It has been two years since I have been reborn as an avatar of Pandar. And I must say, Orcs are pretty fucking cool! Sure, they might not have the modern amenities that humans had on earth, but this, this was absolutely amazing! Excessive violence, drinking, brotherhood, all the good old stuff that I loved back in my old life!

Man, it was like being a large gang of Bosozoku! Just like in the good old days, but instead of motorcycles, gang wars and yakuza, it’s war! Sure, there might be small skirmishes here and there, but war nonetheless! I still remember everything of my past and since the two years I’ve been born into this wonderful place, I’ve managed to learn the Orc language.

I’ve gotten quite tall, at least, taller than the average human child anyway. I stand at about 3 feet and 5 inches tall, despite being only two years old! Guess the average orc is pretty big eh? I’ve already learnt to walk and talk, but I have to keep the facade of being a dumb child. Can’t exactly rattle on about how amazing this place was and go on and on about new battle tactics.

Speaking of which, Orcs are pretty fucking stupid. From the two years that I have been here, I’ve failed to see any real technological prowess. Most people used a varying degree of stone, copper and bronze weaponry. And of course, only the best warriors and the wealthiest of them got access to bronze.

I guess me watching those late night documentaries when I was a child paid off, somewhat. Never understood why so many of my brothers in the Beast gang were so stupid. Like, you had internet cafes and phones, watching some documentaries once in a while might educate you! Even if I’m some scumbag 2 bit thug, I can still appreciate learning about new stuff.

Anyways, enough about Japanese gang culture and street fighting. I’ve also noticed that Orcs tend to lack a real comprehensive martial art. Sure, they were big and strong, but the closest martial art I’ve ever seen them use in hand to hand combat is some kind of weird Pankration based style. Sure, on paper that might sound really impressive, but they were sloppy. They relied too much on arm and upper body strength, not enough lower body strength.

But I guess they didn’t need that much since they were orcs after all. Just by using their upper body strength they could land some pretty powerful blows that could kill a person. Speaking of killing a person, you were pretty much allowed to brawl however you like in the Orc tribe. As long as you didn’t end up killing the opponent or crippling them, it was fair game.

And for rules? Not that much really, no stealing, lying, taking of another person's spouse, kill someone unprovoked, blah blah blah. The idea is there, some semblance of rules have to be in place to make sure the society is run smoothly after all.

Honestly, orc culture is very simplistic from what I’ve seen. Very hunter gatherer, or whatever the proper term for that is. Orcs are semi nomadic after all, every now and then they would migrate to new territories, if there were other orcs there, bash them and then take their land. Orcs are like chimpanzees in a way, very strong, primal and primitive when it comes to how they live their life. But that’s exactly what I love about them!

____

I grunted loudly as I lifted weights, by weights I mean a large rock, probably weighing at about 110 pounds. It was pretty hard to deadlift a round object, but thanks to my large orc frame and physique, I was able to do so, if not without some ease. I was basically in the body of a 5 year old at age 2. Thanks to my enhanced orc strength, I was heavier, taller and far stronger than the average human child.

Hell, I was certain with this body I would be able to knock out and beat 12 year old human children into a pulp. I felt myself surging with power that I have never felt before, my bones were thicker, my muscles were denser, I felt more flexible. My limbs and joints were a lot looser than I was as a human, I could run for longer, sprint faster and just move around better.

Unlike a human child at age 2, instead of clumsily running about and flailing. I was able to move around with relative ease. From what I notice, Orcs seem to age much faster than humans, with other 2 year old orcs like me looking like 5 to 6 year old human children. I haven’t been in a proper fight yet, since the other kids treat me with respect. Everyone does actually, especially since I’m the chieftain's son and I’m supposed to be fated as the first Orc king.

I finally drop the stone to the ground, with a loud thump. I’m on the outskirts of the village, where a ton of large rocks and boulders were strewn about. A couple of feet away there were other orcs working out, some of them lifting large rocks and boulders too, while others were sparring in the open ground. I plop myself down, completely tired. I had spent the past hour lifting weights and exercising, I was feeling pretty hungry.

I could hear my stomach grumbling as I got up and decided to wander back to my house, one of the slaves was probably there, ready to cook something for me. By slave, I meant goblin. Goblins were green skinned creatures, just like orcs. Except, a lot smaller, a lot weaker, but a lot more intelligent and cunning. My goblin servant was nice, I couldn’t be bothered to learn his name, but considering how an adult goblin was afraid of a 2 year old orc. I found that I couldn’t find it in me to really respect him.

