The Search

Once everything was ready, the two brothers set off toward the edge of the forest. In the end, Krum wouldn't let Solam help pull the sled. Instead, he had Solam ride on the sled carrying the tiger while he pulled it, with Ram riding on the other sled and leading the two ewes. They headed back the way they had come.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way out of the forest. They were on edge, afraid the smell of blood on them might attract other predators. But perhaps the nearby beasts knew this was the Snow Tiger's territory, or perhaps they simply weren't deep enough in the forest. Though Solam and Krum were both terribly tense, they made it out safely.

"Whew." When they emerged from the forest, Solam and Krum both let out a sigh of relief. It was much safer outside the forest. In winter, animals rarely roamed the open plain; they stayed in the forest to shelter from the wind and snow.

Only after he had relaxed did Solam have time to check his injuries. Aside from the four serious gashes on his chest, the rest were minor. But somehow, the wounds on his chest had already scabbed over. A wound like that would have needed stitches and several days to scab over in his previous life. Even since coming to this world, Solam had been injured before, though never this badly, and he had never healed this quickly. His Toughness ability didn't speed up healing, either. It was strange. It wasn't a bad thing, but he couldn't help wondering what had happened to his body.

Solam told Krum what was bothering him, hoping he might know something.

"I was already unconscious by then. How would I know?" Krum took it in stride. The outcome was good, so why dwell on it? "But you said you completely lost control at the time. I think you went Berserk."

That was right—Berserk. Solam paused. His symptoms did seem a little like Berserk. It was an innate talent of the Orcs: any Orc might enter that state when provoked or enraged. But it wasn't unique to Orcs. The old man had said that barbarians in the outside world had the same talent. Once someone went Berserk, they became fearless and insensible to pain, while their physical abilities and strength increased dramatically. The downside was that they became violent, and might even fail to recognize their own family.

Solam had never seen anyone go Berserk, so it hadn't occurred to him. To him, Berserk was like a powerful stimulant from his previous life: it sent adrenaline surging through the body and sped up the blood flow, making a person faster and stronger. Berserk was simply more extreme. That would explain why he felt weak all over and his muscles ached. Those were normal aftereffects.

But even after living in the clan for twelve years, he had never seen anyone go Berserk. If every Orc had this talent, he should have seen it once or twice by now. Yet he hadn't, and the adults in the clan rarely talked about it, as if it were taboo. When they got back, he would have to ask the old man and Granny Karom what was going on.

To be honest, although his Berserk state had saved their lives, Solam hated it. He had lost all reason and couldn't control his own body. That helpless feeling was awful.

After thinking it over for a while, Solam put the matter aside. He leaned against the Snow Tiger's carcass, closed his eyes, and rested. There was still some distance between here and the clan camp in Frost-Free Valley, so he wanted to get some rest. At their current pace, they might still make it back in time for lunch. Seeing Solam close his eyes and lean against the carcass, Krum realized he wanted to rest too. He kept quiet and focused on the road.

Snow began to fall from the sky.

Frost-Free Valley

The people in the tent had been making a commotion, but the moment they saw Zaira faint, they fell silent. Granny Karom stepped forward, took Zaira's hand, and examined her carefully.

"She's fine. She was just too worked up. She's weak from having just given birth, and the excitement made the blood rush to her head. She'll be fine after some rest." With that, she cast a Rejuvenation Spell on Zaira.

The glow of the spell flashed and vanished, and Zaira slowly opened her eyes. Trick held his wife's hand anxiously and looked at her with concern. "Zaira..."

Before he could finish, Zaira cut him off. "Why are you still here?"

Trick was taken aback. Where else am I supposed to be?

Looking at her husband's foolish expression, Zaira felt her teeth ache with frustration. "Go find people! Granny Karom and my sister-in-law are here. I'm perfectly fine. You're just wasting time by staying with me!"

Find people? At that, everyone realized that the two brats were the most important thing right now. Trick and Karut immediately left the tent, but the moment they lifted the flap, their hearts sank. It had started snowing.

Trick and Karut had planned to take a few hunters and their Direwolves to search for Solam and Krum. Their tracks would be easy to see in the snow, and with the Direwolves' keen sense of smell, finding the two brats shouldn't have been difficult.

But the snow changed everything, and it looked like it was only getting heavier. It would cover every trace and make it hard to pick up a scent. The search would be several times more difficult. A few people couldn't handle it; they would have to mobilize every adult warrior in the clan.

