The Journey Home

The result was predictable.

The old man held Thor's Hammer, shouting at the top of his lungs for a long time, until he was as exhausted as an idiot, yet the hammer didn't budge in the slightest.

"Huff... huff... huff... you brat, are you playing me? This damn hammer isn't giving me any reaction at all!" The old man panted heavily, glaring viciously at Solam.

"Old man... I told you, this hammer only recognizes one master at a time; it won't acknowledge anyone else." Solam felt quite helpless.

Seeing that Solam didn't seem to be joking, the old man looked at the warhammer in his hand and finally sighed.

"Forget it, it seems I really don't have that kind of luck. But how did you know its true name?" It appeared the old man had truly given up, turning his attention to how Solam had learned the name.

"I don't know either. I just knew it inexplicably the moment I picked up the warhammer." Of course, Solam couldn't tell him that he possessed a special ability, let alone that he was a transmigrator.

"Inexplicably? That works too?"

"Why wouldn't it? Maybe the Founder saw his weapon buried for so many years and was unhappy, so seeing how sincere I was, he gave me a hint." Solam didn't know how to explain it, so he just spouted nonsense.

"...Damn it!!! Why didn't the Founder give me a hint?"

"How would I know? Maybe he was annoyed that you kept his precious weapon in a box for so many years."

"..." The old man stared at Solam, speechless.

However, the old man couldn't be bothered to dig deeper; the whole thing was bizarre to begin with. Regardless, it was a good thing. At least the Founder's weapon wouldn't have to be kept like a piece of scrap metal anymore.

"Forget it. Anyway, now that Thor's Hammer... damn, it's our fault as descendants for being unfilial; it took us so many years to finally learn the name of this warhammer." The old man spat on the ground.

"Now that you have received the ancestor's blessing and can truly wield this warhammer, you must carry it forward and make it shine. Don't bring shame to our ancestors, understand?"

"I understand. I will never let the ancestors or you down." Everyone could say pretty words, and Solam was particularly adept at it.

Seeing Solam so sensible, the old man stroked his large beard with a pretentious air, looking like a teacher who found his student teachable.

"Now that the warhammer passed down by the Founder has been given to you, I am officially notifying you that your apprenticeship is over. From here on, you must walk your own path. Every Shaman's path is forged by themselves; I have nothing left to teach you." The old man said suddenly, his tone turning serious.

"No way, old man. You aren't holding a grudge just because I won a large sum from you, are you? Trying to kick me out?" Solam said in surprise. To be honest, he hadn't expected his apprenticeship to end so soon.

Hearing Solam's words, the old man's stern, teacher-like facade immediately collapsed.

"Damn it, is that how you see me? Is your master Blackhand that kind of person? Why would I harbor ill will just because you won me out of house and home?" The old man looked heartbroken.

"Heh."

"Damn! What kind of expression is that? Don't think I don't know what 'heh' means. Damn, I remember you were the one who taught it to me!"

The master and apprentice spent a long time trading barbs and roasting each other.

"Ahem." Finally, the old man was completely stumped by one of Solam's remarks. He cleared his throat and said seriously, "In all seriousness, you are very smart—at least much smarter than I was at your age. I really have nothing left to teach you. A Shaman doesn't learn by staying in one place and listening to lectures; you have to go out and travel to gain your own insights. Honestly, you have great talent and should travel to develop further. To be frank, Avalon is too small. You are fifteen this year and will be an adult next year; it is time for you to go out and explore." The old man looked at Solam earnestly. He truly believed Solam was better suited for the vast world outside. Solam possessed a curiosity most Orcs lacked, and Avalon was too small for him.

"Mm, I also want to see the outside world. I want to see if the Dwarves really live in cities carved out of entire mountains. I want to know if human cities are truly as magnificent and brilliant as they say, and see all those strange races and diverse civilizations. And those sealed ruins, and the many other planes—I want to see them all. This world is so colorful; if I don't go see it, I would have come to this world in vain."

Solam had grown up listening to his grandfather's adventure stories, and at the Forge Clan, he had heard many tales from his goofy master about his own travels in his youth. Naturally, he was full of longing for the outside world.

Moreover, he hadn't lied just now. Because he lacked his original memories, he had no interest in things like ambition or grand aspirations. Since he had come to this world, he just wanted to experience it thoroughly so he wouldn't feel like his transmigration was a waste.

