The morning after the spar, Orin stumbled back to the village with half his shirt gone, ribs black and blue, lips split. Yet the grin never left his face.
Mira cried as she rushed him inside, clutching his arms as if he might break. "You'll kill yourself one day! Look at these wounds!"
"I'm fine," Orin rasped, even as blood dribbled down his chin. "I almost made him move."
Hegar chuckled, pride heavy in his eyes as he clapped his foster son's shoulder. "That's my boy. Mad as a bear, but strong as one too."
Yira stood in the doorway, arms folded tight, cheeks hot. "Idiot. You'll die smiling one day, and then what?"
Orin only winked, teeth stained red. "Then bury me with a big rock. Or two."
She flushed, furious, and stormed away, but the corner of her mouth almost curved.
Outside, the villagers whispered again. But this time the tone had shifted.
"He's dangerous…"
"He's strong."
"The traveler can control him… maybe he's not cursed after all."
At dawn, Code waited at the clearing, staff planted in the dirt. His expression was sharp, no trace of humor.
"Yesterday you threw fists like a beast," he said as Orin approached. "Today, you learn to kill with them."
Orin's grin widened. "Finally."
Code drew a deep breath. His aura flared—not loud, not chaotic like Orin's, but sharp, disciplined. He moved.
Heaven-Splitting Palm → his hand cut through the air, ki condensed. A palm strike stopped short of a boulder, and the rock cracked, split clean down the middle.
Piercing Fang Fist → his fist thrust forward, ki sharpened to a needle. A dead tree snapped as if stabbed by a spear.
Earth-Cracking Step → he stomped lightly, ki compressed into the ground. The soil rippled, roots snapped, the ground fractured outward.
Each strike was clean. Precise. Deadly.
Orin's eyes gleamed wide. "That's it. That's exactly what I want!"
When Orin tried, it looked nothing like Code's elegance.
His Heaven-Splitting Palm was more like a Beast-Smashing Slap—the bark tore off the tree, but his hand bled raw.
His Piercing Fang Fist became a Wild Fang Barrage, fists flying rapid until sparks burst, shredding bushes around him but draining his breath.
His Earth-Cracking Step? He jumped high and slammed down with both feet, tumbling on his back—but the dirt still cracked in a jagged line.
Each time he failed, he laughed once, then staggered back up, fists raised again. His aura swirled tighter than before—black haze clinging to his arms, blue sparks bursting sharp.
Code folded his arms. Not the path of man. He's carving his own.
By late afternoon, villagers had gathered at the edge of the clearing.
They saw the boy training until his hands bled, sweat pouring down his body. Each time he fell, he rose again, aura still crackling.
The forest went silent, as if the night itself held its breath.
Then came the scream.
A girl burst from the treeline, no older than Orin. Her robe of violet and gold, once regal, was torn and caked in dirt. Her hair, black with a faint bluish shimmer under the moon, clung to her cheeks with sweat. She stumbled, bare feet slapping the mud, before collapsing near the riverbank.
Her wide eyes shimmered faint red under the moonlight, but to Orin, all he saw was a girl—scared, bruised, and clinging to life.
She tried to stand again, but her knees buckled. Her lips trembled as she whispered:
"Help me…"
Orin blinked, tilted his head. "...Pretty."
Before he could say more, the ground trembled.
Orc roars shattered the night.
From the forest shadows surged a pack of towering beasts—shoulders broad as trees, tusks glinting, axes dripping with dried blood. Their skin smoked with red-black haze, thick and suffocating. Each step cracked branches, the stench of sulfur and rot rolling ahead of them.
The girl whimpered, curling into herself on the ground.
Orin's body stiffened, his fists shaking. He could feel their pressure like a wall, pressing on his skin, pushing into his chest. His heartbeat pounded, his breath came ragged. For an instant—just an instant—his grin faltered.
Then it grew. Wider. Sharper. His laughter burst low and jagged.
"Perfect."
His aura erupted, black haze and blue sparks lashing wildly. His eyes burned with manic fire as he stepped forward, fearless before the storm.
Code's voice came steady, calm, from beside him. "You're not fighting them alone."
He raised his staff, ki glowing faint.
The Orcs charged, earth shaking beneath their steps.
Orin bared his teeth, aura snarling to match theirs.
Children cheered, copying his stances. Some adults muttered, "He'll protect us. He has to." Others still frowned, but their fear was weaker now, replaced with wary awe.
For the first time, Orin wasn't just cursed. He was hope.