Two circles formed on the ground: one where Gruk stood with his chest puffed out, and the other where Kenji stood silently, his cold gaze calculating. Young Orcs gathered around them, sniffing the scent of blood that was about to spill. This was no ordinary fight—it was a nameless ritual, an unwritten law understood by every creature in the cave: the winner lives, the loser is eaten.
Gruk raised his large bone staff, then slammed it onto the ground. "Gruk leads! Gruk beats all! Gruk is strongest!"
The young Orcs cheered—not out of belief, but driven by their violent animal instincts.
Kenji said nothing. He only clenched a coarse rope made of plant fibers, wrapped around his left hand. His right hand was empty.
"Stupid Kenji! Little Kenji! Kenji die!"
Gruk jumped.
Kenji moved.
Not backward. Nor forward.
But to the side, like a trained human soldier, dodging Gruk's vertical strike. The ground beneath where he had stood cracked under the staff's blow.
Instantly, Kenji pulled the rope in his hand.
Unaware, Gruk had stepped onto the crude snare Kenji set before the challenge began. The trap wasn't strong enough to bring Gruk down, but it was enough to throw him off balance.
Kenji leapt, grabbed the boar's tusk hanging at his waist, and stabbed it into Gruk's thigh.
Blood sprayed.
Gruk roared—not in pain, but in anger.
He swung his staff wildly. Kenji jumped back, scratched on his arm—blood dripped. But his sly smile didn't fade.
He wasn't fighting to win. He fought to tire Gruk out.
And Gruk—though strong—was a young Orc who didn't know when to stop.
Some Orcs fell silent. They noticed something strange: Kenji dodged, stabbed, then vanished behind rocks, only to reappear on the other side and slowly wound Gruk.
Gruk began to gasp.
Kenji approached like an untouchable shadow. With one step forward, he jabbed the tusk bone into Gruk's waist—deeper this time.
Gruk fell to his knees.
No victory cries were heard.
Only the breath of death.
Gruk staggered, then collapsed.
Instead of celebrating, Kenji sat on a rock and stared at the giant body that was beginning to still.
Then, slowly… Gruk whispered. His hoarse voice barely audible.
"God… of War… chooses you…"
Gruk's half-open eyes looked at Kenji with something unexplainable—fear, perhaps… or awe.
Kenji froze.
"What did you say?"
But Gruk didn't answer. His eyes stiffened. His last breath left, and his spirit departed the rough body.
The young Orcs started to stand. Some bowed. Some looked at Kenji with wary, yet respectful eyes.
Kenji didn't understand everything, but one thing was clear: the fight changed his status.
[System Alert: Title Gained – "Orc Runt, Slayer of Strength"]Effect: Orcs who witness your defeat of stronger Orcs tend to hesitate before attacking directly. Charisma +1.Skill Progress: Adaptive Touch → 12% mastery.
That night, Kenji did not sleep.
He sat on a small rock, farthest from the Bloodstone, pondering Gruk's last words.
"God of War…"
In this world, did the Orcs really worship something real? Was the "god" just a barbaric myth… or was this world's system truly influenced by an entity like a God?
Kenji disliked the idea that another force controlled his fate. He had already died once because his human body was fragile. He would not surrender his life this time to another illusion.
But if the "God of War" was real—and chose him?
That meant he had to know who his enemy was now.
A few days later, something bigger happened.
The Orc queen was found dead.
No ceremony. No burial. Just a pale green body with a stab wound in the chest and poison traces on her lips. The adult Orcs shouted—some accused, some tried to calm the chaos.
The queen was the only adult female allowed to lead. It was said she had Ancestor's blood—which enabled the birth of strong generations.
Without her, the clan was in chaos.
Kenji overheard the adults talking as he pretended to sleep behind a rock:
"The queen is weak. It's time for a male to lead."
"The Three Bloods must be done. But there's no heir."
"Maybe we don't need an heir. We choose a leader… by strength."
"No. Ancestor's blood must not be lost. If it dies out… the Gods will be furious."
This chaos wasn't just about the throne.
It was about the clan's future direction. And someone had made sure the queen died.
And Kenji… had a hunch who did it.
He met Brakka, the only young female Orc disliked by the males.
"How many females remain in this cave?" Kenji asked.
Brakka lowered her head. "Only me."
"And you know what that means?"
Brakka clenched her teeth. "I'm next."
Kenji nodded. "Or you could be… the first in history."
Brakka looked at him, confused.
"We turn their laws against them."
That night, Kenji climbed to the top of the cave, where the Bloodstone stood firm in the middle of an open field.
He touched it. Its surface was rough, cold, and… covered with unknown carvings.
As his palm touched the highest symbol, a voice echoed in his mind:
[Fragment Identified: Legacy of War – Bloodthrone Protocol 1.2]
Requirement Found: Non-Male, High Intelligence, Combat Proven.
Initializing… Candidate: Kenji – Compatible.
Warning: Multiple Factions Detected. Conspiracy Suspected.
Kenji pulled his hand away.
"Fragment?"
This was not just a fantasy world.
This was a system. This world was built like a game, but with real lives.
And he had just touched something that might… activate an ancient legacy.
The next morning, the sound of a crash came from the east side of the cave.
An adult Orc—the leader of the meat-gathering group—was stabbed from behind by two young Orcs who claimed to "serve pure blood."
The conspiracy had begun.
And Kenji knew: he must choose. Become a pawn in the power-hungry males' game… or become the master strategist who burns the chessboard itself.
He chose the latter.