Africa Leveling

The aftermath of the Trial left Jajwok with little time to process his victory. As the crowd dispersed, murmurs of his performance rippled through the village, a mix of grudging respect and lingering suspicion. For now, the orcs would acknowledge him, but acceptance was still a distant goal.

Urgak led him out of the pit, his heavy footsteps echoing against the stone walls. "You surprised them," he said, his tone almost approving. "Didn't think a spirit trapped in a youngling's body would last five minutes down there."

"I didn't do it for them," Jajwok replied, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.

Urgak chuckled, slapping Jajwok on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "That's the right attitude. Fight for yourself first. Everything else comes after."

Jajwok glanced at him, unsure if the remark was meant to be wisdom or mockery.

As they climbed back to the village, Kragzul was waiting for them. The old mage's eyes glinted with both relief and curiosity. "You lived," he said, as if the outcome had genuinely been uncertain.

"I did," Jajwok said curtly, brushing past him.

Kragzul followed, his voice lowering. "Your performance in the pit was… unusual. That light you wielded—it's not something I've seen from an orc, or even from a human."

Jajwok stopped, his shoulders tensing. "I don't know what it is, and I don't care. All I know is that it worked."

"You should care," Kragzul insisted, his tone sharpening. "That power isn't just a tool—it's a part of you now. If you don't understand it, it could destroy you."

Jajwok turned to face him, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "Then I'll figure it out. But I don't need you hovering over me like a vulture."

Kragzul's lips tightened, but he said nothing more.

---

The village's central square was bustling with activity by the time Jajwok arrived. Warriors sharpened their weapons, blacksmiths hammered out repairs, and younglings sparred under the watchful eyes of their elders. Despite the lingering tension, life moved on.

Urgak approached the chieftain, who stood atop a stone platform overlooking the square. The chieftain nodded at Jajwok, his expression unreadable. "You've passed the Trial, but that alone does not make you one of us. There is still much to prove."

Jajwok met his gaze, unflinching. "Then tell me what I need to do."

The chieftain's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Eager, are you? Good. Strength and resilience are prized among our kind, but so is loyalty. Before we can trust you, you must swear an oath to the clan."

An oath. Jajwok's mind reeled at the thought. Swearing loyalty to the orcs felt like a betrayal of his humanity, yet the alternative—isolating himself completely—was far worse. He clenched his fists, the weight of the decision pressing down on him.

"What does this oath entail?" he asked.

"You will swear to uphold the clan's honor, to fight for its survival, and to protect its people as if they were your own," the chieftain said. "Fail to uphold it, and your life is forfeit."

Jajwok hesitated, the words catching in his throat. This wasn't just a promise—it was a binding pact, one that would define his new existence.

"I swear," he said finally, his voice steady.

The chieftain's smirk widened. "Good. Then you shall bear the Mark of Strength, as all warriors do."

Two burly orcs stepped forward, each carrying a branding iron glowing red-hot. Jajwok's stomach churned, but he refused to show fear. He removed his tunic, exposing the lean, wiry muscles of his youngling body.

The crowd gathered, their expressions a mix of fascination and grim anticipation.

The first iron pressed against his shoulder, the searing pain unlike anything he'd ever felt. Jajwok gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out as the mark of the clan was burned into his flesh.

When the second iron followed, overlapping the first to complete the symbol, his vision swam, but he remained standing. The crowd erupted into cheers, acknowledging his endurance.

"Welcome to the clan," the chieftain declared, his voice booming.

---

The pain lingered long after the branding, a constant reminder of his new reality. Jajwok sat by the river outside the village, his reflection staring back at him. The golden glow of his eyes contrasted sharply with his green skin, a stark reminder of what he had become.

He touched the mark on his shoulder, the raised edges still tender. It wasn't just a symbol—it was a bond, tying him to the orcs in a way that felt both foreign and unshakable.

Footsteps approached, and he turned to see Urgak. The warrior carried a pair of wooden practice swords, tossing one to Jajwok.

"No time to mope," Urgak said, grinning. "You've got a long way to go if you want to fight like an orc."

Jajwok caught the sword, the weight unfamiliar in his hands. "And what if I don't want to fight like an orc?"

Urgak's grin widened. "Then you'll die like a human."

The two squared off, the river's gentle flow providing a stark contrast to the clash of wood against wood. Urgak's strikes were relentless, each blow testing Jajwok's strength and reflexes.

Jajwok struggled at first, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. But as the sparring continued, something clicked. His body began to move with an instinct he hadn't realized was there, his strikes becoming faster, more precise.

"Not bad," Urgak admitted, stepping back to catch his breath. "You've got potential. But potential doesn't win battles—training does."

Jajwok smirked, the faintest hint of pride in his expression. "Then let's keep going."

---

As night fell, Jajwok returned to his hut, his body aching from the day's trials. He collapsed onto the crude bed, staring up at the thatched ceiling.

The journey ahead felt daunting, but for the first time since his transformation, he felt a spark of determination.

He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was learning, growing, and adapting.

And if this was his new reality, then he would carve his own path—one that no orc or human could deny.