Boarfolk

Sol crouched on the branch of an elm tree, his slender tail wrapped tightly around it as his pale golden eyes gazed toward the gentle slope below the mountain.

Half the setting sun hung in the distant sky like an orange-red fried egg, dyeing the surrounding clouds in brilliant colors.

In the fading light, more than a dozen boar-like creatures soaked in the mud at the edge of a swamp, rolling about contentedly.

They were Boarfolk, creatures five to six feet tall and weighing two hundred to three hundred and fifty pounds. Their fat bodies walked upright like humans, but atop their necks sat pigs' heads with protruding tusks.

A thick layer of brownish-black skin covered their bodies, densely coated in bristles, with a thick layer of fat beneath.

As a branch of the orcs, these creatures were not very intelligent and could scarcely manage any spellcasting class. Even so, their natural strength and the excellent resistance to blows afforded by their thick skin and fat gave them a challenge rating of one-half.

With some training, a full suit of armor, and weapons, they could become capable heavily armored warriors, and their challenge rating would rise to around two or three.

After watching for a while, Sol glanced at his information beneath the enormous wheel in his mind. The age section had changed from "wyrmling" to "strong wyrmling," and his challenge rating had risen from 4 to 4+.

Ordinary Boarfolk were clearly beneath his notice. What he was really watching were a few exceptionally large members of the small group.

Their bristles were much coarser and stiffer than those of ordinary Boarfolk, their limbs were well-muscled, and a hint of red showed through their brownish-black skin.

They were Boarfolk Berserkers.

Some orcs were born with a berserk gene in their bloodline, allowing them to enter a berserk state without any training.

While berserk, their strength, speed, and stamina all increased considerably, and they felt neither pain nor fatigue. The state lasted until the battle ended or their bodies completely broke down.

Armed with suitable heavy weapons, these berserkers could indeed pose some threat to him.

But whether a small group of Boarfolk living in the wilderness even knew what metal was remained a question.

Sol thought this might be an opportunity. As established earlier, he obtained Mental Power Essence from the strong emotions other intelligent beings felt toward him.

If he could subjugate these Boarfolk, he would have more sources of Mental Power Essence.

After all, although their intelligence was low, at only seven points, far below the average of ten for normal humans, surely... perhaps... they still counted as an intelligent race?

His mind made up, Sol immediately decided to follow the tradition of an evil dragon and take these Boarfolk as his dependents.

If he failed to subjugate them, he would kill them all. After all, how could he let others sleep soundly beside his bed?

In the last rays of the setting sun, he spread his broad wings and glided all the way back to the cave he had dug at the mountaintop.

Xisitana and Kalpu had only just woken up. Their sleepy eyes were half-closed, and they were mumbling incoherently.

Almost all true dragons needed to spend a great deal of time sleeping as wyrmlings. This not only sped up their physical development but also reduced their energy consumption and the number of times they had to hunt, allowing them to avoid unnecessary danger.

Sol had no patience to wait for the two wyrmlings to wake up on their own. He raised a claw and smacked them hard on the head.

The sharp pain made Xisitana and Kalpu's eyes fly open. They sprang up from the ground and glared at Sol.

"You two stupid, lazy things! I'm your elder brother, and I'm already awake. How dare you still be sleeping!

"There's a small group of Boarfolk living at the foot of the mountain. You're coming with me to conquer them in a little while!"

At this, Xisitana and Kalpu instantly forgot their anger at being hit.

The instincts surging in their blood filled them with enthusiasm for any act of conquest.

"Roar! A Boarfolk tribe? They'll be the Flame Queen's first dependents!"

"Will there be treasure? I have to get first pick!"

As usual, Sol looked at his stupid younger brother and sister with contempt. His body, a size larger than theirs, cast a broad shadow as he looked them in the eyes and said:

"Whether it's dependents or treasure, it's all mine! Mine! Understand?

"You two weak idiots, I could crush you with one claw. You're not qualified to have any of it!"

Xisitana and Kalpu naturally disagreed, but when Sol's iron fists came crashing down, they realized they were in no position to argue.

After giving his disappointing younger brother and sister a brief lesson, Sol focused his attention on the enormous wheel in his mind and lightly tapped the small square representing Coal, just in case.

One point of Mental Power Essence was consumed, and the air rippled like water. A lump of pitch-black coal appeared out of nowhere once again.

Just as he had when dealing with the centaurs, he picked up the Coal from the ground and began gnawing on it.

Fine coal dust fell into his belly and was digested by his furnace-hot stomach. Before long, Sol felt as though he had drunk a great deal of strong liquor, and his whole body began to heat up.

He tossed the remaining piece, a little less than half, to Xisitana and Kalpu. Without needing to be told, the two wyrmlings began eating it.

Once their bodies had finished charging up, the three wyrmlings flapped their wings and took to the air. Like a small patch of orange-red sunset clouds, they flew toward the gentle slope where the Boarfolk lived.

Dusk was the most pleasant time of day for the Boarfolk.

They piled together the fruits and tubers they had gathered in the wild during the day, the crustaceans and worms they had dug up from the riverbank mudflats, and the prey they had caught, making it all into their only meal of the day.

Following the law of the strong preying on the weak, the largest and strongest male Boarfolk in the group had the right to eat first.

Next came the young females and the underage young, with the elderly Boarfolk eating last.

Grok Big Tusk curled up in a corner, silently watching his people eat their fill and hoping only that they would leave him a few scraps.

He was already over forty, a considerable age for a Boarfolk.

The harsh conditions of the wilderness and the lingering injuries from battles in his youth made him look much older than he actually was.

His once steel-needle-like bristles had turned gray and white, and his tough skin had lost its elasticity. As his fat dwindled, it hung loosely around his body like a ragged leather sack.

He feared he would not survive the winter.

His steadily declining physical condition meant he could no longer find enough food when he went out. As a result, the looks his kind gave him had changed from disdain to disgust.

In the wilderness, every resource was precious. No one would waste resources on a useless creature who could no longer contribute to the group. When necessary, they would even "recycle" the useless.

Once the snow falls and there's even less food around, perhaps I'll die. Maybe I won't even last that long.

Come to think of it, as far as Grok could remember, he was already the longest-lived Boarfolk.

Yet he still did not want to die. He did not want to die at all. As long as there was even a sliver of hope of living on, he would not give up, no matter what.

But cruel reality, the harsh environment, and his indifferent companions left him unable to see any chance of survival. All he could do was pray over and over in his heart:

Great Father of Tusks and Mother of Iron Bristles! I beg you to show mercy and let me live on!

As though they had heard his devout plea, three orange-red sunset clouds had appeared in the darkening sky at some unknown point and were hurtling toward them.