The orc warrior, tossing aside the earth-colored rag he had to wear over his purple robe, continued to look wherever he was looking last after what he heard. He couldn't focus his attention anywhere else, as if his whole life was in that tiny point where the gazes shooting out from his eyes intersected.
Even though right in front of him there was a massive green hand reaching out just for him, the most important thing in the world was the lines bordering that tiny point. His brain had shut down all other systems to refuse to understand; his only desire was to not grasp the meaning of the words reaching him by entering through his ear.
"I was guessing you would be surprised, but I wasn't expecting this much. My son, if we are going to continue talking, you need to say something to me too!"
Alyon, waving his hand that remained in the air up and down, destroyed the path leading to the imaginary point Bookworm focused on, and only then ensured his addressee noticed his presence again.
"Father, was this your first name? Who would dare to give you such a name?"
Bookworm, learning that his father, whom he met with his harsh and commanding attitude from the first moment he saw him, was called by an adjective he didn't dare to repeat, involuntarily got angry. The poisonous purple mist leaking from the sleeves of his purple robe was almost going to shake hands with Alyon in his stead.
"Hold on a minute, calm down! I will explain it all, but don't you need to do something first?"
Alyon, pointing at his massive hand that had been suspended alone in the air for a while, breathed a sigh of relief as a result of his son wising up this time and shaking hands. Still, Bookworm had forgotten to say his name; of course, his father wouldn't mind this because he might not have enough energy to experience this scene again.
"You probably thought I and the one now named Nafız were always this strong, this mighty, and this ruthless. Oh, if only I had the chance to show instead of tell; you passed out hearing my name, your heart would definitely stop then!"
The giant orc, settling in a bit more to enjoy the rock he leaned his back against, made another preamble to relax his son opposite him, but to no avail. This didn't seem possible until Bookworm, eagerly awaiting the answer to the question he asked, got what he wanted.
"When we were born in the tribe ruled by the orc named Bearstrangler and located in a corner of the continent, we didn't have a custom where every orc received their name by earning it. Orcs completing their first weeks were lined up and taken to the chief's tent, where they received their names in a ceremony attended by the chief's son and grandson!
It sounds so nice when put like this, doesn't it? Imagine; I am sitting in the middle, you on my left, your brother on my right, and Khan is testing the strength of the newborn orcs. According to the outcome, you give the department they will go to, and I give their names.
If you enacted a scene where no one is humiliated, forget it immediately; imagine that the one knocked down by the chief's grandson's slap becomes Logistics, the one knocked down by his punch becomes Hunter, the one knocked down by his kick becomes Warrior, and you announce this. And I, finally raising my bored head, give the first ridiculous name that comes to my mind to the newborn orc. That is exactly what happened."
Alyon, pausing his words, waited to gauge his son's reaction; Bookworm should have something to say on top of all this new information.
"Well, what do they do if there is someone who isn't knocked down by all three methods?"
Alyon, waiting curiously, first stopped, then burst into his laugh that would make the hearts of the Nameless Ten members scattered to the four corners of the cave skip a beat. They didn't call him Bookworm for nothing; it didn't take him long to find the weak point in the ritual that would surprise someone else.
"I guess such a thing hadn't happened before, and it was impossible for it to happen too. I know someone who fell, unable to find his balance, after breaking the chief's grandson's hand due to the size of his head, but the fate waiting for him was also very interesting!"
How could he not realize this person was his father? When it came to the part where things would get interesting, Bookworm was now focused only on the words that would come out from between his two lips.
"Looking at it, I wasn't at fault; the Chief's Grandson, getting angry because of the weak, scrawny orc before me who looked like he would die if you blew on him, had injured himself, but still the blame fell on both of us. Together with Nafız, or with the name given to her at that time, Trembly, we were sent to the Logistics Department and assigned the job of collecting shit.
Don't look at my face like that; yes, Nafız's first name was Trembly, and the name of the job we did for five days was collecting shit. We were comfortable, in fact, thinking about it now, those days might be the most enjoyable days I have lived throughout my life. During the day we did our job not caring about anyone, at night we fed as we wished from the mountain of bones accumulated behind the kitchen.
I was enjoying my good days until it was determined we would help the Chief's Grandson during the hunt. Our getting trapped in the cave of the creature that was the owner of the Great Mountain, our learning that the Chief's Grandson brought us and the others as bait, and then our entry into the Legacy Dungeon was entirely out of luck."
Alyon, quickly passing over the most adventurous moments of the story, obviously didn't want to give some details to his son. It was clear he did this thinking about the life safety of both himself and him, otherwise, it was certain they would incur Nafız's wrath.
"You already know closely the person your master inherited her identity from. Mora, who had a great effort in your development for two years, and Alyon, who was once her lover for a short time, left their legacies to us.
Alyon was the son of Braveheart, the Orc Chief at the time he died, and he carried the pain of the betrayal he suffered in his heart. Along with his abilities, Lineage Power, and warrior pride, he managed to transfer this to me too. My standards were very high for myself, my tribe, and my family; I thought of myself not as Nodder, but as the son of a chief ruling the Orc Steppes.
You already know the rest. The destruction coming on top of many successes actually slapped who I was in the face. No matter what, the Orc Lord we defeated had gained this title entirely on his own. He had betrayed his brother, sent his nephew to death, and handed over the lands he ruled to strangers to stay in power, but no matter what, he carried the responsibility, the burden of it all by his own will.
Whereas I was someone acting like someone I wasn't, trying to hide my fraudulence with various actions, fancy words. I tried to defeat someone who possessed power entirely his own, with a power that essentially didn't belong to me, and in the end, I was bitterly defeated and needed the mercy of another. All my arrogance, my glory, my fame came to an end. At the end of the day, I couldn't even take the revenge of the person who gave me the power to do all these with my own hands.
Here is the past of your father; these are the events that made the man who didn't like you realize he actually didn't like himself deep down."
When Alyon, stringing hundreds of words together in one breath, stopped, his eyes, which took up an important place on his massive face, were damp. Maybe they didn't have a father-son relationship like in human societies, but still, being able to tell all this to someone of his own blood was very difficult for him.
He had taken his turn, albeit with difficulty; after explaining himself more than one would in an introduction ceremony, now it was the turn of the other party in purple robes. Bookworm, aware of this, walked next to his father he had listened to standing up until then, stopped one step away, and sat cross-legged in front of him.