Chương 3: The Cry of Victory

Chapter Three The Cry of Victory"There is no one left among the children his age who can match Karath."

"Then why not let him fight some of the older boys?" After Karath claimed six consecutive victories and defeated every child his own age, the adults began searching excitedly for a new opponent.

"Even Garthon's son might struggle against this one." His final challenger was Kaden, a boy three years older than him. At such a young age, a difference of three years created an enormous physical gap. Kaden was already eleven, and thanks to the rapid development of orcs, his build was comparable to that of a human adolescent. Karath stood only around one hundred and forty centimeters tall, while Kaden towered more than twenty centimeters above him.

From the perspective of a modern man, there was little reason to continue after already defeating six opponents. Even so, Karath found himself wondering how far his techniques would carry him. His mind remained human, but his body was undeniably that of an orc. The previous fights had already begun stirring something hot and restless within his blood.

"Haaah!" Once his decision was made, Karath charged straight at Kaden. There was an old saying on Earth that almost everyone understood. The first strike brought the advantage. Since Karath was at a clear physical disadvantage, he needed to seize control through technique and momentum before Kaden could use his superior size. Thud! Just as planned, Karath's fist struck Kaden squarely in the face. Kaden did not retreat. Instead, a broad grin spread across his face as he returned the blow. Thud!

Karath had raised his arm instinctively the moment he saw that smile, and Kaden's fist crashed into his guard.

"Kgh." A numbing pain spread through Karath's arm. Had the punch landed on his face, it might have knocked him unconscious immediately. The impact did not make him retreat. His blood was already burning, and Karath stepped forward instead of shrinking away. Thud! Another punch struck Kaden's face. Thud! Kaden endured the blow and swung back once more. This time, however, the impact was weaker. Karath had moved so close that Kaden could no longer put his full weight behind the punch.

Staying pressed against the larger boy, Karath attacked with every part of his body. He drove repeated knees into Kaden's abdomen, then twisted his torso and slammed an elbow into the older boy's jaw. Kaden responded in kind, hammering Karath's body as though he were beating a drum. Closing the distance prevented Kaden from using his full strength, but the difference in their size still made every blow heavy. Each punch sent a painful shock through Karath's body.

He clenched his teeth, endured the punishment, and continued striking without pause.

"Uaaaaah!" Annoyed by the smaller boy clinging to him like an insect, Kaden roared and wrapped both arms around Karath. He was clearly trying to lift him and throw him to the ground. Karath used the attempt against him. The moment Kaden raised him from the ground, Karath snapped his head forward and smashed his forehead into the bridge of Kaden's nose.

"Krah!" The strike carried enough force to make Kaden release him with a groan. Karath landed quickly and charged again before his opponent could recover. Thud! A flying knee struck Kaden while he was still dazed from the headbutt. This time, the technique landed perfectly. The older boy, despite his far larger body, collapsed to the ground.

"Huff... huff..." Karath stood over the fallen Kaden, breathing heavily. The fight had not lasted long, but he had thrown his entire body into every movement. His lungs burned, and the places where Kaden had struck him throbbed with pain. Yet something else overwhelmed all of that. An unfamiliar sensation rose from his heart and spread through his entire body as fierce heat. So this was the blood of an orc. In that moment, Karath finally understood why the villagers fought one another for entertainment.

It was not exactly pleasure. It was closer to exhilaration, a strange mixture of excitement and rising confidence that filled every part of him. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. He was an orc. No matter how human his memories remained, Karath had been reborn as one of them. At that moment, he wanted to shout. Not as Arnold. As an orc.

"Rokta! Ogar!" It was his cry of victory. Karath's daily life changed after his debut ended with an astonishing record of seven consecutive victories. Until then, he had spent most of his time under Delina's constant care. Afterward, his days became filled with exchanging punches and kicks with other young orcs. Back on Earth, an eight-year-old who fought every day might have been considered a troubled child. Delina watched him with nothing but pride.

The highest ambition in the settlement was not to become a scholar, inventor, or ruler. It was to become a great warrior. In orc society, talent for combat was the greatest blessing a child could receive. Thud! Karath continued proving that talent with his fists. It was remarkable considering that Arnold had lived his entire previous life without any connection to fighting.

His memories of martial arts videos were certainly useful, but the true foundation of his progress was the extraordinary talent of his new body. Even among orcs, a body capable of reproducing every imagined movement so precisely seemed exceptional. At times, Karath almost wondered whether the tribe's superstition was correct and the ogre's spirit truly lived within him. If that were true, then his body contained the traits of three different races. Human memories, an orc body, and an ogre's spirit.

It sounded like some kind of bizarre bundled package.