However, goblins, those little bastards, have damn good hearing, make excellent scouts and are incredibly agile, more so than an orc. They have really good hand eye coordination, making them excellent archers and throwers. But in melee combat, they have to rely solely on their speed and are relatively easy to kill.

I yawned loudly, walking along at a relatively leisurely pace. Most people parted to let me pass, the orcs might be warlike people but none of them had a death wish. The chosen one and the son of the chieftain Gortholax was not to be trifled with. So, I was surprised when a child around my age stopped me in my path.

____

I didn’t spend much time socializing with the other children, basically having no friends besides my father and my goblin slave. I was too special for them, or that was the reason my father gave, wanting to spend more time grooming me for leadership. Which meant making friends with common orcfolk was a waste of time. And the other children knew to pay me the respect I was due when I stumbled across them.

So, who was this upstart who dared come across me. He stood at 4 feet exactly, looking like he was somewhat taller than me.

“So.” He drawled in the guttural voice that all orcs spoke in, “this is Simba then? The first king of the orcs? Looks a little small to me.”

Simba, that was my name. But no one had dared utter it to me, always referring to me as “the chosen one” or “his lordship” or “his excellency”. It meant Lion in the Orc language, my father chose that name when the blood markings on my face as I was born into this world resembled the claw marks of a Lion.

The fact that a child, one of low born birth no less, had the gall to challenge the prince, immediately drew the attention of the various teenagers and adults who happened to walk by. Many of them immediately stopped in their tracks and turned to watch the spectacle, hushed whispers filled the air as both of us squared off.

I looked up my would be opponent up and down, he wore the traditional garment that most Orc males did. Shirtless, with leather pants, animal fur wrapped around the waist and leather boots of various animals. Most of them being either Antelope or Gemsbok fur of course, the easiest prey for us to catch and turn into clothing.

I, however, being of noble birth, wore something far, far nicer. I had wrist decorations made out of dyed purple fur. With the tawny fur of a lion serving as my pants and footwear, with leopard fur wrapped around my waist. Between my pants I had a decorative belt, with a copper image of an orc skull in the centre of it. Showing off my wealth and my noble birth.

So, the fact that this upstart decided to besmirch my honor, I had to do something about it. In Orc culture, honor was paramount. Losing face was the same as becoming a social pariah, everyone had to do what they had to, to gain honor. Gaining honor was very simple actually, just win a lot of battles, get lots of loot, sleep with tons of girls, have a big house, have nice goblin slaves, etc cetera, etc cetera.

Losing honor? Also very simple, being a coward, stealing something that wasn’t yours, acting in a “non orc” manner, endangering the tribe, stuff like that. So, to make sure I kept face, I gritted my teeth and barked out my challenge.

“I, Simba, Chosen of Pandar, Son of Gortholax challenge you to a duel in three days time, at sun up!”

The larger orc child leered at me, “So be it then.”

We promptly parted ways, but a smoldering anger burned in my heart as I stormed back home. The look of anger on my face gave most people enough sense to avoid me, not wanting to incur the wrath of the “Chosen one.”

____

It was obvious the orc child had planned for this to happen, he wanted honor. And as a low born? The best way to gain face was beating up important people and badass people. Since we were both children, I was practically the best ticket he had at shooting up the social hierarchy.

Orc society was surprisingly, very meritocratic. As long as you could gain honor, you were guaranteed to rise up the rankings. However, losing too much honor will have you drop down the rankings. It's very arbitrary, from low born, to mid born, to high born. Sure, you were born into your caste, but you could easily rise and fall from it.

Even the chieftain or the chieftain’s child could fall to low born status, should the masses of the village see fit that they have lost honor and are not worthy to lead the tribe. The laws of the plains are simple after all, survival of the fittest, only the strong shall rule. Pandar was a cruel god, and so, these are the rules he had imparted to the Orc people.

“FUCKING CUNT!” I swore, throwing my bowl across the room, having it smack cleanly against the wall of the large mud brick hut that was my lodging.

“Please young master, be calm!” The goblin slave scrambled after the bowl, even if I was the one who threw it and dirtied it. My father, his master, would not be happy to see dirtied equipment.

I continued to sit, fuming, the clay pot that contained my food hung over a large fire that had the smoke drift through a small hole in the middle of the roof and into the air.

