In midair, a white figure flapped its wings, stirring a howling cold wind and swiftly returning to its territory.
Garon aimed for an unoccupied area on the ground and released his dragon claws.
With a loud thud, the large chunk of ice he had been clutching fell to the ground, creating a depression. The noise attracted the attention of many Northern Ice Spirits, but upon seeing their lord return, they casually went back to their tasks.
The ogre's body was vividly visible inside the ice, his face frozen in an expression of terror.
Garon folded his wings and landed below, inspecting the ice block in front of him.
He hadn't killed the ogre but had simply frozen him, because Garon had shown restraint, and the ogre was still alive.
The reason for this wasn't a sudden fondness for ogres but a realization that struck him as he unleashed his breath; ogres are social creatures that seldom wander alone.
The presence of one ogre indicated a nearby tribe.
"Ogre tribes on the Far North Ice Plains really don't let dragons rest easy."
Garon didn't relish the idea of waking from hibernation to find his territory overrun by ogres and himself surrounded and possibly being cooked in a pot.
Looking at the frozen ogre, he slightly thawed the magical ice, pondering a bit before allowing it to melt.
With a thud, the ogre collapsed on the ground, still showing signs of frostbite, but his robust physique had him blinking awake within minutes, dazedly surveying his surroundings.
Upon seeing Garon's dragon form, the ogre seemed startled.
He quickly tossed aside his large club and prostrated before Garon, babbling in the Giant language that Garon didn't understand.
Garon propped his chin on his claw, scrutinizing the kneeling ogre, feeling a bit puzzled.
"This ogre doesn't seem quite so foolish."
Dragons' lore noted ogres as rash, dim-witted, and physically robust, capable of adapting to most climates.
On the continent of Noa, where Garon resided, ogre footprints were nearly everywhere—forests, marshes, deserts, tundras—a classic race indeed.
After a moment's thought, Garon's wings unfurled, casting a shadow over the ogre's trembling form.
As the ogre shook, Garon spoke in the common tongue of Noa, "Do you speak the common language?"
The ogre, hearing Garon's voice, looked up blankly.
Seeing his reaction, Garon frowned internally, realizing the ogre likely only knew Giant.
Since they couldn't communicate and it was hard to extract information about the ogre tribe, keeping him was of little use. Garon considered feeding him to the terror-lizards and white hunting dogs instead.
The ogre smelled strongly and was quite hideous; Garon wasn't inclined to eat him.
With that thought, a dangerous look crept into Garon's eyes.
The ogre, perceptive enough to sense Garon's intentions, stiffened, then started babbling frantically.
Hearing certain words repeated, Garon's eyes flickered.
"True dragon? Spare life?"
Somehow, despite this being his first encounter with the Giant language and having no prior knowledge of it, after listening to the ogre for a while, Garon was sure he had grasped the meanings of some words.
He recalled the dragon lore about time dragons.
Any knowledge, skills, and languages were considered inherent skills of time dragons.
"I seem to have an extraordinary talent for languages," Garon realized, gradually easing his intent to kill.
Why he only realized this now was because the knowledge from dragon lore wasn't all crammed into his brain at once but was like a treasure hidden deep within, surfacing naturally when triggered by specific conditions—a sort of contextual knowledge transfer.
Meanwhile, sensing the lethal threat receding, the ogre breathed a sigh of relief.
But no sooner had he stopped pleading than Garon's sharp platinum eyes fixed on him again, frightening him into submission once more.
After pondering for a moment, Garon halted the ogre's pleas, using gestures and the few words of Giant he had just learned to communicate.
Although communication was challenging without a common language, body language and gestures helped convey basic meanings, especially since Garon had picked up some Giant vocabulary.
Initially difficult, the learning process became simpler once the ogre realized Garon was trying to learn his language.
Garon pointed to the ground, and the ogre hesitated before responding in Giant, "Barak han."
"Ground."
Then he looked up at the sky, and the ogre understood, saying, "Lakas."
"Sky."
As time passed, Garon, curious as a child with a new toy, eagerly learned this new language.
Word by word, he understood and extended his knowledge to interconnected sentences, grasping
more grammar and syntax. The more he learned, the faster he progressed.
Within just three days, Garon could conduct simple conversations in Giant. Though his speech was still somewhat rough, it was sufficient for everyday communication.
Throughout the learning process, he never grew impatient, feeling a surge of pleasure and excitement from acquiring new knowledge.
That pleasure was even surprising to Garon.
On another note, he marveled at his linguistic talent, having grasped the basics of a language merely from the ogre's spoken words.
"If only I had this ability in my previous life, or even just this joy in learning new things."
Now, he realized, he had mastered five languages: Draconic, the common tongue of Noa, Giant, Chinese, and English.
Chinese needed no explanation, and English, where he already had some foundation, was now mastered more deeply with the innate talent of a time dragon.
With these thoughts, Garon shook his head, pushing the past from his mind.
After composing himself, Garon looked at the weary, frail-looking ogre and asked in Giant, "Ugga, how many are in your Smashbone tribe?"
As he spoke, he gestured for the Northern Ice Spirits to bring over some food meant for the terror-lizards and white hunting dogs.
A bowl of wriggling, plump Ice Plain worms.
These worms lived under the snow, surviving on it, but their meat was quite fatty. Under Garon's guidance, the Northern Ice Spirits had begun to farm them as a regular food source for their pets.
As long as one didn't mind their plump, juicy bodies, they were quite delicious to eat.
Garon occasionally treated them as a snack. They were cool and delicious with a refreshing hint of snow water essence.