Karut saw what was happening and said nothing. He immediately whistled for his Direwolf partner, Crazy Claw, an unusually strong beast. He vaulted onto its back and raced off to summon the clan's men. At the same time, he swore to himself that once they found those two brats, he would make them pay and teach them some proper discipline.

Trick also mounted his Direwolf, Fierce Eye, whose gaze was as terrifying as Trick's. He rode off in the opposite direction from Karut to gather people, saving time. Right now, time meant life. The longer it took, the harder they would be to find. If those two brats had really gone into the forest, the longer they were out there, the more danger they would face.

As Trick and Karut shouted to summon the clan, the camp, quiet through the winter, gradually grew noisy. The warriors heard the call and immediately came out of their tents, dressed in thick furs, armed themselves, slung bows and arrows over their backs, mounted their Direwolves, and headed straight for the camp gate. The women, children, and elders heard the commotion too and hurriedly asked those nearby what had happened. Some elderly male Orcs heard that the two children of Chief Kramsh were missing, so they quickly brought out their weapons and bows, called their somewhat aged Direwolf partners, and prepared to help.

Even though everyone moved as quickly as they could, half an hour was still lost. Trick and Karut were frantic, but they knew it couldn't be helped. Everyone had gathered quickly, considering they had all been hibernating for the winter.

"Uncle Tarik, why don't you and the other uncles stay here?" Karut saw the elderly Tarik and a group of old men joining the search and grew anxious. They were all so old—why make things harder? Many of them had Direwolves that had already died of old age, so they had run here on foot.

"Why? You look down on us old bones?" Tarik might have been old, but his voice was still strong. Feeling insulted, he flushed, brandished his battle-axe, and roared, "When I was wielding a battle-axe, you were still nursing!"

At that, the other old men joined in the uproar. Karut's head began to ache. If some young punk had dared to talk back to him, Karut would have raised his fists and taught him a lesson. But these men were elders of the clan, and among the Avalon Orcs, who honored the elderly, that made things difficult. The old were symbols of wisdom and experience. After all, Garul, the prophet in Avalon's legends, had been an old man. Karut couldn't hit them or scold them. If they joined the search, one of them might get hurt before they even found the boys, and then he wouldn't know what to do.

"What are you standing around jawing for?" Just as Karut was at his wits' end, a thunderous shout came to his rescue. The old man, Chief Kramsh, had arrived on his Direwolf, One-Eye. He saw that they were already racing against time, yet his eldest son was still arguing, and it made him furious.

The other old men fell silent as soon as the old chief appeared. No one in the clan could match his authority. One-Eye trotted over to the old warriors, the chief astride him, and he fixed them with an eagle-like stare.

"You bunch of idiots—you're not kids anymore! At a time like this, you're just getting in the way. What have you been doing with all those years?" The old man hadn't planned to come at first. He trusted his two sons' abilities, and he trusted his grandsons even more, especially Solam. Solam was so clever; he must have thought things through before going hunting. Even if they ran into danger, he should be able to escape. But while sitting in his tent waiting for news, the old man began to think that no matter how clever Solam was, he was still only twelve. What if he had acted like a child and put them in danger? And when he thought of his third son, who had died young, he could no longer keep up his cool act. He had to go search for them himself. Otherwise, the agony of waiting would tear him apart.

"We just wanted to help. Many hands make light work," Uncle Tarik said softly when he saw the old chief arrive, immediately dropping his defiant tone.

"Is this what helping looks like?" Chief Kramsh was furious. Was this supposed to be helping? If they weren't so old, he'd teach them how to behave all over again. They were this old and still didn't know how to talk properly.

But he had grown up with the old fool and knew that was simply how he was. He didn't bother saying more. Instead, he gave his orders. "The elders with Direwolves can pair up with a few young men. Those without Direwolves, don't get in the way. You'll only slow everyone down. Stay behind and guard the camp. The men are all heading out, so someone needs to keep watch." The old man made the decision swiftly.

With the old man's authority, no one dared object, and the matter was settled.

"Everyone, get ready. Move out!" Once the elders with Direwolves had paired up with their younger relatives, the old man set off at once.

But the main group had only been on the move for a little over ten minutes and hadn't gone far when a sharp-eyed warrior spotted several figures approaching the camp through the distant snowstorm.

"Look! It seems like someone's coming from over there!"