Reincarnated as an Ork, and the System Wants Me to Be a Doctor?!

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp wood and distant cooking fires. Ghaz sat cross-legged in the dimly lit room of the Broken Fang Inn, steadying his breath as he practiced the Breath of the World technique.

Mana flowed through him in slow, deliberate waves, his body drinking it in like parched earth after a drought. It was still new, still raw—but it was powerful. More efficient than simply drawing in mana at random.

[System Notification: Congratulations! Your Mana Pool has increased! Wow! Truly, you are a revolutionary genius.]

A glowing window popped up, its text radiating just a little too smugly.

[Breath of the World – Beginner Tier Progress: 3%]

[Mana Pool: +10% (Look at you, getting all fancy)]

[Efficiency Boost: Passive Regeneration Slightly Increased (Try not to waste it all in one go, yeah?)]

Ghaz exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Great. More mana. That's useful… unless, of course, you're about to hit me with some catch. Go on, I know you want to."

[Oh, look at that, he's learning! Yes, there's a catch: having more mana doesn't mean you actually know how to use it properly. You're like a toddler with a bigger bowl of soup—just more to spill everywhere.]

Ghaz sighed. "So basically, if I throw it around like an idiot, it's pointless."

[Ding ding ding! We have a winner! You get… absolutely nothing! Except, you know, the ability to not be useless. But sure, let's pretend that's a burden.]

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fantastic. I love our little chats."

[I know. That's why I keep blessing you with my presence.]

Knock. Knock.

Ghaz groaned. "Oh, good. Maybe someone outside will be less insufferable."

[Doubtful.]

When he pulled open the door, two familiar faces stood before him. The slum boy, the one whose nerves had nearly failed him, and the bull beastkin boy, still a little pale but standing on his own. Their mother and sister stood behind them, the little girl clutching the fabric of her dress.

"We came for treatment," the mother said hesitantly. "You told us to return."

Ghaz nodded. "Come in."

He worked in silence, hands moving with practiced ease. The nerve-wracked boy still had some lingering weakness, but his recovery was steady. A little more mana manipulation, a few herbs to strengthen his body, and he'd be fine.

The beastkin boy had it worse. The poison had weakened him, but the antidotes Ghaz had prescribed were working. Now, it was a matter of flushing the last of the toxins from his system and strengthening his internal organs.

When he finished, he sat back with a sigh. "They'll be fine. Just keep up with the prescription, and they'll recover completely."

The mother clasped her hands together. "Thank you, shaman."

But it was the beastkin girl who stepped forward. Her small hands clenched into fists, her tiny horns twitching as she looked up at him.

"I want to learn," she said.

Ghaz blinked. "Learn?"

She nodded, determined. "I want to study under you. I want to heal people like you do."

Ghaz considered her for a moment. She was young—probably no older than eight or nine—but her eyes were sharp. Intelligent.

"What about your parents?" he asked.

The girl's expression didn't change, but her tail curled around her leg. "...Dead."

The silence stretched between them. Ghaz exhaled.

"You understand that this isn't easy?" he asked. "Healing isn't just knowing herbs and spells. It's patience. It's pain. It's work."

"I don't care," she said. "I'll work hard."

Ghaz studied her for a moment longer, then sighed. "...Fine. We'll see if you can keep up."

Her ears perked up, but she didn't smile—just nodded.

Smart kid.

Later that day

Ghaz had just finished cleaning up when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Well, well. Look at you. Teacher, healer, local hero."

Reza.

She leaned against the doorway, her ever-present dagger spinning between her fingers. Her short, messy hair made her sharp features stand out even more.

Ghaz grunted. "What do you want?"

She smirked. "Nothing. Just checking in. Figured I'd find you drowning in slum kids and lost causes."

Ghaz rolled his eyes. "You come all this way just to be annoying?"

Reza's smirk faded just a little. "...Nah."

For a second, something real flickered in her eyes.

She sat down across from him, resting her arms on the table. "I was thinking about my brother."

Ghaz didn't push. Didn't ask questions. He just waited.

"...He was tough," Reza muttered. "A real pain in the ass. But he looked out for me. Kept me alive. Then one day, he just... didn't come back."

She spun her dagger absently. "I never found out what happened. Maybe he died in a ditch somewhere. Maybe someone stronger took him out." Her voice was casual, but her grip on the dagger tightened.

Ghaz finally spoke. "If he was anything like you, he didn't go down easy."

Reza snorted. "Damn right."

The silence sat between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy.

Then, just as suddenly, she shook it off and leaned back. "Anyway. Enough about dead men. Let's talk about the big orc with the iron jaw."

Ghaz raised an eyebrow. "Gorrak?"

Reza nodded. "You know where he's from?"

Ghaz folded his arms. "I assumed he was some warband brute. What's the story?"

Reza's smirk returned, but this time, it was sharper.

"He's from the Green Fire Tribe," she said. "Ever heard of them?"

Ghaz frowned. "...Yeah. They're the ones who chew Ironweed."

Ironweed. A psychedelic plant that dulled pain and heightened aggression. It was a ritual, a tradition—a way to make warriors stronger, fearless.

Reza tapped the side of her jaw. "Exactly. And Gorrak? He was one of their best. Until his own brother betrayed him."

Ghaz narrowed his eyes.

"The story goes that Gorrak's stash got mixed with something... nasty. Poisonous herbs. Slow-acting, but lethal enough to rot his jaw from the inside out."

Ghaz exhaled. That explained the metal jaw.

Reza continued, "His tribe saw him as weak. Unworthy. So they kicked him out." She leaned forward. "And now? He doesn't just chew Ironweed. He's built different. Only pain but no fear—and a serious grudge against anyone who crosses him."

Ghaz sat back. So Gorrak wasn't just some thug looking for muscle. He had history.

And more importantly—he knew what betrayal felt like.

Reza stretched. "So. You gonna take his offer?"

Ghaz exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know."

Reza snorted. "Well, don't take too long. I hear big scary orcs don't like waiting."

She stood, tossing a small coin onto the table. "For the kid's training fund," she said, smirking. Then she was gone.

Ghaz sat there, thinking.

A clinic. A gang offer. A growing reputation.

His life was about to get complicated.