Urgak shook his head slowly. "This demand is far stranger than anything I expected from a goblin."
He turned his gaze to the assembled warriors. "What say you, Iron Fang? Do we accept this proposal? Or do we honor tradition and remain separate?"
The silence stretched.
Then the elderly shaman stepped forward, his staff tapping the packed earth. "I have lived seventy winters," he said, his aged voice carrying clearly across the arena. "I have seen our tribe grow strong, then weak, then strong again. Always, we survived through adaptation. When the great beasts came, we learned to hunt them. When humans expanded their territories, we learned to move around them." He studied Satou with ancient eyes. "This goblin speaks truth. The world changes, and those who refuse to change with it perish. Perhaps it is time we tried something new."
The captain who had first met them at the gate stepped forward next. "The goblin fights with honor," he said, the words clearly costing him something. "And those Hobgoblins with him — I've never seen goblins move like that. Never seen goblins with that kind of strength. If he truly can grant such power to others..."
More voices joined in. Some for, some against. The debate grew heated, moving through the crowd in waves. But Satou noticed something important — none of them were calling for his immediate execution. They were actually considering it.
Urgak raised his remaining hand. Silence fell.
"Enough." He pushed himself to his feet — refusing assistance, though his hand stayed pressed against the wound his shaman was already packing with cloth. "I am still chieftain of the Iron Fang until my death or my abdication. And I say—" he locked eyes with Satou "—we accept this alliance. On trial. One moon cycle."
He turned to his tribe. "If the goblin's magic proves real, if his tribe proves its value, we continue. If not, we part ways. But we give this madness a chance — because the alternative is dying slowly in isolation, like every other tribe that refused to adapt."
The crowd erupted into discussion again. But the mood had shifted. Not enthusiasm — not yet. But willingness. That was enough to start with.
"One condition," Urgak added, cutting through the noise. "Your first naming — your first demonstration of this magic — will be me."
Satou blinked. "You want to be named yourself?"
"I want proof," Urgak replied. "Not stories. Not witnesses. Proof that I can feel and verify myself. And if your ability works on an orc as it works on a goblin, an orc chieftain who has evolved beyond his base form would be something no other tribe could ignore or dismiss."
It was a calculated risk. If Magicule Bestowal worked on orcs the same way it worked on goblins, it would prove everything beyond dispute. If it didn't—
Only one way to find out. And refusing now would undo everything.
"Agreed," Satou said. "But you need your wound properly treated first. I can't name a corpse."
Urgak let out a short, pained laugh. "Fair." He looked at his shamans. "Attend to this. Properly." Then to the wider settlement: "Bring our guests suitable quarters. And someone release the Hobgoblin prisoner — she has won her freedom as part of the agreed terms."
As orc shamans moved in with bandages and salves, the adrenaline that had been holding Satou upright finally ran out.
His legs gave.
Grimnir caught him before he hit the ground.
"You insane, brilliant fool," the Hobgoblin said. "You actually did it."
"Did the easy part," Satou wheezed. "Now comes the hard part — making this actually work."
"One problem at a time," Lyra said, appearing at his other side, her voice carrying the controlled precision she used when she was more worried than she wanted to show. "First you rest. You look like something that already died."
"Feel like it," Satou admitted.
They half-carried him toward the longhouse. As they went, Satou caught sight of Jessica and Kelvin bringing Kira across the settlement — Kira upright now, moving under her own power, though Kelvin stayed close enough to catch her if she needed it. When she saw Satou she closed the distance fast, her eyes wet.
"You came for me," she said, her voice cracking. "You actually came."
"Told you we wouldn't leave you," Satou managed.
Then the world went dark.
Satou woke to sunlight coming through gaps in wooden walls and the smell of cooking meat.
For a moment he couldn't remember where he was or why every muscle in his body was filing formal complaints. Then memory arrived in a rush — the duel, Urgak's grip on his throat, the void draining blood from the wound, driving the sword into the ground instead of the chieftain's skull.
'Right. I convinced a tribe of forty-five orcs to work with goblins. Because apparently this is my life now.'
"Finally," a familiar voice said.
Lyra sat nearby, repairing arrows with the focused efficiency of someone who had been waiting for a while. She looked up when he moved.
"How long was I out?" Satou asked, his voice still rough — Urgak's grip had done real damage to his throat and Regeneration had clearly been working hard on it.
"Nearly three days," she said. "Your body shut down. The mana drain from eighteen namings over two days, the physical trauma from the duel, the throat damage, the rib damage — the orc shamans said you were held together by determination and not much else." She paused. "Regeneration kept working the whole time. They found that alarming and then useful."
Satou pushed himself upright carefully, wincing at the residual pain in his ribs. Not gone — but manageable. "What did I miss?"
Lyra set the arrows down. "The good news first. Kira is recovered — the head injury was serious but the orc shamans treated it while you were unconscious. She's been up and moving for two days. Urgak's wound is healing cleanly. He's been coherent and, unexpectedly, reasonable."
"And the bad news?"
"Integrating two species that have historically been enemies is messy," she said. "There have been fights. Three of them. One of our goblins was caught taking from the orc food stores and it nearly collapsed everything before Grimnir intervened personally." She exhaled slowly. "One of the wolf-banner warriors — the visiting faction from the larger tribe — has been vocal about the alliance being an insult to orc tradition. He's not alone in that view."
"But they're still trying?" Satou asked.
"They're still trying," Lyra confirmed. "Urgak has held the line. He's set up training sessions — orc warriors working with our Hobgoblins on formation fighting. And he's asked, through the shaman, whether you'll be willing to name members of his tribe once your mana recovers." She looked at him steadily. "He kept his word about the terms. Kira is free. Our people are guests, not prisoners. The one-moon-cycle trial is running."
Satou nodded slowly, feeling the weight of it settle.
It wasn't clean. It wasn't secure. It was fragile and complicated and one bad incident away from unraveling.
But it was real.
"The wolf-banner warrior who's been causing problems," Satou said. "What's his name?"
Lyra's eyes sharpened slightly — the look she got when she recognized that someone had identified the right question. "Gorrak," she said. "He's the ranking representative of the Bloodtusk tribe — the larger federation these visiting warriors belong to. Whatever happens with the Iron Fang alliance, the Bloodtusk will have opinions about it."
Satou filed that away.
"How's my mana?" he asked.
Lyra almost smiled. "Three days of unconscious recovery at one point per hour. You're at full capacity. Sixteen points."
Satou checked his status internally to confirm.
[Mana: 16/16]
Five namings available.
Urgak had asked to be first.
"Where is he?" Satou asked.
"Longhouse," Lyra said. "He's been told you'd come to him when you were ready." She paused. "He's been patient about it. More patient than I expected."
Satou swung his legs off the sleeping platform and stood carefully, testing whether his body would cooperate. It protested but held.
"Tell Grimnir to gather everyone," Satou said. "Our people and whatever orcs Urgak wants present. If this naming works on him, I want as many witnesses as possible."
Lyra was already moving.