Old Man

Solam acted at once. Bare-chested, he hefted his axe, spat into his palms twice, then brought the blade down hard on the Snow Dragon's neck.

Keeping a prey animal's head was a tradition among many hunters, especially when the quarry was this rare. The Snow Dragon was enormous, and Solam couldn't carry all of it away. He had to settle for the parts worth the most.

"Pah. Damn, this thing's tough."

His first blow barely made a dent. The Snow Dragon's hard shinbone stopped the axe cold. Solam had his work cut out for him, but he realized he didn't need to hurry. When he'd killed the Snow Dragon with lightning magic, the powerful current had run through the great blade-spear and nearly roasted it from the inside. There wasn't much blood left to spill, so the smell was faint. And with the snow falling, there was little chance of attracting any beasts. Solam had plenty of time to butcher the carcass.

The Snow Dragon's most valuable part was its smooth, snowy-white fur. It was beautiful, tough, and had decent resistance to magic. The worst damage was to its two wings; most of the fur on its body remained intact. Next came its head, one of the hardest parts of the Snow Dragon. Even after Solam had given it two heavy blows with Thor's Hammer, there wasn't a crack in its skull. But though the bone was hard, the brain inside it wasn't built to take a beating. Those two blows had probably given it a severe concussion at the very least. That was what made heavy weapons like warhammers and battle-axes so vicious: even if you blocked the attack, you couldn't stop the impact.

But the Snow Dragon's skull wasn't valuable just because it was hard. It was also surprisingly light. In fact, all of its bones were light, and they offered decent magical protection, making the skull ideal for a shield. But not many people in Avalon liked using shields, so their shield-making skills weren't much to speak of. At most, they'd tie on a couple of leather straps and call it a day. Solam didn't mind. He was lucky to have one at all, so what was there to complain about?

Solam was different from the other Orcs. He had no hang-ups about using shields or other protective gear. A shield obviously helped keep you safe in a fight, so why not use one? He wasn't like the other Orcs, who took pride in their scars. He preferred staying clean and unblemished.

The work went by quickly. It took Solam nearly three hours to butcher the Snow Dragon. He packed up its head and fur, leaving the rest behind. The other bones weren't worth carrying, and there were too many of them. As for the flesh, it was useless too. Snow Dragon meat wasn't poisonous, but most people would get diarrhea from eating it. Only some beasts would want it.

Some of the organs were edible, but Solam wasn't interested, so he gave them all to Frostfang. Out in the wild, a prey animal's organs were a valuable source of salt, so Frostfang happily ate the heart and liver. Solam threw away the stomach and intestines. They were too filthy—not that he had any particular aversion to eating organs. The lightning had cooked them through, along with all the filth inside...

If Frostfang ate that stuff, he might get diarrhea. And though he was fully grown, he still liked to lick Solam's face with his big tongue. If he ate all that mess and then licked Solam's face... Just imagining it was enough to make Solam cringe.

Just as Solam had nearly finished packing everything up, the old man let out a groan.

"Ugh... Where am I?"

When Solam saw that the old man had woken up, he hurried over and helped him sit up. The old man might have been a liability, but Solam still felt that he owed him the basic respect due to an elder.

"Um... sir, do you remember what happened?" Solam wondered if the old man had hit his head.

"What happened? Right... The monster..." The old man's eyes gradually cleared as he remembered the battle.

"Heh, I killed that Snow Dragon. You're safe now. But you seem to be human. What's a human doing in Avalon?" Solam was curious about the old man's background. Humans rarely made it to Avalon. For one thing, very few outsiders knew its precise location. The Avalon Orcs who traveled beyond their homeland generally didn't tell anyone where they came from. Only someone they trusted completely might learn a little. Solam's own adoptive father, for instance, had asked a comrade-in-arms he trusted with his life to bring the infant Solam back to Avalon.

"The fight's over? Heh. I've spent my whole life catching birds, and today one pecked my eye." The old man was clearly ashamed that he'd let his guard down during the fight.

