Berserk

Solam felt absolutely no pain at this moment. His mind was a chaotic mess, his consciousness blurring as a singular, overwhelming urge took hold: to tear the creature before him into shreds. He wiped at the wound on his chest, and as he looked down at the blood on his hands, something in his mind snapped completely. His vision turned a deep, blood-red, and then he knew nothing more.

In the eyes of the Snow Tiger, Solam had transformed into the most terrifying creature in the world. It watched as Solam wiped his wound, threw his head back, and let out a heaven-shaking roar. His body began to swell rapidly, growing a full size larger until he stood over two meters tall. The muscles on his frame burst through his clothes, and the veins beneath his skin bulged like the roots of an ancient tree, appearing as if they might rupture at any second. With another guttural roar, Solam charged straight at the Snow Tiger.

Driven to madness by the threat of death, the Snow Tiger ignored its own grievous wounds and lunged forward with a roar to meet Solam head-on.

The two completely crazed "beasts" had eyes only for each other; for every axe blow Solam landed, the tiger returned a claw strike. The battle drew the attention of the nearby Wargs and the cub, though only one cub remained. Frostfang's opponent had already been killed; its throat had been crushed, the windpipe exposed, and it now lay motionless in a pool of blood.

Once Frostfang finished off its opponent, it immediately joined Bloodfang to deal with the last cub. In the short time Solam had been locked in combat with the adult Snow Tiger, the two Wargs had already battered the cub into a state of collapse, even biting off a section of its tail. It looked as though it could not hold on much longer.

However, neither the cub nor the two Wargs had any heart for their own fight anymore, as they were completely mesmerized by the life-or-death struggle between Solam and the Snow Tiger.

Both Solam and the adult Snow Tiger were drenched in blood, yet neither retreated. It was a trade of injury for injury, a test of who would collapse first.

The adult Snow Tiger was already weakened, and with the additional injuries sustained earlier, it began to falter. Excessive blood loss caused its reactions to slow suddenly. Solam, in his frenzied state, seemed entirely indifferent to pain; he seized the opening to bury his axe into the tiger's back. The blow nearly severed the tiger's spine, leaving it on the verge of death.

Every hunter knows that a beast's final struggle is the most lethal. Perhaps sensing its fate, the Snow Tiger mustered its last ounce of strength, opened its massive jaws, and lunged for Solam's throat, hoping to drag its enemy into the abyss before it died.

Though Solam had completely lost his reason, his instincts took over. One hand clamped onto the tiger's upper jaw, and in the blink of an eye, his other hand swung the axe in a single, heavy stroke, decapitating the beast entirely.

The scene fell into an instant, heavy silence. The cub seemed utterly terrified, its head turned toward the carnage, frozen in place. But Frostfang and Bloodfang were not so easily intimidated. Seeing Solam sever the adult tiger's head, they immediately turned their gaze to the cub. Seeing it still dazed, Bloodfang charged, clamped its jaws onto the cub's throat, and pinned it to the ground. Frostfang was just as quick; the moment the cub fell and exposed its soft underbelly, it lunged, teeth and claws working in tandem to rip the cub open.

After decapitating the Snow Tiger, Solam's physique rapidly returned to normal. He sat down hard on the blood-stained snow as if drained of all strength, and the red hue began to fade from his body, his skin returning to its usual tone. (Avalon Orcs have a distinct difference from other Orcs: their skin tone. The Orcs of Avalon have skin similar to the yellow-skinned people of his past life; the skin tones of other Orcs will be mentioned later and are not discussed for now.) Solam then fell backward into the snow and lost consciousness.

He did not know how much time had passed before Solam slowly felt his consciousness return to his body.

"Ugh..." Solam let out a weak groan. His body felt as if he had undergone extreme physical exertion; every muscle ached with soreness and pain. He struggled to open his eyes, and the first thing that greeted him was a massive, rugged face with two large tusks protruding from its mouth. It startled the newly awakened Solam so much that if he hadn't been completely drained of strength, he would have punched it.

"Great, Ram, you're okay! You're finally awake!" The owner of the face exclaimed with joy upon seeing Solam's eyes open.

It was Krum, but could you please not get your face so close to mine? Honestly, even after living here for so many years, he still couldn't quite get used to the rugged style of the Orcs. The female Orcs were a bit better—still rugged, but acceptable—but the men...