In midair, a white figure flapped its wings, stirring a howling cold wind and swiftly returning to its territory.
Garon aimed for an unoccupied area on the ground and released his dragon claws.
With a loud thud, the large chunk of ice he had been clutching fell to the ground, creating a depression. The noise attracted the attention of many Northern Ice Spirits, but upon seeing their lord return, they casually went back to their tasks.
The ogre's body was vividly visible inside the ice, his face frozen in an expression of terror.
Garon folded his wings and landed below, inspecting the ice block in front of him.
He hadn't killed the ogre but had simply frozen him, because Garon had shown restraint, and the ogre was still alive.
The reason for this wasn't a sudden fondness for ogres but a realization that struck him as he unleashed his breath; ogres are social creatures that seldom wander alone.
The presence of one ogre indicated a nearby tribe.
"Ogre tribes on the Far North Ice Plains really don't let dragons rest easy."
Garon didn't relish the idea of waking from hibernation to find his territory overrun by ogres and himself surrounded and possibly being cooked in a pot.
Looking at the frozen ogre, he slightly thawed the magical ice, pondering a bit before allowing it to melt.
With a thud, the ogre collapsed on the ground, still showing signs of frostbite, but his robust physique had him blinking awake within minutes, dazedly surveying his surroundings.
Upon seeing Garon's dragon form, the ogre seemed startled.
He quickly tossed aside his large club and prostrated before Garon, babbling in the Giant language that Garon didn't understand.
Garon propped his chin on his claw, scrutinizing the kneeling ogre, feeling a bit puzzled.
"This ogre doesn't seem quite so foolish."
Dragons' lore noted ogres as rash, dim-witted, and physically robust, capable of adapting to most climates.
On the continent of Noa, where Garon resided, ogre footprints were nearly everywhere—forests, marshes, deserts, tundras—a classic race indeed.
After a moment's thought, Garon's wings unfurled, casting a shadow over the ogre's trembling form.
As the ogre shook, Garon spoke in the common tongue of Noa, "Do you speak the common language?"
The ogre, hearing Garon's voice, looked up blankly.
Seeing his reaction, Garon frowned internally, realizing the ogre likely only knew Giant.
Since they couldn't communicate and it was hard to extract information about the ogre tribe, keeping him was of little use. Garon considered feeding him to the terror-lizards and white hunting dogs instead.
The ogre smelled strongly and was quite hideous; Garon wasn't inclined to eat him.
With that thought, a dangerous look crept into Garon's eyes.
The ogre, perceptive enough to sense Garon's intentions, stiffened, then started babbling frantically.
Hearing certain words repeated, Garon's eyes flickered.
"True dragon? Spare life?"
Somehow, despite this being his first encounter with the Giant language and having no prior knowledge of it, after listening to the ogre for a while, Garon was sure he had grasped the meanings of some words.
He recalled the dragon lore about time dragons.
Any knowledge, skills, and languages were considered inherent skills of time dragons.
"I seem to have an extraordinary talent for languages," Garon realized, gradually easing his intent to kill.
Why he only realized this now was because the knowledge from dragon lore wasn't all crammed into his brain at once but was like a treasure hidden deep within, surfacing naturally when triggered by specific conditions—a sort of contextual knowledge transfer.
Meanwhile, sensing the lethal threat receding, the ogre breathed a sigh of relief.
But no sooner had he stopped pleading than Garon's sharp platinum eyes fixed on him again, frightening him into submission once more.
After pondering for a moment, Garon halted the ogre's pleas, using gestures and the few words of Giant he had just learned to communicate.
Although communication was challenging without a common language, body language and gestures helped convey basic meanings, especially since Garon had picked up some Giant vocabulary.
Initially difficult, the learning process became simpler once the ogre realized Garon was trying to learn his language.
Garon pointed to the ground, and the ogre hesitated before responding in Giant, "Barak han."
"Ground."
Then he looked up at the sky, and the ogre understood, saying, "Lakas."
"Sky."
As time passed, Garon, curious as a child with a new toy, eagerly learned this new language.
Word by word, he understood and extended his knowledge to interconnected sentences, grasping
more grammar and syntax. The more he learned, the faster he progressed.
Within just three days, Garon could conduct simple conversations in Giant. Though his speech was still somewhat rough, it was sufficient for everyday communication.
Throughout the learning process, he never grew impatient, feeling a surge of pleasure and excitement from acquiring new knowledge.
That pleasure was even surprising to Garon.
On another note, he marveled at his linguistic talent, having grasped the basics of a language merely from the ogre's spoken words.
"If only I had this ability in my previous life, or even just this joy in learning new things."
Now, he realized, he had mastered five languages: Draconic, the common tongue of Noa, Giant, Chinese, and English.
Chinese needed no explanation, and English, where he already had some foundation, was now mastered more deeply with the innate talent of a time dragon.
With these thoughts, Garon shook his head, pushing the past from his mind.
After composing himself, Garon looked at the weary, frail-looking ogre and asked in Giant, "Ugga, how many are in your Smashbone tribe?"
As he spoke, he gestured for the Northern Ice Spirits to bring over some food meant for the terror-lizards and white hunting dogs.
A bowl of wriggling, plump Ice Plain worms.
These worms lived under the snow, surviving on it, but their meat was quite fatty. Under Garon's guidance, the Northern Ice Spirits had begun to farm them as a regular food source for their pets.
As long as one didn't mind their plump, juicy bodies, they were quite delicious to eat.
Garon occasionally treated them as a snack. They were cool and delicious with a refreshing hint of snow water essence.
