Grandpa, Old Man, Chief Kramsh

Solam happily brought his warg companion back home. He immediately began constructing a smaller tent next to his own, even taking the extra step to connect his tent with Frostfang's.

Frostfang was the name of Solam's white warg. It had been chosen by Granny Karom; orcish naming conventions were just as impoverished as the author's, with wargs usually named after some tooth or claw. Solam, however, had no complaints. After all, there were very few white wargs in the entire Warsong clan, and even fewer named Frostfang. This made Frostfang quite distinct, sparing him from the awkward mishaps where a dozen wargs would come running whenever someone shouted a generic name like Sharp-Tooth or Fierce-Claw.

As Solam was joyfully setting up the new home for his warg companion, his grandfather, Chieftain Kramsh, returned.

A few days prior, Kramsh and several warriors from the tribe had traveled to the Forge Clan's settlement to trade for ironware. In Avalon, only the Forge Clan possessed superior forging techniques; legend held that the ancestral weapons of most clans were crafted by them. Thus, every year, each clan would make the journey to trade. There was no currency in Avalon, only barter, and ironware was a necessity for every clan. Furthermore, since the Forge Clan was the only sedentary one, their settlement at Lava Mountain had gradually become a marketplace. Every year, before the transition from spring to summer and autumn to winter, many clans would spontaneously gather there for the "market."

Kramsh had been chieftain for nearly thirty years. Since taking the mantle from his father in his twenties, he had remained the Warsong clan's premier warrior, a status that had never wavered. His life story was a legend throughout all of Avalon.

He had once left Avalon to temper himself in the outside world. He had wrestled with giants, fought trolls and ogres, battled human knights, witnessed the dazzling magic of mages, and stood alongside the orcs of the northwest against the savage armies of wildmen and centaurs.

His most harrowing battle had been against a dragon alongside his companions. Although they managed to repel the beast, his comrades were all killed or wounded, and he himself was left severely injured and missing an eye.

Later, he returned to Avalon and assumed the position of chieftain. While the aforementioned feats were legendary, the achievement truly witnessed by the clan's orcs was when the old man, single-handedly and wielding his ancestral battle-axe, decapitated a Carnivorous Tyrannosaurus that had been terrorizing the clan's pastures. Even now, the head of that Tyrannosaurus—which was larger than a Thunder Beast—hung at the camp's main gate. One must understand that there were no dragons in Avalon; the Carnivorous Tyrannosaurus was the apex predator of the food chain.

(The Carnivorous Tyrannosaurus is a terrifying apex predator. It possesses the strongest bite force of any known terrestrial creature, reaching a terrifying length of 14 meters, a height of over 5.2 meters, and a weight of up to 14 tons. It will devour any living thing it sees, sometimes even smaller members of its own kind. Despite their massive size, they are incredibly fast runners. Strength 28, Agility 12, Constitution 19, Intelligence 2, Wisdom 15, Charisma 10.)

Such was this towering orc of a man. By the standards of an orc's life, he should have had no regrets; he had lived a legendary life, enjoyed epic battles, and brought honor and peace to his clan. He also had three outstanding sons.

However, if he had one regret, it was the passing of his youngest son. He had once believed his youngest would one day become a warrior even greater than himself, but he had fallen in battle while still so young—though it was, admittedly, a glorious death.

Orcs generally took a detached view of death, but not every father could calmly face the loss of his son. Although he never spoke of it, he still blamed his own negligence for his son's early death. He had let him leave Avalon to train in the outside world too young; had he been stricter and more diligent in his training, perhaps he wouldn't have died.

But the son was gone, and dwelling on it only added to the sorrow. Fortunately, the youngest had left behind an heir, which provided some solace, though the thought of this grandson left the old man feeling both exasperated and fond.

He was exasperated because the boy was a half-breed—a mix of orc and elf. Although the blood feud between orcs and elves in Avalon had been forgotten generations ago and no one cared, he was still a half-breed. The worldly-wise old chieftain could see the invisible barrier between the clansmen and his grandson, even if no one openly ostracized him.

But the child was still young; problems would arise when he grew up. He looked different from the others, and finding a wife would be a struggle. The aesthetic standards of Avalon's orcs were different from the outside world; without a sturdy physique and sharp tusks, no maiden from any clan would fancy a "sissy."

Yes, in his childhood, Solam's delicate face—so different from other orcs—was quite popular among the women. The young wives and old matrons of the clan loved Solam, who was more girl-like than the girls themselves (Solam wept in the bathroom). But for marriage? Naturally, they wanted a real man.

