Land of Mirriam

Years ago...

Ahas Village was a human settlement that was situated on the far eastern continent. Although it was a village on the far outer regions of the frontier, they still had a pub a place to party and go drunk to the pleasures of alcohol. Explorers who passed through and adventurers who ventured into the dungeons were their main customers, but it happened rarely.

However, for the last few weeks, there had been a visitor—an old drifter passing through. He claimed to have come from the central region.

Old and battered was the description, and anyone who saw him would likely agree. The bottles in front of him and the savory smell emanating from his breath indicated how much he had already imbibed.

Despite this, he appeared to be in good shape. His hair, a mixture of gray and brown, was spiky, suggesting infrequent baths.

His sword still hung from his waist, and there was a smaller blade on his back.

Last night, the old man scored himself a good bounty; he had dispatched a group of goblins. Though it appeared to be merely a group to him, it was, in fact, a colony of the creatures. He had even been imbibing while carrying out the deed. After trading the goblin ears for coin, he promptly embarked on a drinking spree.

The old man remained slouched at his table, passed out. The owner approached him to rouse him, giving him a shake.

“Old man, it's already morning. Time to go,” the owner urged as he began clearing away the empty bottles.

“Got it... Well, I'm off... Thanks for the hospitality,” the old man mumbled as he sluggishly rose from his seat and exited the bar. He stretched his legs and back, eliciting a few cracks in the process.

The owner's son trailed behind with a bucket to collect the bottles. “He drank the night away... Was he a skilled swordsman?” the owner's son asked naively. Since visitors to the village were treated like celebrities or noteworthy events, the old man had been bombarded with questions by the villagers the previous night, and, for some reason, he had been amiable enough to respond.

“Shut up... He might be old, but he's the real deal... Remember that news about a goblin raid threatening the village? He single-handedly put an end to it... Even the village founder knows him.”

“If you say so.”

As the conversations between the owner and his son faded, the old man, who had paused for a moment, began to reminisce about his past glories. He still possessed that small metal tumbler... He removed the lid and took a whiff. Then, he sealed it once more and concealed it.

<--->

“It's still early... Hmm, time for bed,” the old man decided instantly. He had managed to build a small hut in the mountains; he relished staying close to nature and felt out of place sleeping in inns or similar accommodations.

As he strolled through the village, he exchanged greetings with the locals, some of whom had been his drinking companions the night before. Passing the well, he noticed the village doctor’s apprentices drying clothes, evidence of the previous night's cold weather and his own alcohol-induced haze.

The village elder's house was still illuminated as he passed by; she served as the representative of the adventurer’s guild, where he had accepted the mission of Goblin Subjugation.

Exiting through the village entrance, he exchanged greetings with the warriors on guard and savored the morning breeze as he made his way toward the base of the mountain.

Having spent a considerable amount of time in the area, he only descended to the village for a drink or when summoned by the old lady.

In contrast to the central region, there was little demand for an old adventurer like him. Perhaps his friend up north would welcome him; that place might fulfill his desires.

The Northeast Explorers also seemed promising, but his waning confidence in his magic abilities and the peculiar, thrifty nature of the explorers gave him pause.

Suddenly, he caught a scent and observed a figure heading northeast, towards the explorer's guild. He had collaborated with them in the past and knew them to be diligent workers. He smiled to himself. “No, I couldn't be an explorer... that's asking too much,” he muttered. Resolved, he continued his walk into the mountain.

<--->

The mountain air was cold. After a few strides and jumps, he found himself nearing his hidden hut. Yet, even from a distance, he sensed a change. With a hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword, he pressed onward. As he drew closer, he noticed the door of his hut slightly opened and heard faint noises emanating from within.

“Thud..!!”

The noise ceased abruptly. Though he detected no immediate danger, he remained cautious as he approached. With wary steps, he entered his hut. Inside, he found a wolf—a creature of remarkable size, the stuff of legends his friends had spoken of. The wolf held a pouch in its mouth, placing it slowly on the ground.

“What the…?” The wolf's features were obscured by the darkness of the night, but he discerned some braided fur on its head.

The old man was taken aback. The northerners referred to this wolf as the mother wolf. It approached him closely, almost brushing against his feet. “This is very strange.” Such an encounter had never happened to him before. Suddenly, a sound emanated from the pouch on the ground. In an instant, the old man had an idea—it was a familiar sound. “Come on, what do you want me to do? I can't feed a baby! I'm a man!”

The wolf started to lay down near the child, and the child, upon feeling the warmth, began to hungrily suckle on the wolf's breast. “Whoa!!! Okay! Okay! But what should I do?” The wolf started gesturing, licking its teeth. “You mean food?” The wolf nodded as if it understood.

“I see…” He realized he would have to feed the wolf, and in turn, the wolf would feed the baby. His face twisted in discomfort. He had an idea of what he was about to endure… He was still bewildered by the situation. Though he had cared for children before, mostly training them to fight…

He resigned himself to his fate. After all, he had nothing to lose, what could be worse?

