"Move faster, scum!" A voice boomed from behind the laborers.

These laborers were transporting various objects such as stone javelins, hatchets, bows, and numerous other supplies like provisions or water to a designated area in the field.

One of the laborers turned around when he sensed that the owner of the voice was approaching him specifically, and he was right.

A towering humanoid figure with rugged, dark-green skin, piercing amber eyes, and big curved tusks. This dark green figure loomed over the laborer, his voice resonating with authority.

"Azrakar! Me told ya to finish this job swift-like! The chief wants everything ready before dawn!"

Azrakar grumbled in irritation, "Me knows!.. The big hunt is tomorrow, Grimgar. But I need a little more orcs–"

"Shut up, scum!" Grimgar immediately cut him off. "Me's the boss 'round here, not you! You work with what ya got, and if I say finish before dawn, ya make sure it's done!"

"Grrr…" Azrakar clenched his fist, letting out a low growl of frustration. He despised Grimgar's tone; all he desired at that moment was to strike him across his ugly face.

Grimgar sensed the simmering anger in Azrakar. He shoved his face closer, so close that if either of them moved a hair's breadth, Grimgar's enormous tusks would pierce Azrakar's eyes.

"Do ya wanna fight?" Grimgar growled, his voice filled with contempt. He tapped violently on Azrakar's chest with his massive fingers. "You're a disgrace to the orc race, Azrakar! A weak outsider like ya will never be a true warrior. I don't know why the chief keeps ya 'round, but you should've died with yer tribe!"

The mention of his tribe, a taboo subject for Azrakar, pushed him to his breaking point. Mustering all his strength, he unleashed a punch towards Grimgar's repugnant face. However, the blow landed with no impact.

"Huh…Weakling." Grimgar scoffed at the feeble attempt. As a seasoned Elite orc warrior, years of combat experience and a hulking physique twice the size of Azrakar's rendered the punch ineffective.

The last sight Azrakar registered was Grimgar's colossal fist hurtling towards him before darkness enveloped him entirely.

…

"Ughh! Me head!" After an indeterminate duration, Azrakar gradually regained consciousness, finding himself in familiar surroundings.

A tent crafted from assorted pelts of wild beasts greeted his sight; he turned his head to the side and spotted an old orc with a curved back, clad in tribal attire distinct from the others, clutching a wooden staff.

"Ah! You've awoken," the elder orc exclaimed upon sensing Azrakar's awareness, hastening towards him.

"Me thank ya for yer help, Wise one," Azrakar expressed with profound reverence.

The old orc checked once again where the punch left a mark. "You went and picked a fight, again."

Azrakar remained silent; there was no point in responding. By now, the wise one was accustomed to seeing him in the tent at least once a day, sometimes even more.

"Azrakar, when I was a young orc like ya, I craved to be a warrior, I dreamed of fighting in glorious battles, in the name of honor, perhaps even meeting my end like a true warrior," the elder reminisced, settling upon a nearby stone as Azrakar sat up, still nursing a slight headache.

The wise orc continued, his tone laced with nostalgia and melancholy. "But fate had other plans for me. I was da weakest one in my generation. I thought me life was over, that I would never find my place among the tribe. But then I awakened my powers and discovered da power of knowledge and understanding in da world 'round us."

The Wise one toyed with his fingers momentarily, a fleeting emerald glow dancing between them before dissipating. Azrakar listened intently, his anger and frustration from earlier slowly fading as he absorbed the elder's words.

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The wise elder sighed softly. "Strength comes in many forms, young Azrakar. It ain't just da might of a warrior on da battlefield. It's da strength to endure, to adapt, and to find yer purpose in life."

Azrakar lowered his gaze, reflecting on his recent outburst and the constant fights he had with his fellow orcs.

The Wise elder gestured with his staff towards Azrakar's heart, uttering with solemnity, " You possess a strong fire within you, a fire da will forge you into a formidable warrior or consume you if not properly controlled."

"I know I have a lot of anger," Azrakar admitted. "But I need to get strong, prove meself, and claim me revenge. This be the only path for me, Wise One. Me honor binds me to it."

The wise elder nodded sagely, his gaze unwavering upon Azrakar's. "You spoke like a true orc, young Azrakar, da path is hard but if you can keep a strong mind and will, you will reach da end."

