The Chief looked at the figure entering the door and asked, "How is your hand?"
The black shadow waited silently for a moment before answering. He was looking at the ground so as not to show his face.
"Answer your grandfather's question!"
Startled by this scolding from his father, the Orc raised his head and replied:
"It should be back to normal within four or five sunrises."
Kalındiş, who had rushed out of the tent halfway through the ritual, had immediately run to the tribe's healer. Contrary to the illusion suggested by their name, the Orc healers in the tribe were merely individuals who performed some basic procedures.
Setting dislocated limbs, cauterizing wounds, amputating beyond-repair limbs, and simply setting fractures were the biggest treatment methods they could perform. No one outside the Chief's lineage and the warriors could benefit from these services, which were considered privileges.
Since a race that could reach adulthood in just one week had a high self-healing rate and the potential to easily increase its population, there was not much need to demand more.
Upon hearing the news, Ayıboğan started stroking his beard. Kaplanyürek, who had witnessed his father making this gesture countless times when contemplating important matters, spoke in a servile tone:
"Chief, please enlighten us with your greatness."
Ayıboğan thought for a moment longer before turning to his grandson to speak. In these moments of peak tension, Kalındiş finally raised his head to look at his grandfather.
"Are you aware of the shame you have brought upon us?"
"Forgive me, Grandfather."
As the words were forced out of his mouth, Kalındiş bowed his head to the ground again.
"Stop it!"
Ayıboğan roared, looking at his grandson, who stood before him in fear.
"You have degraded my lineage in front of the three division heads! Do you think the law that the strongest among the Orcs rules is some kind of joke!"
As Ayıboğan spoke, the veins on the sides of his face became prominent. Kaplanyürek, realizing that his father was starting to lose control, intervened and offered a suggestion:
"As soon as you heal, you will form a hunting team and go to the Great Mountain. Take one personal guard with you; the rest should be members of the regular hunting group. I will give you a single chance to kill the duo who went to the Quartermaster division."
Ayıboğan, relieved by how his son handled the situation, spoke in a satisfied tone:
"You will take them to the Black Cave. They will kill themselves there."
Although Ayıboğan ruled the Orcs with an iron fist, he had to appear publicly honest. If he carried out an immediate execution after the recent events, no one would find the courage to openly accuse him, but they might secretly harbor resentment.
With this method, he wouldn't cross the baseline of honesty, but he would still send the message that he would not forgive even the smallest mistake made against his lineage.
While storms brewed inside the tent, the tribe continued its routine life. The Orc tribe consisted of three social classes: warriors, hunters, and the quartermaster division.
The duty of the warriors was to defend the tribe against attacks from wild animals and other races. They were settled on the upper part of the mountainside where the tribe was located and led the most comfortable lives after the chief's family.
Most warriors had their own tents. It was very rare for two warriors to share the same tent, except for those who were mates.
A person looking at the status of the warriors stationed around the chief's tent could easily realize that their primary duty was to protect the chief and his family. The warriors, who served with eternal loyalty, had to do everything commanded without blinking for the chief who provided them with this comfortable life.
The people who interested Nafız the most were the hunters. Apart from fulfilling the group's meat needs, residing in the middle section of the mountainside, they had no other qualities that would justify the title of 'hunter'.
They hunted by attacking wild animals with spears made of carved tree trunks and primitive bow-like objects, relying on their numerical superiority in a crude manner lacking any finesse.
It was considered quite natural for at least half of the members to be missing when a hunting team returned. Suitable weapons were idly standing next to the warriors. The hunters, thinking they were benefiting the tribe, considered it an honor to die while hunting with insufficient equipment.
The Quartermaster division was at the foothills of the mountainside, where the duties were currently being explained to the newly arrived Orcs, and they were being transferred to their respective team tents. Predictably, the Quartermaster division formed the base of the importance pyramid.
The Quartermaster division, consisting of four teams—Hunt-aids, Foresters, Cooks, and Shit-collectors—only had four medium-sized tents. The teams slept together in the tents, and members who didn't fit had to sleep outside.
As the division head moved to his own tent, he ordered his assistant to bring the weak female Orc and the massive male Orc from today's ceremony.
"You have caused trouble for the chief and his lineage today."
Domuzkuyruk was sitting cross-legged in his tent as he spoke, looking at the two individuals standing before him.
"We didn't do anything, I swear it's not our fault!"
Nafız, unable to shake off the fear she had experienced, looked at the division chief with pleading eyes as she spoke.
"From now on, you will carry out the work assigned to you to the letter. Keep your heads down and continue living without causing trouble."
His voice having taken on a fatherly tone, Domuzkuyruk examined the two Orcs again.
While the female Orc's reaction to the events was understandable, the imposing male Orc seemed completely unconcerned with the world. This bothered Domuzkuyruk; he hardened his tone:
"Wobbly-Head, what do you have to say about this situation?"
Even though Orcs were not superior beings in terms of intelligence, the massive Orc should have had something to say after everything that had happened.
