"Savior, you were asking about the Rite of Ascension, correct?" Orla asked, recalling their conversation from monts before Rodgul had arrived.
Sol nodded. "Yes, it’s been on my mind for a while now. You said it wasn’t determined by the eldest?"
"Correct," she confird, briefly glancing at Rodgul to see if he’d chi in. But he appeared uninterested in the discussion, more focused on polishing his gauntlets, which were still stained with blood.
She returned her attention to Sol and continued, "In simplest terms, the next Chieftain is decided by two things: feats and strength."
"Feats?"
Orla nodded. "As the na implies, feats are achievents that require great strength, courage, or wisdom to accomplish. Many things can qualify: completing trials set by Father, saving lives, leading a battle to victory—those are all examples of feats."
As she spoke, she retrieved four tokens from her spatial ring, each crafted from a different material: wood, silver, gold, and a transparent blue crystal. Holding them out for Sol to see, she explained, "When we accomplish a feat, we’re awarded a corresponding token depending on how significant the achievent was. Frost Tokens are worth the most. And to even qualify as the next Chieftain, we must gather a specific number of each type."
Sol nodded thoughtfully. "I see. And so by gathering these tokens, you’re not just eting requirents, you’re also proving to the Frostaxe Clan that you’re capable enough to be the next leader."
"Exactly! The next Chieftain must prove themselves worthy of the title and there is no better way of doing that than through action! While earning tokens, we gain experience solving real problems, and we travel to our different settlents to et our people. Still, it’s not easy, especially Frost Tokens. Now that I think about it... Rodgul, you received a Frost Token for defeating the Iceborn Mammoth, didn’t you?"
Addressed directly, Rodgul paused his gauntlet maintenance and silently retrieved a Frost Token from his spatial ring. He placed it on the table with little fanfare, as if it were a routine task.
The other orcs looked at it with a mix of awe and acceptance. No one seed surprised. Defeating an A-Rank beast was a trendous feat, worthy of the clan’s highest honor.
Orla, despite her earlier confidence, felt a pang of discouragent. Her eyes lingered on the token a mont too long.
"That puts you at seven Frost Tokens now..." she muttered. "I still only have three."
Her voice wasn’t bitter, but it carried a quiet frustration. Frost Tokens were incredibly rare. The fact that only she and Rodgul possessed any at all was proof enough of their difficulty. But Rodgul’s growing lead felt insurmountable.
Seeing her disheartened, the others quickly jumped in to encourage her.
"Three is still a lot!" Mazon said, leaning forward with a reassuring smile.
"Yeah, and all you’ve gotta do now is beat him!" Retnak added, grinning as he nudged her shoulder with a fist.
"Easy!" Granect declared. "We’ve all been waiting for soone to finally take him down!"
The atmosphere lightened as the siblings joined in with playful excitent.
Rodgul raised an eyebrow, his serious expression twitching. "Why are you all treating like so dungeon boss or villain? You think I’d make a bad Chieftain or sothing?"
Mazon folded her arms. "It’s not that you’d be bad, brother. It’s just... you’ve always beaten us. Every competition. Every sparring match. Ever since you awakened your law technique, you stomped us before we could even blink."
"That’s right," Granect added with a chuckle. "But now that Orla’s an A-Ranker and she’s had ti to train, we finally have soone who can avenge us!"
The others nodded, so with exaggerated solemnity like they were part of a sacred resistance movent.
Rodgul frowned. "...You’re literally making sound like the final boss at the end of a cursed trial."
"You kinda are," Retnak snickered. "Besides, it’s more fun to root for the underdog!"
"You little! Co here!" Rodgul finally broke, leaning over the table to grab Retnak and pull him into a headlock, giving him a vigorous noogie as the others burst into laughter.
Sol smiled at the scene, then took the chance to speak again. "So let make sure I’ve got this right. Out of all of you, only you and Rodgul have enough tokens to qualify... and the final decision cos down to a duel between the two of you?"
He couldn’t help but think it seed a little unfair to the younger siblings, who didn’t have enough ti to comprehend a law technique. But then he rembered what the orc delegate had told him earlier, that Chieftain Kuruck announced his abdication early and was accelerating the Rite to align with Princess Valerie’s upcoming coronation. It may be unfair, but life can’t always be fair.
Granect nodded, raising his mug in agreent. "That’s right! That’s the second requirent Orla ntioned—strength! The most important trait in a Chieftain is the ability to crush any obstacle in their path!"
He slamd his fist into his open palm with emphasis, grinning wide.
"So even if Rodgul has more Frost Tokens, if Orla wins the Rite of Ascension duel, she becos the next Chieftain!"
Sol glanced at Orla, then over to Rodgul, who had finally released Retnak and was now sitting back with his arms crossed.
Hearing all the support from her siblings, Orla smiled despite herself. It was a soft, genuine smile that showed how deeply their encouragent ant to her.
"Thank you," she said as she looked around the table. "I’ll try my best to win."
A peaceful mont settled over them. Even Rodgul, despite everything, allowed himself a faint smile.
"...Just don’t hold back," he said at last, glancing in her direction.
"I won’t," Orla replied, her red eyes glowing subtly with resolve.
The warmth in the room returned as drinks were raised and the air grew festive again. Despite the looming duel, despite the rivalry, there was no bitterness between them. Only the close bond of siblings, tied together by blood, by pride, and by clan.
And then, the doors at the far end of the dining hall opened once more.
A towering orc stepped inside, his very presence commanding the entire room. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle and old scars, and the air itself seed to weigh more in his presence.
The mont he entered, all of Kuruck’s children stood in unison and slamd their fists against their chests in salute. The impact of the gesture echoed like thunder throughout the stone hall.
"Welco back, Father!"
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