Clans and Nicknames

After eating and drinking his fill, Kas leaned against an oak tree and used a twig in place of his usual dagger to pick his teeth.

Ancestor was still wrestling with that piece of roasted meat that kept slipping off, apparently believing that if he chewed it a few more times, it would go down his nonexistent throat.

Having eaten her fill, Miss Aowu appeared exceptionally elegant. She sat upright beside the campfire, her pink eyes fixed on the flames as though she were contemplating something.

After struggling with the roast for a long time, Morse finally admitted that life and death truly were vastly different, giving up on finding the cheerful thoughts he had possessed in life within his hollow skull.

He bounced into the campfire and burned away the shreds of meat stuck between his teeth. Then, finding himself too bored, he asked Kas,

"Say, you stupid brat, where did your father go?"

"Didn't he die?" Kas replied carelessly. As for his father, he could only find an extremely vague shadow in his memories.

"Dead? No, no, no. I didn't see him in Pierce's arena."

Pierce, the god of war worshipped by the Reshman people.

Legend had it that only the bravest and most fearless warriors, after entering the palace of Vagha, the chief god, would be invited to Pierce's arena, where they could enjoy eternal battle and wine in the god of war's realm.

Kas rolled over, showing little interest in the matter. "He probably got scared before he died. Instead of being invited by Pierce, he went to the realm of Lagrey, the Lady of Death."

He had always found the traditions of the Reshman people strange. Worship of gods and animistic totems existed side by side.

One moment they said those who died bravely in battle would go to the palace of Vagha to enjoy wine and fine food; the next, they said those people would become spirits wandering the mortal world. The contradiction was obvious.

"How could that be! He was the pride of the clan! I watched him grow up bit by bit and become the strongest warrior of Her Tribe. He couldn't possibly have shrunk back before death..." Morse paused, as though considering another possibility.

"Or perhaps he never died at all."

"To me, he died when I was ten... Besides, why bring him up?"

"Aowu is already one of the Zagwell Clan. I think it's necessary for her to learn about the clan's glorious history."

Hearing Ancestor mention her, Miss Aowu immediately sat straighter and stared seriously at the skull burning in the campfire.

Beauty's reaction clearly pleased Ancestor. Grinning, he cursed, "Look at your wife, then look at you. You really put me to shame..."

"If you've got nothing to say, go bite rocks. Stop making nonsense out of everything."

Kas closed his eyes and let the old fossil boast about the clan's history.

Morse began recounting the clan's history generation by generation, his tone full of emotion and pride.

"Kas's grandfather—Elliott Dragon-Slayer. He was the strongest warrior in all the Sorrow Mountains at the time. He once hunted a ferocious red dragon alone, bathing the name of legend in a giant dragon's blood and flames.

"His wife, Eudora Oak-Shield, was a warrior from the Ang Clan and a shieldmaiden who served Shaman Hadi. She helped the shaman escape several deadly assassinations..."

"Kas's great-grandfather—Bach Iron-Fist. That nickname was even stranger than you might imagine. He once beat a giant's head into a bloody pulp with nothing but his fists..."

Clans were the fundamental unit of Reshman society.

Bound by blood ties to a common ancestor and by totems, they elected a clan chief according to principles of equality. Important matters were decided by a clan council made up of elders.

Everyone had to obey the clan's arrangements. Otherwise, being expelled from the clan was practically the same as being exiled from Reshman society.

The Zagwell Clan had an exceptionally long history. Its founding ancestor, Voon, earned the nickname Rock Body for his physique and will, both as unyielding as stone.

Nicknames were Reshman society's way of judging others. They were often drawn from the most outstanding achievements or scandals of a person's life. A thief might be called Two-Fingers, because the law decreed that whichever hand committed the theft would have two fingers cut off.

Brave warriors, meanwhile, often had distinctive nicknames.

For example, Dragon-Slayer. Killing a four-legged, wingless land dragon naturally counted as slaying a dragon, but honor-loving Reshman people would inevitably compare one who slew a land dragon to one who slew a true giant dragon.

Driven by pride, a land-dragon slayer had to make a choice: kill a powerful giant dragon to prove himself more deserving of the nickname Dragon-Slayer, or choose a less eye-catching nickname.

Members of the Zagwell Clan often had imposing nicknames—Dragon-Slayer, Iron-Fist, Iron Bone, Rock Body... While these proved the clan's strength, they also brought forth a typical problem.

How could they inherit their ancestors' honor?

The answer was to die—to earn glory equal to their ancestors' through the most legendary death possible, and enter the halls of Vagha.

So generation after generation, young men of the Zagwell Clan threw themselves into searching for more legendary experiences, throwing themselves into death.

By Kas's generation, he was the only one left.

Kas was squinting when he suddenly remembered something.

"Come to think of it, old fossil, who was my mother?"

He could not find the slightest impression of his mother in his memories. In the tribe, he had been like a wild monkey that had sprung from a rock.

"Your mother..." Morse hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should say it.

"Your mother wasn't Reshman. You were most likely the result of your father's raids to the south."

"Heh."

Kas curled his lip disdainfully and said nothing more. With his eyes closed, he prepared to sleep and think about how to return to the tribe after dawn.

But Miss Aowu suddenly clenched her teeth and let out a wary howl. Her gaze fixed on the woodland where only a few threads of pale moonlight seeped through, and her claws emerged.

"Roar~"

Kas looked in the direction Miss Aowu was watching, but he could only see several shadows darting swiftly through the bushes. Judging by their size and the way the vegetation shook, they were likely medium-sized wolves.

"Don't worry. They're just a few wild dogs. If there's danger, the old fossil will warn us. Dead people don't need sleep."

"Aowu~"

"What is she saying?" Kas tilted his head toward Ancestor. He could understand some of Miss Aowu's simpler expressions, but more complicated and abstract statements required thought.

"Maybe it's too dark here, and she's a little scared. Sigh... It was like that when I had just died. I felt my soul sink into a silent, dark abyss. I couldn't see anything, and I thought all those legends were fake..."

Ancestor sighed, then bounced into the air and danced his way over to the wary Miss Aowu, comforting her.

"That stupid brat doesn't know how to cherish you, but I truly hope you'll give the clan a few fine young lads.

"If you can't sleep, I'll tell you more about the clan's history, so that if he dies too early, the honor of Zagwell won't be forgotten."

As Kas breathed steadily, Ancestor continued rambling on about the clan's past, until even Miss Aowu could no longer bear the weight of that history and lay down beside the campfire to sleep.

Only then did he shake his head helplessly and lament how little young people nowadays respected tradition.

He looked into the woods. Several pairs of ghostly green eyes were staring at the campfire—eyes only beasts that had eaten human flesh possessed. Once they realized they had been noticed, they vanished as swiftly as before.

"Interesting..."