"I'm hungry."
This blank-stared response sent cold winds through Domuzkuyruk's domain.
The division chief, who had been suppressing the stress he had experienced all day, leapt up from his place in a fury and lunged for Wobbly-Head's throat.
"Sir, stop, he doesn't do it on purpose!"
Nafız, anticipating the turn of events, rushed forward and clutched the division chief's legs. The division chief, stunned by Nafız's reaction, looked at Wobbly-Head again, first in surprise, then burst into laughter.
Despite the two hands aggressively reaching for him, Wobbly-Head was staring blankly at his face.
"I guess, contrary to his physical features, his intelligence isn't very developed, huh!"
Continuing his laughter, the division chief made a signal for them to exit with his hand.
Nafız, holding Wobbly-Head by the arm, walked towards the tent where they would spend the night. She tried to open the leather door and enter, but a kick to her stomach sent her sprawling outside the door like a pretzel.
"Newcomers will sleep outside!"
The owner of the voice was the same person who had just delivered the kick to her stomach.
"I guess I should stop this habit of trying to enter everywhere first."
With the second kick she received on the same day, Nafız's mind started working faster. She was physically a nobody; she only had her intelligence and the experiences she had carried from her previous life into this world.
"Are you still hungry?"
When she turned to Wobbly-Head and asked the question, she already knew the answer.
"Yes, I am very hungry."
When the expected answer came, Nafız started her plan.
"I will find you food, but you will fulfill one request of mine."
"Okay!"
Nafız, having gotten what she wanted, moved towards the direction where the Cooks were located. Cooks was the name given to the unit that met the nutritional needs of the entire tribe.
The illusion seen in the healers also manifested in this division. Their duty was to separate the most delicious and nutritious parts of the game animals for the chief's lineage, and distribute the remaining parts in direct proportion to the Orcs' place in the hierarchy of value.
The Chief placed great importance on this division within the quartermaster corps. The penalty for stealing meat and materials from game animals was death. While meat was the only food source, claws, horns, tusks, and pelts were necessary items for trade. Ayıboğan had acquired the small number of weapons used by his warriors through the trade of these items.
At the moments when darkness fell and everyone retreated to their tents, two Orcs were standing in front of the Cooks division. Nafız's deduction based on the event she witnessed today was that Orcs could not eat the bones of game animals.
If she could reach the remains of the animals butchered today, she could eat the small amount of meat remaining on the bones, and Wobbly-Head could eat the bones themselves. After a brief search, a small hill made of bones appeared before them. Wobbly-Head was trembling with excitement.
"From now on, I will do whatever you say. As long as you feed me, I will never disobey you!"
He happily lifted Nafız into the air and began swinging her. Wobbly-Head looked like a small child playing house with his baby doll.
While Nafız waited for her internal organs to return to their place, half of the pile had been destroyed by Wobbly-Head. Concluding that she would starve if she waited any longer, Nafız reached for the nearest bone and began to gnaw.
While thinking, "Is there anyone else in the Quartermaster division who has the chance to eat as much meat as me?", she was enjoying the happiness of turning her weakness into an advantage.
When the eating was finished, they returned to the front of the Shit-collector's tent.
"Throw the Orc lying at the entrance of the tent outside!"
Nafız commanded, looking at the tent that was surrounded by rookie Orcs.
When Wobbly-Head approached the tent entrance, the Orc lying there said, accompanied by a kick, "Newcomers will sleep outside!" A short while after feeling like he had kicked a rock, the poor Orc found himself flipping through the air.
When Wobbly-Head grabbed the owner of the kick by the ankle and tossed him outside, the Orcs inside the tent couldn't believe their eyes.
"Who are you! How dare you!"
A figure among the Orcs inside walked toward the door with large strides. He appeared in front of Wobbly-Head, not hesitating to step on the lying Orcs.
"I am Kürekkemik, the leader of the Shit-collectors! Who are you, daring to cause trouble in my tent!"
Wobbly-Head stared blankly at the Orc in front of him for a moment, then turned to Nafız, who was behind him, and asked:
"What should I do with him?"
Kürekkemik, humiliated in front of a tent full of Orcs, attacked with a war cry. There were absolutely no weapons in the Quartermaster division. Kürekkemik threw a punch at Wobbly-Head's head, unaware that attacking with his fists would be the biggest mistake of his life.
Although the Orcs in the tent didn't understand anything, Nafız was familiar with the scene before her thanks to today's events. This time, things were slightly different from what she had last seen: Wobbly-Head did not move an inch, while the owner of the punch collapsed to his knees, howling in pain.
Fights like this were considered normal in every division; among Orcs, the strong ruled, and the rest obeyed.
When the environment calmed down, Nafız, along with Wobbly-Head, went to the leader's section of the tent and immediately wanted to lie down and sleep. Her weak body was not in a state to handle so much action. Before falling asleep, she had learned a few lessons from this tumultuous day:
"I must be strong, or I must be next to the strong."