He thanked his cheapskate father for finding him an Elf mother to balance things out. Even if he wasn't exactly handsome, he was definitely presentable, and at the very least, he didn't have those two giant tusks. As soon as he was awake, Solam's mind began to wander.

"Are you alright, Ram? How do you feel?" Krum helped Solam sit up and asked with concern.

"I'm fine, just feeling exhausted. By the way, where's that Snow Tiger?" Solam had barely answered Krum before he thought of the tiger, but as he lifted his head, he saw the headless carcass. "Holy crap... who did this?"

"Wasn't it you? I just woke up and saw the Snow Tiger dead and you passed out right here," Krum said, looking puzzled.

"..." Solam looked at the tiger's corpse and the head lying nearby, then at his own wounds and the blood-soaked axe beside him. He had no memory of what had happened, only that he had seen Krum get sent flying and his mind had gone blank with rage.

"Right, how are you? I saw you get knocked away, are you okay?" Remembering Krum being sent flying, Solam asked quickly.

"I'm fine, just knocked out for a bit. I felt a bit of chest tightness earlier, but I coughed up some blood and feel much better now." Krum rubbed the spot on his chest where he'd been struck, looking a bit dejected. He felt ashamed; he had been knocked unconscious shortly after the fight began, which was humiliating. If not for Solam, he would have been done for. Thinking that he was older than Solam yet had to be protected by him, Krum felt useless—or, in Solam's words, "weak as hell."

Solam felt relieved to hear Krum was okay. The physique of an Avalon Orc was absurdly resilient; as long as they were fine in the moment, there were usually no lasting side effects.

Suddenly, Solam was tackled by a white blur, and a tongue began licking his face all over. "Alright, alright, Frostfang, I'm fine! But if you don't get off me, you're going to cause trouble." It turned out that seeing Solam wake up, Frostfang—who had been on guard duty nearby—had rushed over to show affection, clearly too excited by Solam's recovery to care about its duties.

Hearing Solam, Krum snapped out of his self-reproach and shooed Frostfang off. Frostfang clearly didn't want to leave Solam's side, but though reluctant, it eventually lay down beside him.

"Whew!" Solam, helped up again by Krum, let out a long breath and patted Frostfang's massive head. He had nearly been crushed; he had to remember that Frostfang's current size was not something his current state could handle.

"How are you feeling now?" Krum asked with concern.

"I'm fine, just a bit drained. Let me rest for a moment and I'll be back to normal." Solam felt his condition was much better than before; a little more rest would see him through.

"Then rest for a bit. I'll go handle the carcasses. This was dangerous, but we've got quite a haul today." Seeing Solam's complexion improving, Krum prepared to process the bodies. They needed to leave quickly; the scent of blood might attract something else.

They had hunted quite a lot today: the carcass of an Alpine Goat ram, a kid, and the three Snow Tigers—one large and two small. Plus, there were two live ewes and a lamb.

Krum dragged the carcasses together and looked troubled. With such a pile of prey, he didn't know how to handle it, so he turned to Solam.

"Ram, there's too much stuff. How are we going to move it? It looks like a real struggle."

"Hmm, you're right. How about this: you skin the two cubs first. Don't worry about the meat or bones, but remember to pull the teeth—those are valuable. Then, use some branches to make two simple sleds. Put the big Snow Tiger on one, and the ram and the lamb on the other. Have Frostfang and Bloodfang pull the tiger, and we'll pull the one with the goats." Solam considered it for a moment. Truth be told, while Wargs were strong, Frostfang and Bloodfang were only two years old and had just been injured. Making them pull a 1,500-pound adult Snow Tiger alone would be tough and slow, but having both Wargs pull it together would be much faster. As for the two goats, they could easily pull those themselves.

"Yeah, that'll work." Don't let Krum's usual honest demeanor fool you; he was actually very efficient. He grabbed his axe and Bloodfang, headed to the side to cut branches, and within twenty minutes, two simple sleds were finished.

Once the sleds were done, he drew his battle-axe, decapitated one of the cub carcasses, chopped off its four paws, and gutted it. He then grabbed a corner of the hide, gave it a sharp tug to separate it from the meat, and with a few more quick motions, the pelt was off. He did the same for the other, working with impressive speed. While the quality of the pelts wasn't top-tier, they didn't have the luxury of time to be picky. It helped that Orc children were taught to help adults process game from a young age, making them quite skilled.