Well, I thought being an orc mastermind would be pretty cool... I thought that I would be an extremely gifted swordsman, easily taking over my entire kingdom, then declaring war on the rest of the world.

How did I end up facing an ogre with a wooden sword???

"Alright, punks, here are the rules," an old goblin, short, scrawny, and limping, spat. "This is a training duel. Yer both using wooden weapons, so we shouldn't have any serious injuries. Remember, however, that killing is strictly prohibited. Anything else is fine - hell, take an arm if you want," he cackled. "The winner is decided when the other yields or is unable to fight anymore. Ready... begin!"

The giant looming over me was at least eight feet tall, extremely buff, with an ugly, green face. He snarled, holding a giant wooden club as tall as myself with both hands. I closed my eyes to blink for a second, and the next moment my head exploded with pain. Coughing out blood, I stumbled around blindly, dropping my sword. Around me, a small crowd of other trainees jeered. 

I was nine, nearly considered an adult. As an orc, I was the weakest of the Greenskins - goblins were faster, trolls were tougher, and ogres were stronger. I never knew my father, and my mother apparently died at childbirth. Like the rest of the orphans of the Mountain Kingdoms, I was drafted into the military, trained in the ways of the sword from an early age.

But even for an orc, I was small and weak.

"Run while you can, runt!" One of the other cadets laughed. I was a little under six feet tall - a scrawny little thing. A runt among the Greenskins.

When I could finally see again, my sword was a few meters away. Standing between me and my weapon was the ogre, smiling a toothy grin.

I need to stop losing. I was the only one among the orphans who had never won a training battle. Each time I would be beaten senseless, bruises and cuts across my body. Today... today was the day I would stop being a runt. I would show them I was worth something. With a yell, I charged forward... only to have the wind knocked out of me once again. The club slammed into my chest, sending me flying backwards.

I thought my Training Arc was when I would realize the true potential inside of me. All I've realized is that it sucks to be nearly beaten to death each day. The ogre advanced, dragging his club behind him. I managed to get up, but my legs were weak and I felt like I was about to puke. 

As the club slammed down, I darted to the right, avoiding it just in time. Knowing I had little time, I sprinted to my sword, only to have my back explode in pain; the ogre had turned around and kicked me, propelling my head into the dirt. My ears were ringing as I spit out the blood and debris from my mouth, but I heard the loud thumps as the ogre moved forward. 

Get up. Get up. GET UP! 

My entire body felt like it was on fire. As I barely managed to stand up, I saw next to me my wooden sword. "Hey, runt!" The ogre snarled. I grabbed my weapon and turned around, my head spinning. My vision was blurry, and every movement hurt. "Say yer prayers. I won't be taking your life, but you can expect a few broken bones."

The other trainees laughed. I can't take this anymore. I wasn't meant to be treated like trash. "I'm... not a... runt..." I muttered.

"What was that?" The ogre looked like a smear of green in my eyes. 

"I'm not a runt!" With the last of my strength, I charged forward just as the ogre raised his club again for the finishing blow. Come on. You've played a thousand fighting games. It's all about the timing. Just as the club was about to slam into my face I jumped forward and did a summersault, before turning around and, using all my energy, slammed my sword into his wrist.

"Argh!" More from surprise than from actual pain, the ogre stumbled backwards and dropped his club. This was my chance... if I did not act now, I would lose. I would be a runt forever. 

Dropping my sword, I scrambled to the giant club. I poured all my strength into my arms, grabbing the wooden cudgel with both hands like a battering ram. My arms were screaming in pain. My hands were red and full of splinters. But... I would not lose. Not again. 

The ogre roared as it looked towards me. With a yell, I sprinted forwards, slamming the club into his stomach. His yell turned into a squeal of pain as he fell backwards, tripping over himself. "Yield!" He screamed in fear. "Yield!" 

The small crowd was silent. I had won. I won! "I'm going to take over the world," I declared before my mind went blank.

***

Well, the runt had finally done some good.

I watched as Larek, the weakest of the orphans, fell into the dirt, unconscious... but victorious. He was finally fed up with losing, and he defeated his enemy using sheer willpower. "Larek is the winner!" I announced, limping around - I was nearly fifty years old, one of the oldest goblins in the entirety of the Mountain Kingdoms... once, I was a legendary swordsman. Now I was nothing but a forgotten legend, a magnificent statue that crumbled to dust.

Larek... he was weak. Short. He liked to complain and didn't eat a lot, and always said nonsensical things about taking over the world. He was a foolish runt, but... I promised his mother I would see to it that he grew up to become a warrior. 

Sharog... today, your son earned his first victory.