“Well, I would have to call him something,” the old man said, kneeling on the ground to check the baby. It was sucking hard, indicating hunger. The wolf looked at the old man as if trying to convey something.

“I’m not enjoying this, dog! Don’t look at me like that!” The she-wolf clearly took offense and bared its teeth. “The morning sigh… and with an eye for a monster… Simon then.” He christened the name of the boy.

<--->

Years passed again.

Somewhere south of the eastern frontier. A cavern on the western side of the coast. The waves that crashed muted the screams and shouts of the old man and the boy who was sparring hard.

“Smack!!!” The boy received a good attack, he had to use his feet to stop it, the old man’s sword was really hard to parry, the old man went out of stance and the boy immediately noticed it “Was I really fed by a wolf’s milk?” the boy asked, he had a chance to extend the brief pause and he took it by asking a question.

“Yeah, you sure were. I was really surprised. This might be why you are abnormally strong,” the old man answered, as they practiced with wooden sticks. A normal kid his age should have fallen down from the old man’s attack. Simon was built differently.

“I don’t think so, you are still much stronger than me, old man. I can’t beat you,” the boy remarked.

The old man smiled. The boy was already 10 years old and he was already giving him a very hard time.

“Experience teaches something you don’t understand right now… remember-,” the old man chuckled a little.

“Think first from the beginning of your movement and into its end, then move without hesitation… I know…” the boy recited the teachings he now learned and understood.

He could have taught him more, but the boy had an uncontrollable naivety… all he could do was to instill those words so that the boy would always believe in himself and his instincts.

The old man returned but stumbled a bit from his stance; the boy when he first saw him, the boy when he first landed an attack on him, and the boy in front of him now. He was not ready for a child, but the past years… were probably the best time of his life… that now was almost over… he could tell.

“By the way, where is that she-wolf now?”

“I don’t know. She suddenly disappeared when you had already started eating solid foods… she might have gone back into the mountains or back to her pack… I don’t know. One thing is for sure, you were a glutton even back then,” the old man did his best to answer. Simon and the Old Man left the hut after Simon was already a bit trained and knew the basics.

“I see… I’ll attack now,” Simon started to focus.

They began swinging at each other again.

“That’s right! There is no right form or right moves for any moves, all you can do is intercept and interpret!!! Let’s go faster!!!” the old man started doing low swings that were aimed at the kid’s overall openings, which were usually his knees or stomach. The old man would occasionally throw some jabs and kicks.

“Ouch!!! Hey! No cheating and stop kicking me in the stomach!!” the boy protested while rubbing his stomach.

The old man smiled. “Your enemies would do everything and anything when it's a life or death situation!!! Come on, boy, move it!”

But the boy slumped down as he rubbed his stomach. “I’m hungry,” Simon said.

“We will eat afterward. You have to finish training first… you sleep like a log after eating anyway,” the old man said as he launched an attack without any mercy.

The boy dodged the attack by rolling and started to counterattack to create spaces between them. The cave was cold and dark, Simon was still covered in bruises, but the shouts of the two livened up the cave.

<--->

Years passed once again.

“I’m going back, old man… I want to know where I came from. Just rest now… And your sword is too light! I can’t swing it properly!”

The boy, now 14 years old, spoke to the rocks marking the old man’s grave. “I don’t even know your name… I don’t know what to write on your tombstone…”

He stood up, packed a sword and a few clothes into his backpack, and walked away from the tombstone. Near the house where they had stayed, he found a rack filled with dried food, and he took some with him.

He was on an island called Whirlpool Islands, east of the central continent. They had traveled for a long time, moving to different villages and towns… The old man said that their destination was the center of the continent, but after he lost his feet, he wanted to go to this island. He said that this was where he was born.

No one lived on the island, though there were ruins of a destroyed village there. The boy knew nothing about the old man's past.

<--->

For the last years of the old man, they lived in one of the abandoned houses, which Simon transformed into a respectable hut.

As the old man’s blindness progressed and he became bedridden, they spent their nights engaged in deep conversation. This continued until his passing. Simon chose to remain on the island afterward, feeling a need to gather his thoughts. Simon was just 11 years old when the old man officially died.

Although the village where the old man found him, Ahas Village on the eastern frontier, had been mentioned to him only a few times, Simon's memories were too vague to recall. As he pushed the same boat they had used years ago, he heard a clatter and discovered the tumbler the old man had been searching for.

It seemed the old man had left it on the boat years ago. Smiling, Simon recalled the days spent searching for it at the old man's insistence. Memories flooded back, bringing a rare tear drop to his eyes. He stopped the boat, hurried back to the old man's tomb, and buried the tumbler a little deeper into the ground. He breathed in and out for a few times. Now, he felt ready to move forward.