The old man had been to the outside world and had no interest in those women—no breasts, no hips, just boring to look at. He couldn't fathom how his own idiot son had been bewitched by an elf woman. In the old man's mind, if one were to rank the races of the continent by beauty, elves would probably rank in the middle, on par with ogres...

(Because ogres are indistinguishable in gender, to the orcs of Avalon, elves are a blur of facial blindness; they can't even tell male from female. As for secondary female characteristics? Pfft. Even the pectoral muscles of an Avalon orc child are larger than those little steamed buns.)

But now that the child was born, there was no point in dwelling on it.

What brought him joy was that the boy was clever and talented. Others thought him weak, but the old man had seen the world and knew there were many warriors out there who lacked their physique but were no less formidable in combat. Moreover, he had seen the boy fight; he had good form and was fine material. Given time, he might even surpass his late father.

Thus, he was determined to train him into an excellent warrior. No matter what others said, he was stubborn. In fact, Granny Karom had argued with him countless times, but to no avail.

While lost in these chaotic thoughts, the old man arrived before his tent. He had just hopped off his warg, One-Eye, when he saw his precious grandson bustling about his own tent, not even noticing his return.

"Lam, what are you doing? Can't you even greet your grandfather when he returns?" the old man shouted with a booming voice.

"Oh, welcome home," Solam replied without a shred of sincerity, not even lifting his head from his work. "I'm building a nest for Frostfang."

"Frostfang? What's that?" The old man didn't care about Solam's tone and turned to ask Karut, who had just returned to welcome his father. Of course, this was only because Solam dared to speak to the old man like that; if Karut had been so disrespectful, he would have been beaten half to death.

"Granny Karom's warg, Shadow, had a litter. Lam picked one, a white one, and Granny Karom named it Frostfang," Karut answered honestly. "Where's Ak? Didn't he get one? Is there only one pup at Granny Karom's?" Ak was Krum. The old man was usually very serious, but he had a strangely comical obsession with names, particularly enjoying wrestling with sounds like 'Ka', 'Ke', 'Lu', and 'Te'.

Furthermore, he never liked using full names. Solam being called 'Lam' started with the old man, and his eldest grandson was called 'Ak'. Most absurdly, he only ever called his three sons 'Big One', 'Second One', and 'Third One'... never by their full names.

"He got one. A black one named Bloodfang. It hasn't opened its eyes yet, and Ak is guarding it," he said, helping the old man remove the fur bags from One-Eye. Speaking of which, the old man's warg was named One-Eye, though it wasn't actually missing an eye; the old man had simply named it that to commemorate his own lost eye.

This warg was quite legendary. It was nearly forty years old, yet it didn't look old at all. A warg living to forty was already a ripe old age, but One-Eye was not only youthful but incredibly vigorous. Whenever a female warg was in heat, this fellow was the most active, and every time it fought for mating rights, it would beat the young male wargs to a pulp. Over the years, it had caused quite a bit of trouble; most of the current wargs in the clan had some of its bloodline...

"Father, what kind of ironware did you trade for this time?" Karut hefted the large leather bag in his hand, feeling its significant weight, and asked casually.

"Hmm, traded for some arrowheads and two pots." In nomadic life, nothing was more important than these two things. Arrowheads were for hunting and defending the herd from wild beasts, and as for the pots, they were even more vital—food, cheese, and milk tea all depended on them. If one had to eat roasted meat every day, one's backside wouldn't be able to take it; thus, it was clear that no matter how strong the body, the backside remained delicate.

"Also traded for some spearheads." One had to realize that archery required talent; for those not proficient with a bow but possessing some strength, javelins were a decent choice. It was, after all, a form of ranged attack.

"The most important thing is this." The old man reached into the leather bag and pulled out two long items wrapped tightly in fur. "These two things cost me quite a bit of effort. Not only did that bastard Blackhand get my prized Tyrannosaurus hide, but he also forced me to throw in that Swamp Giant Crocodile skin before he spent over a year crafting them." (Swamp Giant Crocodile: a giant crocodile with a body length of 8 meters and 6 legs on its abdomen. It lives in swamps and rivers and is an extremely dangerous predator—cunning and ferocious. Strength 19, Agility 12, Constitution 18, Intelligence 6, Wisdom 13, Charisma 8.)

"Lam, Ak, come over here. See what Grandfather brought you." The old man shouted, waving the packages at Solam.