Orin didn't waste any time to start exercising the power that came with his new role as boss.
"Make an excuse for me, I have to be somewhere right now."
"Yes Boss!" Scar answered with gusto, bowing as Orin hurried out.
Grit saw Orin walk out of the gate, and he quickly walked towards Scar. "Where's he going?"
Scar's mind immediately froze as his heart skipped a bit. He didn't expect the first test to come real soon.
"Err...I sent him on an errand...?" Scar replied, not sure whether Grit was going to buy it. It didn't even seem cohesive to him.
"Okay."
Grit answered, walking away, whistling.
Orin pushed through the orphanage gate, hoodie up, and bolted down the path. The forest wasn't far—he'd made this trip enough to know the shortcuts.
His legs ached slightly from the day's chores. He had to meet the old man, had to start fixing his vein.
He reached the clearing by the waterfall, the same spot as yesterday. The roar of water drowned out the village noise. Orin glanced around—no old man yet.
"Late again," he muttered, dropping onto a rock.
He raised his right hand, unwrapping the black cloth. The jade tattoo stared back, runes sharp in the dim light. "Might as well test it while he waited."
He clenched his fist, focusing on the heat from yesterday's fight. Dark qi seeped out, coating his palm. He stared at for a while, trying to force it back in, but it only kept on seeping our.
Orin groaned as he swung at a tree—crack—the bark split, but not as deep as before. "better" he mumbled.
He didn't want to exert himself.
He tried again, harder—the trunk groaned, a bigger chunk splintering off. His arm tingled, stronger this time.
He pointed at a rock, willing the qi to shoot. He closed one eye, trying to aim at a small spot on the rock.
The tattoo burned, and a thin qi stream blasted out, cracking the rock in half. His head throbbed, but he smirked. "Getting there."
He fired again—stronger, shattering it. Again, but blood trickled from his nose. He wiped it, panting. Control was significantly better.
A dry voice cut through the water's roar. "You're sloppy, kid. Wasting energy like that will only serve to kill you faster."
Orin turned—there he was, the old man, leaning on his stick at the clearing's edge. His wrinkled face was stern, eyes flicking to the broken rock. "Been here long?" Orin asked, catching his breath.
"Long enough to see you flail," the old man said, hobbling closer. "That tattoo's no toy."
Orin shrugged. "It's all I've got. What else am I supposed to do?" He paused, then added, "What's your name, anyway? I'm Orin."
The old man grinned. "Took you long enough to ask. Call me Old Han." He tapped his stick on the ground. "Orin, huh? Sounds like a troublemaker's name. Fits."
Orin smirked. "Maybe. So, Old Han, how do I fix my vein? You said it's possible—let's start."
Old Han squinted at him, then sat on a stump. "It's not a quick road, kid. That tattoo's got forbidden qi—dark, messy stuff. To unblock your spirit vein, you've got to force that qi into it, refine it slow. Takes pain, blood, and time—days, maybe weeks. Rush it, and you're ash like that fool who gave it to you."
"Harsh..."
Orin nodded, jaw tight. "I can handle it. Tell me what to do." Old Han pulled a small knife from his belt and tossed it to Orin. "Cut your palm—not deep, just enough to bleed. Focus the tattoo's qi into the cut, then push it toward your vein. It's like unclogging a pipe—small bits at a time. Won't fix it tonight, but you'll feel it start."
Orin caught the knife, hesitating. The ash image flashed in his mind, and he knew that the pain he was about to feel was very little, compared to what could happen to him if he didn't do this.
He sliced his palm—sharp sting, blood welling up. He focused on the tattoo—dark qi swirled, seeping into the cut.
"Ahh!!" Orin groaned, clutching his hand as the pain shit through his veins.
"Stay Focused!" The old man shouted.
It burned, like fire in his hand. He gritted his teeth, guiding it inward. A jolt hit his chest—his crippled vein twitched, a faint thread of natural qi stirring. His head spun, vision blurring.
"Enough," Old Han snapped. "You're done for now. Push more, and you'll pass out—or worse. Do very little at a time, only as much as you can handle."
Orin dropped the knife, panting, blood dripping. "It moved… I felt it."Old Han grunted. "Barely. That's step one—cracking the dam. Keep at it, night after night. Build it slow, or it'll break you."
Orin wiped his hand, nodding. "I'll do it. Whatever it takes."