Hearing Solam say this, Blackhand didn't suspect he was a transmigrator; he just felt that this child was indeed very different from other Orcs.

In Avalon, Orcs were very attached to this land. They didn't want to leave, and most Orcs never left Avalon in their entire lives. Only a few would leave briefly to travel, but the duration was always short, at most a few years.

Part of the reason was the discrimination Orcs faced outside. When he had traveled, he had suffered plenty of it. Many city guards would forbid him from entering the moment they saw his appearance. That was the mild version; some people would draw their weapons the moment they saw he was an Orc. He had been dragged into many inexplicable battles because of that.

Later, if he hadn't accidentally saved a group of Dwarves, he wouldn't even have had the qualifications to enter the Dwarven Kingdom, let alone live there. Even then, he had suffered greatly to learn their forging techniques.

Don't let the rough appearance of Avalon's Orcs fool you; they were actually quite sensitive, so many returned home because they couldn't stand the discrimination.

The other part of the reason was the longing for Avalon. This land held a unique significance to the Orcs of Avalon—it wasn't just a simple "homeland."

Avalon—the Land of Heroic Protection. The "heroes" here didn't just refer to ancient figures; it meant that the soul of every deceased Avalon Orc would return to this land to continue protecting the living.

Therefore, almost all Orcs preferred life in Avalon. There were truly very few Orcs who thought like Solam.

Although Blackhand also preferred life in Avalon, he didn't dislike Solam's curiosity. He believed that if a Shaman lacked such curiosity, their achievements would be limited. Blackhand had studied the experiences of several legendary Shamans and found that many had traveled the outside world for long periods. Even the Prophet had traveled the entire continent after embarking on the Shaman's path. Furthermore, Solam had an advantage: his appearance. He looked very different from ordinary Orcs and more like a human, which meant he wouldn't be discriminated against for no reason.

"Alright, even if you want to travel, you must wait until your strength is greater. Otherwise, with your current power, it would be very dangerous to go out." After his thoughts wandered, the old man warned Solam. The outside world was far more dangerous than Avalon. The old man had nearly died several times in his youth. Letting Solam go was for him to gain experience, not to throw his life away; he needed to grow stronger first.

"By the way, you should prepare over these next two days. Otherwise, it will snow soon, and traveling back will be very troublesome."

"Mm, I don't really have much to prepare. I'll just finish the axe I'm making for Little Saurfang and say goodbye to the others in the clan."

Two days later.

Many members of the Forge Clan came to see Solam off. Over the past two years, Solam had made many friends here. In particular, the married women and elderly ladies loved this clean and well-behaved child (Solam was perhaps the only person in all of Avalon who brushed his teeth and bathed every day).

"Be careful on the road, Ram. Don't be stingy with the Wind Serpent jerky I gave you. It's so cold; you can't go without eating your fill on the road." An elderly Orc woman held Solam's hand and urged him. (The Wind Serpent was a beast unique to the Lava Mountain area; it could shuttle between trees, somewhat like the flying snakes of his past life, but much larger, highly venomous, and very difficult to catch, though their meat was delicious.)

"I will, Grandma Yakula. You take care of your health too."

Another middle-aged woman stuffed a leather bag into Solam's arms.

"Little Ram, take this. These are the Fire-Feather Chicken eggs your uncle found in the forest yesterday. Eat them on the road. You're so young to be traveling so far; you can't let yourself go hungry." (The Fire-Feather Chicken was a bird similar to a common rooster, about the size of a turkey from his past life. They were fierce, and their feathers were beautiful, looking like a ball of flame from a distance.)

"How can I accept this, Auntie Mora? Give them to Kurutar and the others!" Solam declined, as there was simply too much stuff; Frostfang could barely carry it all. If he took any more, Solam would have to walk home.

"If they want to eat, they can go find them in the forest themselves. You're heading back, and you won't be able to eat these things anymore. Take them; don't be a stranger with your aunt." Kurutar was Auntie Mora's son. He and Solam had fought many times, and for that, the brat had been beaten by Auntie Mora more than once. Later, they had fought their way into a friendship.

Seeing Auntie Mora's enthusiasm, Solam felt too embarrassed to refuse. That was how Orcs were; they were incredibly passionate toward those they liked.

For the entire morning, Solam couldn't manage to leave, stuck exchanging pleasantries with the crowd seeing him off.