“That fucking bastard dare challenge my right to rule! I’m going to fucking kill him!”“Oh yes, yes, young master. You shall indeed.”

My goblin slave had already gotten used to my short temper, having adapted quickly to having a second master in the household. He was a short creature, standing at only 3 feet 2 inches tall, with a scar scratched into his forehead indicating he was my fathers property. Our family crest, a snarling jaws, which was carved into his flesh.

“Hmph! Serve me another bowl of the stew.”

The goblin slave had done well, he was a damn good cook and knew how to appease me so, I have yet had to feel the compulsion to beat him or punish him. And the goblin slave knew this too. He was lucky to have me as a master, unlike the other goblins who got the short draw of the stick. Some goblins ended up being eaten by their masters or killed for sport.

So, the fact my slave was a good cook had saved him from a grisly fate. Most goblins would have escaped by now, but the fact of the matter is. They were property, any goblin who tried to escape would be hunted down by the tamed hyenas that the slave catchers of the village had.

Goblins were in fact, not designed to be slaves. There were many goblin tribes and villages out in the wild, but the fact of the matter is. Orcs didn’t want to do menial tasks, which were seen as dishonorable. Even the Orc women, who were typically forced to do said household chores when there were no slaves around would much rather prefer fucking and fighting. So, Orc raid parties or specialized slave catcher bands would kidnap goblins to be slaves.

I grab the bowl of the stew from the hands of my slave, downing it in one go. The spices of this meal were truly exquisite. Unlike anything I’ve tried in my time as a human. It sure is good to be the son of the chieftain. I burped loudly, feeling the warm antelope stew settle into my stomach. I was bored and wanted to do something to take my mind off that pest that challenged my reign.

And, since my father was on a hunting trip, he wouldn’t be made for another day or two. Which means I had to strike up a conversation with my slave. Most of the time, I would have hung out with the hyenas, which were relatively tame compared to the wild ones. Being manhandled and taught discipline helped after all. I managed to grow fond of one as well, a female hyena pup who I’ve decided to name, Chad.

But, since Chad was on said hunting trip with my father, it being her first ever outing on an official hunt. I was going to end up talking to the slave, after all, I had many questions for him...

____

Kiv’Lar’s perspective

“So, slave. How’d you learn how to cook so good huh?”

I looked up, wringing my hands in a nervous manner. This was the first time I've been addressed in a conversational manner as a slave, outside of interacting with the other goblins, albeit in brief moments.

“Oh I was taught by my mother, young master, I was no good as a hunter or scavenger so she taught me how to make myself useful at home.”

The young master snorted, only two years of age and he already looked like his father. He was the chosen one of the Orc god Pandar apparently. The Lion, he was called, but I dare not speak his name, lest his short temper cause him to beat me to death.

“It’s a good thing then, you stayed at home and survived my fathers raid on your village and now, you serve him and by extension, you serve me.”

I raised a brow, rubbing my bald head slightly, no Orc had ever spoken about such manners like this to me before.

“Yes, I suppose it is good then, my lord.”

“So, slave, what’s your name? I suppose the one reward I shall give you is calling you by your name?”

Wait, what? The young master is going to give me a reward? He wants to call me by my name? No other Orc has ever done so before! What is the purpose of this??? I am too stunned, simply staring blankly at the young master before he waves his hands in front of my eyes.

“Hello? Your name, slave.”

“U-um, right my lord. Ahem. My name is Kiv’Lar, young master.”

“Kiv’Lar? That shall be your name then. So, Kiv’Lar, I am certain your only talent is not cooking. The other Orcs may see you as a mere slave for fodder or for house work, but I see more. I can smell it. You may be wearing large overgrown rags for clothing. But I see, I see your muscle, your frame, you’re not just any goblin cook are you? Kiv’Lar.”

I gulped, beads of sweat began to form on my brow. What was the young master implying? Did he manage to figure out my secret so soon? I exhale nervously, trying to lie my way out of the situation.

“Y-young master, what do you mean? I am a mere cook my lord, no-.”

I was interrupted mid sentence as he suddenly threw his bowl towards my head. I instinctively leap backward, quickly parrying the blow with a well timed forearm strike, sending the blow flying upward into the air. I instinctively reach for my daggers, which were not on my person, since I was a slave and slaves could not have weapons.

The young master gives me a leery grin before looking at me, “You see my point? Now, you will tell me who you are, Kiv’lar.”

Well, shit

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