Hailen was an outcast, a born Seer, and perhaps that was the reason he had been abandoned as a child.

  According to the beliefs of most races in this world, the realm of the living belongs to the living, while the realm of the dead belongs to the dead, and neither world should interfere with the other.

  All souls of the deceased are bound to the River of Souls. Those who can see souls walk between two worlds, and merely existing in this world brings misfortune.

  If Hailen were to reveal his abilities, it's possible that people would blame his presence for the symptoms of "soul loss."

  After all, intelligent creatures who are struggling in life don't seem to need an excuse to persecute outcasts.

  But Hailen knew well that he was just a pitiful creature with the natural ability to see spirits. How could he have the power to influence the world or bring about such terrifying natural disasters?

  Perhaps the unfortunate souls tied to the pyre had learned of the doomed future from the undead and unknowingly shared it with others.

  He stood outside the tavern, pretending to be troubled by the heavy snow, but in truth, he was trying to communicate with the lingering soul of Gamir.

  "...Mother...," the soul whispered.

  But as usual, the result was frustrating.

  Hailen could still converse with elderly victims of soul loss, but they often didn't know how they had died, usually replying with, "I just fell asleep and never woke up."

  For the most unfortunate victims, those souls of babies who hadn't even felt the warmth of the sun or the rain, their spirits were often incomplete and lacked both knowledge and the ability to speak.

  At that moment, Gamir's infant soul could only point to the northern corner of the village, repeatedly murmuring "Mother."

  With a sigh, Hailen set off toward the northern path, where Aunt Marsha and Uncle Charles lived.

  Soon after he left, a cold wind blew, and the infant's remains dissipated into dust, leaving only the finger still pointing northward.

  When Hailen returned from Aunt Marsha's, his mood had worsened.

  Uncle Charles was the tribe's top hunter, a brave warrior who had once fought dragons. He had been a kind guardian when Hailen first arrived in the tribe.

  Now, however, he was just a drunken wreck lying beside the hearth, and Aunt Marsha was bedridden with a low fever, constantly muttering "Gamir's" name.

  "Aunt Marsha, according to our tribe's traditions, constantly speaking the name of the deceased can keep them tethered to this world, causing them to miss their chance to reincarnate. For Gamir's sake, you must take care of yourself and rest..."

  Whether these words were true or merely persuasive, Hailen wasn't sure if this grieving family would heed them.

  On his way back, he passed the tavern but saw no sign of the infant spirit—perhaps a good sign, or perhaps not.

  "...Death, huh."

  Even a Seer who can see spirits doesn't know what happens after death; everything is just speculation.

  All Hailen could do was try to be kind to the living.

  Since Uncle Charles would likely be unable to hunt in the near future, Hailen purchased the dried beast heads hanging beneath their house for a decent price, paying with his own reserve of food to give them a few extra days of rest.

  "A weary body shouldn't be out hunting; it would only end in disaster."

  Though Hailen didn't make much profit, the head of the frost troll, once ground into powder and mixed with certain secret ingredients, could be used to create a potent regeneration potion.

  Though Hailen didn't possess the ability to craft potions, his "relatives" did.

  He checked the calendar—by the afternoon of the second day after the Winter Solstice, they should be arriving soon.

  "The elves are here! They're at the village entrance, and this time, they've brought plenty of food!"

  The news came from outside the window, laced with undisguised joy, but Hailen's expression grew more complicated.

  If given the choice, this half-elf, half-dragon would rather avoid meeting his "kin," who only ever seemed to stare at the ceiling.

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  But there was no choice. These elves, who claimed to be descendants of the "Holy Tree" tribe, were the wealthiest and most skilled group in the northern lands—there was no one else who could compare.

  Especially in the past few centuries, the elves' advancements in potion-making, enchantment, and art had skyrocketed, with world-shocking discoveries emerging every few years, even causing the proud dragons to envy them.

  The dragons merely "envied and resented" rather than the usual "what's yours is mine," which in itself was a sign of how much the elves had improved in terms of power.

  It was said that the strongest among them had the power to rival the deities in the creation myths.

  Hailen, who could understand both ancient elvish and dragon speech, was quite interested in these two types of magic, but he had no means of accessing them.

  Asking the elves here? That was impossible.

  Seeing Hailen's pointed ears and the red scales on his cheeks, the pure-blood elves immediately scowled, instinctively reaching for their weapons.

  If they weren't on giant territory, Hailen was sure these elves would have personally eliminated him, this "shame of the tribe."

  Born as half-elf, half-dragon, Hailen kept silent. He had long been ostracized by the elves, and he wasn't about to try and please these long-eared beings, even though they were some of his biggest clients.