Azrakar met the elder's gaze with newfound determination. "Me will, Wise one."

"Good…Now get up, da chief is requesting your presence."

Azrakar obeyed the wise orc's words, slowly pushing himself up from the makeshift bed and steadying his still-aching head. He took a moment to center himself, drawing on the strength he had gained from his conversations with the old orc. With a deep breath, he stood up, the determination in his eyes undeterred.

As he exited the tent, Azrakar observed the bustling activity, the tribe ablaze with preparations for tomorrow's big hunt.

The Bison charger migration approached their vicinity, and as tradition dictated, the chieftain sought to capitalize on the opportunity for sustenance.

A single Bison charger could sustain over a dozen orcs for weeks if they consumed it slowly. And since the golden plains is an almost barren wasteland, a huge fat beast full of meat is a prize worth the risk.

The Stonehand clan, comprising 300 orcs in total, encompassed warriors, elders, and younglings, nestled within the golden plains' confines.

The nomenclature "Stonehand" stemmed from a simple tradition; from a young age, orcs honed their skills by punching a hard stone with their bare hands every day until their bones broke. The result? A really strong and hard-hitting fist.

Azrakar headed straight towards the central colossal tent. The tent was round and made from various beast skins and hides with bones all over it, most notably a massive skull of a beast with long fangs adorning the entrance of the tent.

Arriving at the threshold, Azrakar signaled his presence with a respectful bow.. "Chief, it's me Azrakar."

After a brief pause, a voice responded, "Come in."

Azrakar ventured inside the massive tent, and there, sitting on a throne made from the bones of formidable creatures, was Chief Korgath. Korgath was a burly orc with scars etched into his skin, a testament to his many battles and leadership over the Stonehand clan.

The chief's piercing yellow eyes locked onto Azrakar as he approached. "Azrakar, I've been hearing reports of your brawls again," he growled, his deep voice resonating through the tent.

Azrakar bowed his head slightly, acknowledging his chief's words. "Me sorry, Chief Korgath. But Grimgar's insults were too much. I had to defend my honor."

Korgath leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Azrakar's. Following a prolonged silence.

"NAHHHH~" The chief erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the tent.

"Good…Very good Azrakar, Orcs live and die by Honor, and if you cannot defend yours, you are no orc."

Korgath leaned backward, resting on his throne of bones. "Tell me, what honor do you speak of?"

"He spoke about me tribe, chief."

Korgath's expression darkened, a low growl reverberating from his throat. "I see…I told them many times to never mention your tribe, but they never listened…I think I need to break their heads again."

While Azrakar appreciated the chief's support, he wouldn't want to instigate further conflict within the tribe, especially on the eve of the big hunt.

"Chief, why did you summon me?" he inquired.

"Hmm." Korgath surveyed the young orc from head to toe.

With light green skin, amber eyes, and dark bristly hair, nothing about Azrakar stood out, except for an X-shaped scar on the left of his chest, and his figure was small compared to the average orc. While most orcs stood between 2–2.5 meters tall, Azrakar fell short at 1.80 meters, lacking substantial muscle mass.

Chief Korgath released a weary sigh before speaking. "Azrakar, I want you to join us in the big hunt."

"!!!" Azrakar's eyes immediately widened in shock; he had never expected that one day he would be asked to join the big hunt.

Sensing his surprise, Chief Korgath elaborated, "I want you to learn the ways of the hunt, Azrakar. While I cannot permit you to train alongside our warriors due to your outsider status, I can offer you a chance to observe them firsthand. Consider it a token of respect to my blood brother's son."

Azrakar was overwhelmed by the unexpected opportunity Chief Korgath had given him. To be allowed to join the big hunt, even as a spectator, was a significant step for someone like him.

"Me won't waste this opportunity, Chief," Azrakar professed with profound gratitude, bowing once more.

Korgath nodded curtly, a hint of approval flickering in his eyes. "That's the spirit, Azrakar. Rest well tonight, and report to me before dawn. You are dismissed."

Excitement pulsed through Azrakar's veins as he exited the chief's tent. He was determined to make the most of this chance to learn and improve his skills. As he walked back to his modest tent at the edge of the encampment, the wise orc's words about different forms of strength echoed in his mind. Perhaps this hunt would be the key to discovering his own unique strength.