"Young man, never mind how I got to Avalon. How did you get here?" The old man was obviously still wary of Solam and had no intention of explaining himself. Instead, he questioned Solam.

"Um... sir, what do you mean? I grew up in Avalon. What do you mean, how did I get here?"

"That can't be... You're clearly human. Why would the Avalon Orcs adopt a human?"

"Er... I'm a half-breed Orc, not a human." No wonder so many people in Avalon said Solam looked human, nothing like an Orc. As for being a half-breed Orc, Solam didn't think there was any reason to hide it. He wasn't ashamed of it. It wasn't as though he'd chosen it himself—his adoptive father had gotten up to mischief and sired him.

"Half-breed? I've seen half-Orcs, but you don't look anything like them." The old man used to capture slaves for a living. Of course he knew what half-Orcs looked like. But the young man in front of him looked distinctly human. Half-Orcs were much rougher in appearance.

"That's because I'm different from other half-Orcs. I'm half-Orc and half-Elf."

"Beast Elf? I've lived a long time, but this is the first time I've ever seen a living Beast Elf." The old man stared intently at Solam, and only seemed convinced after noticing his slightly pointed ears.

"Damn! Does that mean I'm a rare breed?" The old man's words startled Solam. He'd always thought there would be other Beast Elves with a background like his out in the world. But from what the old man said, people like him—half-Orc and half-Elf—were incredibly rare.

"A rare breed? Heh, you could say that." The old man chuckled at the phrase. Wasn't that the truth? If he were still in his old line of work, a rare half-Orc, half-Elf like this could fetch a fortune. Nothing more to it than rarity; plenty of bored nobles would pay big money for a Beast Elf, someone who might not be born even once in a hundred years.

If Solam had known what the old man was thinking, he would have given him a dose of reeducation with Thor's Hammer, courtesy of the working class.

"You mean people like me are rare out there? Why?" In Avalon, people rarely talked to Solam about his origins. They were afraid he'd be upset if he learned the truth. But apparently all the care these usually rough Orcs had taken was wasted. Solam didn't care about it at all; he was just curious.

"You don't know that Orcs and Elves are mortal enemies?" The old man regarded the strange Beast Elf with surprise.

"I know, but isn't that all ancient history?" Solam had lived in Avalon all his life, and the Avalon Orcs were probably the least hostile toward Elves of all Orcs.

"That's a long story. Also, young man, are you going to leave an old man like me sitting in the snow forever?"

Solam saw that the old man did look unwell, and the snow was falling harder. It really wasn't right to leave an old man out in the middle of nowhere.

"All right. Wait here a moment. I'll pack up the rest, then take you to my camp."

He quickly tied up the Snow Dragon's fur and head with leather cord, then had Frostfang carry the old man. At first, Frostfang refused. Direwolves were loyal and generally wouldn't let anyone else ride them unless they were the owner's family. But after Solam spent a while talking him around with his Communication ability, Frostfang finally agreed. Solam helped the old man onto Frostfang's back, then dragged the trophies as they all headed toward the camp.

Before long, Solam and the others returned to the camp they'd stayed at earlier. Solam quickly lit a campfire and prepared a pot of hot soup for the old man. After warming himself by the fire for a while, the old man looked much better.

"Sir, how did you get to Avalon? I know the outside world has no idea how to find it. Even if someone found the way, they couldn't enter Avalon without a Heroic Spirit's permission."

Seeing that the old man looked much better, Solam continued questioning him.

The old man looked at Solam and thought for a moment. After spending some time with the boy, he decided he probably wasn't a bad person. Though his own trusted men had betrayed him, the old man still trusted his judgment. After all, what kind of schemes could a young man like this have? Besides, he was already in Avalon. If he wanted to find his old friend, he'd need the help of someone from the region.

"My name is Arando Schindler. I'm from Canlus. I came to find an old friend. We used to travel together as adventurers, but we parted ways over some things. Now, for certain reasons, I have to seek his help."