"Karaaath! Play with me again!" While Karath entertained himself with that ridiculous thought, Krog charged toward him with a bright smile and a raised fist. There was not the slightest trace of hostility in his expression. Karath had experienced the same attack every day for the past week, so he avoided it without the slightest surprise.

"Do you never get tired of this?"

"Playing with Karath is fun!" Karath could not understand how being beaten every day qualified as fun. Krog continued with complete sincerity.

"Mother said to play with Karath often! She said it will help me become a great adult!" Karath suspected it would merely help Krog become an adult with an excellent ability to endure punches. He kept the observation to himself. Gerina's opinion reflected the accepted values of orc society. Publicly opposing the beliefs of an entire community was rarely wise, even when those beliefs were questionable.

Arnold had learned during his years of office life that sometimes survival required appearing to understand the majority. Krog continued attacking while Karath considered the matter. Gerina's words were not entirely mistaken. After only a week, Krog's punches and kicks had already become noticeably sharper. Being defeated repeatedly had improved his skill. The fact that he had progressed so much in such a short time meant that Krog was also rather talented.

"Haa." Karath avoided another series of attacks, then slipped through the opening between them. Thud! His cross counter landed directly on Krog's face. Krog had improved during the past week, but so had Karath. In truth, Karath's rate of improvement was even faster. Movements that had existed only as fragments of memory were becoming increasingly refined through real combat. Only a week had passed since his first fight, yet battles against children his own age already felt dull.

At the same time, Karath finally understood why Krog continued challenging someone far stronger than himself. The heat and exhilaration Karath had experienced during his fight with Kaden did not appear during every simple brawl. The harder and more desperate the battle became, the stronger that sensation grew. That feeling was likely the reason orcs could charge fearlessly toward terrifying monsters. Karath had recently become addicted to it.

To experience it again, he needed opponents at least three years older than himself.

"Big brother! Fight me!" Thud! Thud! Once again, Karath spent the day exchanging blows with older boys whose bodies far surpassed his own. Thud! A kick from an orc much larger than him struck his body and sent him flying nearly a meter before he crashed onto the ground. Pain surged through his abdomen and across the skin of his back where it scraped against the dirt.

"Heh heh." At the same time, fierce heat rose from his heart and wrapped around his entire body. The strange exhilaration returned. This was the sensation he had been seeking. It was almost intoxicating. The moment the orcish rush filled his body, fear seemed to disappear from the world. Karath was only eight years old, yet he repeatedly challenged boys four years older than himself.

"Keh keh."

"Garthon must be watching proudly from the sky." The adults observing Karath's fight all wore pleased expressions. Thud! A kick from the older boy struck Karath directly and sent him rolling across the ground.

"As expected of Garthon's son. He stood up immediately." Karath refused to remain down.

"Rokta! Ogar!" He shouted the mysterious words and charged at the older boy again. To the seasoned warriors watching nearby, the sight of a child roaring to strengthen his fighting spirit was simply adorable. The adults continued observing him with indulgent smiles.

"What does that 'Rokta' thing mean?" One of the adult orcs tilted his head. The warrior beside him shrugged.

"No idea. Karath shouts it whenever he fights, but I have never heard those words before."

"It is unfamiliar, but it does not sound bad."

"Heh heh. Listening to it makes the chest feel strangely powerful." The battle cries of other children were merely cute. Karath's cry was different. For reasons none of them understood, it stirred their blood.

"Krahaha! That is true. Hearing it makes the body itch for a fight!"

"Heh heh. In that case, how about a round right now?"

"Krahaha! Gladly!" Thud! Without deciding who should strike first, the two adult orcs drove their fists into each other's faces. It was an entirely ordinary scene for an orc tribe. A month had passed since Karath began fighting. He continued battling children his own age and older boys throughout the settlement. On that day, after a fierce struggle against a boy four years older than him, Karath finally knocked his opponent down.

Filled to the brim with the familiar orcish rush, he drew breath to release his cry of victory.

"Rokta! Ogar!" Someone else shouted first. Karath turned in confusion. Nearby, Krog stood over a boy one year older than himself and shouted the same cry after winning their fight. Karath assumed the child was simply imitating him. The sight was endearing enough to draw a small smile from him. The smile disappeared almost immediately.

"Rokta! Ogar!" Krog was not the only one. Children throughout the settlement were shouting the same cry after their victories.

"Rokta! Ogar!" Even the adult orcs on the opposite side of the village had begun using it. Karath fell silent. Only then did he understand what had happened. The words he had shouted in the heat of battle had spread throughout the settlement like a popular trend. The cry of victory had become the first change Karath introduced to the orc village after his reincarnation. It had, of course, been completely unintentional.