Troll’s Battle(2)
The tavern boss walked out, six bottles of home-made whiskey in his hand. He almost couldn’t keep up with the pace of the troll’s drinking.
“This batch is from my personal collection. It has a diff’rent taste, but be careful! The thing’s strong!” he politely reminded them. However, his tone made it seem like he was actually egging them on. It was obvious that these customers could drink up all his stock, earning him a great deal of money.
Medium Rare hummed an affirmative, grabbing the tray and placing it on the table. He took one of the bottles by the neck, pouring the liquid down his throat. A wood-tinted smell of fruit spread out as the alcohol flowed out, and the mellow taste was much better than anything they’d gotten before. This rich fluid was actually very strong; by the time the bottle’s contents were in his stomach, even the troll felt a comforting dizziness.
The door to the tavern was pulled open, and two groups of people entered one after the other. Looking at their attire they were bounty hunters, a common profession in the Bloodstained Lands. These sorts of people did anything to earn the money for drink, be it working as bodyguards or bandits.
The first group of four managed to find a good place, leaving the three behind discontent. There were only two tables left in the tavern, and both were next to Medium Rare. Nobody dared get close to the troll, as good-natured as he seemed.
The three bounty hunters muttered something, but it was already far too late and they seemingly didn’t want to find another place. They chose a table and sat down.
One of them was a little clumsy while taking his seat, sending his coat flying to brush against the back of Medium Rare’s head.
“Hey! You touched me!” Medium Rare stated roughly.
“Sorry, friend. This place is a little narrow,” the hunter answered apologetically, fear in his voice. His companions looked over nervously as well, nobody daring to do something that could cause a misunderstanding. Thankfully, Medium Rare was in no mood to bicker. The matter was concluded with a wave of his hand, and Olar just glanced at the hunters without bothering about them.
The troll was starting to get tipsy, putting him in a good mood. The continuous battles had left every bit of his body filled with strength; it wouldn’t be long before he could break through to level 13. His body had grown more nimble as well, a sign of an upcoming mutation. Although he hadn’t mutated at level 12, it wouldn’t be bad to do so at level 13. After all, only one or two out of every ten trolls could mutate in the first place.
However, he felt a slight numbness in the back of his head, as if a mosquito had stung him. He scratched at the place, cursing the savage creature. The Bloodstained Lands truly were strange, there were mosquitos here capable of piercing a troll’s thick skin.
The hunters at the two tables sat down, ordering alcohol and dishes as they began to brag noisily. They mentioned their escapades and adventures, the occasional chuckles making the place more lively.
Medium Rare and Olar were chatting happily as well, “You don’t know this, but Old Nasir made me and Tiramisu eat some sludge that was roots, grass, and leaves mixed together every day. It was just nasty! But Old Nasir said I’d slowly get smarter if I ate it every day. What’s the point of being smart? Strength is always better for strong enemies. Tiramisu’s smarter than me, by he never beat me before even with magic. Right, little Olar, did you know Old Nasir told me I could learn magic too? Ugh, but I hate staying in a single pose like a fool. Oh, of course Master is an exception! I just prefer going directly, using my hammer to smash the enemies’ heads!”
Olar snorted in response, “Didn’t you and your brother like cooking then? When did you get the chance to crush skulls? Also, I’m older than you. Stop calling me little Olar!”
Medium Rare scratched his head and wondered in confusion, “I liked cooking then? Did I say that? Eh, I could. Old Nasir’s food was horrible! And then… and then he died. Although his food was terrible, me and Tiramisu really liked him. We also like humans.”
“The humans that turned you into a slave!” Olar stated coldly. He had once been a slave to humans’ wills. His mixed blood ensured he would never have status amongst both humans and elves.
Medium Rare scratched his head, “But Master is human.”
Olar nodded this time, showing his approval. Richard was actually a fairly good master, treating his subordinates very well. His future was also promising. He’d be even better if those two fierce women weren’t by his side. Flowsand and Waterflower were exceptionally beautiful, but he rued the very thought of them now. In fact, he didn’t think he could even get it up for them.
At that moment, Medium Rare felt the back of his head itching once more. The mosquito’s venom seemed to be quite potent. Trolls had nature resistance to toxins and illness, and a mosquito able to hurt him was something he had never seen before. He reached over to scratch, but then he suddenly shouted!
There was a huge, swollen sore on the back of his head the size of a bowl! It was fine before he scratched it, but it burst apart the moment he scratched it and sprayed black blood everywhere. The pain was bone-piercing.
“What’s going on?” Olar was terrified and stunned, immediately sobering up. He quickly stood up, only to see that the seven bounty hunters that had come in late were drawing weapons from their robes. A few crossbows were already aimed at him!
The hunter closest to the troll had already drawn a dull, large dagger at some point in time, aiming it to pierce the troll’s back. The attack was fast and fierce, unexpectedly quiet. If not for Olar coincidentally looking that way and seeing it, he wouldn’t even have noticed someone was there.
An assassin. A powerful assassin! Olar’s hair practically stood on end, the chill of death already pervading his heart. The four crossbows fired simultaneously, the short, tail-less bolts whistling through the air. Three of them shone with a mysterious blue light, evidently laced with powerful toxins.
Given how close they were, Olar couldn’t dodge at all. Given his physique, even with chainmail on he could not block the mass of arrows coming his way!
Medium Rare roared furiously, the bellowing noise causing everyone to see black. All the bottles of wine in the tavern exploded, fragments flying everywhere. He didn’t seem to be affected by the dagger piercing his ribs, agilely getting up and placing his broad body as a barrier that protected Olar and Phaser!
Dull sounds rang out as the four poisoned bolts entered the troll’s back, embedded deep into his body. They only left four small holes on the surface of his back.