  Hailen had his own way of dealing with them.

  He opened his battered suitcase, spread an old leather blanket, marked the prices on the goods in front of him... if any elf wanted something, they would quickly walk over at the end of the market and buy it all with their heads lowered and faces grim.

  Hailen sat cross-legged, grinding the troll skull with his tools, while glancing at the market with his peripheral vision.

  The ground trembled slightly, and his blanket shook as the giant children, unable to control their energy, bounced around excitedly.

  This was their happiest day of the month—new toys and food were temptations they couldn't resist.

  Their parents, often shy and anxious, tried to bargain with the elves.

  What they were trying to buy was mostly necessities like spices and tools for daily life. Even the wealthier families in the village could only afford to share one new toy between several children.

  As the land's calamities spread, the giants' harvests had dwindled, and valuable trade goods had become even rarer.

  The only goods the giants could offer were materials from various magical beasts. These rare materials, imbued with magical essence, were the raw materials for potions and magical items, which could fetch high prices in the south.

  But in the northern polar regions, these materials weren't worth much—magic beasts were common and powerful, and many precious materials ended up on the roasting spit or in the hearth.

  The only group capable of crafting magical items locally were the elves.

  Fortunately, the elves were as fair as usual, offering reasonable prices without engaging in underhanded deals like trading a weapon for an entire village's worth of goods.

  Except for their usual condescending attitude, these northern elves could even trade goods or keep a ledger for the giants.

  This had earned them decent respect in the resource-poor northern lands.

  However, today, things seemed a bit different.

  "Can't buy on credit? Why? Wasn't it possible before?"

  The village chief, Angulong, asked anxiously in broken elvish.

  If credit wasn't allowed, not only would most of the giant families be unable to buy new winter clothes, but the children would be disappointed, and it might even lead to starvation in the village.

  "The big guy, it's impossible. We've run into trouble too. Our caravan was attacked by monsters, and many goods were lost. We're running low on supplies..."

  The elf leader described what had happened recently.

  It turned out that the northern elves were a branch of the southern elves, and their production capacity was limited.

  Many special goods had to be obtained from southern trade caravans, but just five days ago, a caravan traveling along the usual route had been attacked by strange monsters.

  Several people had died, and all the goods were lost, so now the elves were also short on supplies and couldn't offer an unlimited supply, let alone credit.

  "Elves lost their goods? Whoever took the goods must have been an intelligent being. That's strange."

  This was an extremely rare event. Among the four most powerful races in the continent—dragons, dwarves, giants, and elves—recent advances in magical technology had allowed the elves to rise above the others under the leadership of the "Great Sage."

  A whole caravan from the south wiped out? This was a big problem. Who would dare provoke the elves?

  The village chief was still stammering, trying to persuade them to allow credit... But the straightforward frost giant still didn't quite understand what the elves actually wanted!

  "Angulong, since the... elder Sokos' goods are lost, we'll help them find them, and then we can trade on credit, right?"

  Hailen stepped forward, smiling, and spoke plainly in the giant language, revealing what the elf leader actually wanted the giants to do.

  Upon hearing this, the elf leader Sokos first showed a hint of joy—finally, he didn't have to waste time talking to this big fool.

  Then, he realized that the speaker was a half-elf, and his face immediately turned cold.

  But Hailen didn't care.

  This was his "job" after all. During past "negotiations" with the elves, he had always spoken on behalf of the giants.

  "Heh, the ones who will make the elves suffer aren't weak magical beasts. 'Our race is noble, we can't waste ourselves in meaningless hunts. So let those idiots handle it,'... I guess that's what this elf is thinking."

  The elves' arrogance was plain to see. The northern elves didn't even speak to individuals who couldn't understand elvish.

  This had put the leaders of the few wise races in the north in a difficult position. For the sake of "diplomacy," they had to awkwardly learn to speak elvish.

  "Oh, alright. I'll let the tribe..."

  Hearing that there was a solution, the village chief was elated. The giants wouldn't go hungry or cold.

  "Wait, chief."

  Hailen quickly called for a stop. The straightforward giants were trustworthy friends, but sometimes being too blunt could lead to trouble.

  "According to northern customs, if we help them, they should help us too. At the very least, the debt from previous transactions should be forgiven, right?"

  At once, the elves in the room turned and shot Hailen murderous looks.

  But this also revealed that all these elves could understand the giant language! They just didn't want to speak it.

  "Fine, bring back our goods, and those monster corpses."

  Sokos grunted, throwing the words over his shoulder, and turned to leave.

  The matter had been settled. He didn't want to see this "filthy" half-elf any longer.

  Hailen smiled and said nothing.

  He knew that, for better or worse, his involvement in this matter had just begun.