneath patchwork armor of rusted plates. Its skin was dark green, veins bulging gray-black. Tusks jutted from its lower jaw, saliva dripping. Red eyes glowed faint in the dark, and a massive battle-axe rested across its shoulder.
The villagers froze where they stood, torches flickering.
"What… what is that?"
"It's no beast I've ever seen…"
The Orc raised its head, sniffed the air, then snarled. A haze of red mist coiled faintly around it.
And then it roared, a sound that split the night.
The villagers screamed.
From the Capillet house, Orin's eyes shot open. His grin stretched wide.
"Finally."
He bolted barefoot into the night.
The Orc's axe came down with a BOOM. Dirt erupted, a trench carved into the ground.
Orin laughed, aura flaring—black smoke snapping, blue sparks spitting like lightning. He rolled aside just as the blade tore through his shirt, ripping fabric, grazing his ribs. Blood sprayed, his chest left bare.
"Nice swing!" Orin yelled, blood dripping down his side. "But you missed!"
The Orc bellowed and swung again. Orin ducked, sparks bursting as he kicked upward, slamming into the Orc's chin. The giant's head jerked back, but it barely staggered.
A massive hand shot out, catching Orin midair. The Orc slammed him into the dirt. CRACK! The ground split, dust exploding.
The villagers screamed.
Orin groaned, back aching, shirt now shredded and hanging in tatters. His pants tore at the thigh, blood seeping down his leg.
Then he laughed.
"Again!"
He sank his teeth into the Orc's arm. The monster roared, flinging him off, but Orin's aura burned brighter—black smoke whipping, blue sparks crawling across his body.
He charged, bare feet cracking dirt with every step. The axe came down.
Orin caught the haft mid-swing. His arms shook, veins bulging, blood dripping. The aura surged, sparks shrieking louder.
"Break!"
SNAP!
The axe shaft shattered. The Orc roared in shock.
Orin leapt onto its chest, fists blazing with sparks, and drove punch after punch into its jaw. CRACK! CRUNCH! Bone splintered. Blood sprayed hot across his face.
One final roar—then the Orc collapsed, skull caved in, body shaking the earth as it fell.
Silence.
Orin stood over it, shirtless, bleeding, aura still flickering. He grinned through blood.
"Strongest in the world… that'll be me."
From the treeline, Code watched. His gray eyes narrowed, his staff pressed against the ground.
An Orc. Here. Impossible.
He looked at the corpse, at the sickly red haze fading from its skin.
These beasts belong to Hell's frontier. If they've crossed into this land… then Hell itself prepares to march.
His gaze shifted to Orin, who sat laughing atop the broken monster, body battered, aura burning.
And this boy… in the middle of it all.