Chapter 61: Ear-Piercing
When the Savior Squad (a nickname coined by Jima) spotted the trolls, the trolls could not see the four of them; they only saw a robust warhorse and two children hiding behind it.
The intelligence of the trolls was not developed, and the leading troll gleefully shouted, lifting a large club and charging down the slope.
The younger sister experienced a PTSD episode, immediately frightened and began to cry. Dagji, the younger brother, was also scared, but since his sister started crying first, he felt too embarrassed to do the same and tightly hugged his sister instead.
He said, “Don’t be afraid! That warrior is very strong.”
Eight trolls rushed down the slope one after another, charging towards the two children and the warhorse, Old Bai, who was leisurely chewing grass.
Unbeknownst to them, there were four extraordinary beings “hiding” between hunter and prey.
In the quiet concealed barrier, George looked at the charging trolls and said, “Conventional combat.”
This terminology indicated that everyone should conserve magical energy and not waste extraordinary resources on the opponent.
He twisted at his waist, positioned his chest backward, and rested the giant sword behind him, as if he were a tightly coiled spring. His gaze crossed over his shoulder, looking at the approaching trolls. This was a stance of rage, prepared for a powerful strike.
Was it really necessary to ambush eight trolls? Jima thought to himself, tightening his grip on the branch axe spear.
George said, “George will handle one and two.”
Eve Frostleaf: “Frostleaf takes seven and eight.”
“Jenna blinds all.”
“Jima will control one.”
Here, one and two referred to the first two enemies, and using short commands to allocate the team’s firepower was basic skill.
Jima knew that George didn’t really need to say so much. He and the Saint and the Elf coordinated quite well; in such situations, no words were necessary. He was just being considerate of the newcomer.
The leading troll’s big yellow face was already nearing the edge of the barrier, smiling wildly, drool dripping from his mouth. He was completely unaware that less than five meters away, a finely crafted giant sword was charging up, waiting for him.
As he was about to enter George’s attack range, Jima immediately snapped his fingers and said, “Remove the barrier.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, four fully armed extraordinary beings appeared right in front of the trolls.
The yellow-faced troll froze instinctively for a moment. George executed “Rage Strike.” He stepped forward, twisting his body just right, and at the “correct moment,” swung the two-handed giant sword forcefully, a blade of light slicing through the air, accompanied by sounds of bones breaking and flesh cutting.
The large club in the yellow-faced troll’s hand dropped, alongside its upper half. The eyes on its yellow face widened in shock, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Why were there suddenly four people? Why was its body falling down?
Saint Jenna’s hands burst out with a series of high-frequency flashes, the white light drowning the troll’s vision and interrupting its thoughts.
Only two eyes among the trolls were spared from this blinding flash because as George was cleaving the leading troll in half, two ghostly blue arrows, driven by brute force, accurately struck the eyes of trolls “seven” and “eight,” and since they were blinded, they naturally couldn’t see the light.
In just that brief moment, three trolls were killed, leaving the remaining five still bewildered, grasping their eyes.
George charged in, slashing left and right, breaking knees and decapitating, easily bringing down two trolls.
One surviving troll, with tear-soaked eyes, angrily grabbed the club with both hands and swung it at George’s helmet from the side.
Frightened, little Dagji yelled, “Be careful!”
Looking at George’s helmet, it was a blind spot. Little Dagji recalled that many human warriors had met their end with a single blow to the head.
George sidestepped, flowing smoothly as if collaborating with the troll. His strong sword body collided with the club, surprisingly deflecting the looming strike, and the sword came down, severing the troll’s two wrists, then chopping its knees before decapitating it.
This series of movements was fluid, but it also took time. The other troll witnessed the whole process, not even lifting its club. It stared ahead blankly, dreaming sweet dreams, green, sticky drool flowing from the corner of its mouth as it chewed endlessly.
Jima pulled it into the dream and gave it a sweet dream.
In less than fifteen seconds, the last surviving troll realized it had become isolated. Without a word, it turned and fled.
Eve Frostleaf took a breath to aim and shoot; the arrow shot into the fleeing troll’s back knee, causing it to stumble and fall to the ground. George rushed up, using a hoeing motion to sever the fleeing troll’s arm, then stepped on its throat, pressing it into the ground to silence its painful cries.
A troll nearly three meters tall struggled beneath George’s foot, while George, just over a meter tall, stood completely still.
George looked at Jima and asked, “Should we leave it alive?”
“Two heads are just illusions.”
George pressed down, and with a snap, the troll’s thick neck was broken, buried in the ground.
Eve Frostleaf disdainfully stepped on the troll’s face, pulling the arrows from its eyes. The arrows showed no damage aside from being stained with disgusting bodily fluids. Eve preferred shooting eyes; the arrows suffered little damage.
She summoned elemental water to wash the arrows, turned to leave, and tossed two fireballs onto the troll’s corpse, igniting it as thick black smoke rose, only to be dispersed by a gust of breeze she summoned.
Only one troll remained, lulled into dream by Jima, sitting beside the burning bodies of its comrades with a foolish smile, unaware of the sweet dream Jima had given it.
George said, “Report the situation.”
Eve Frostleaf replied, “I lost an arrow.”
“I just forced it into a dream.”
Jenna said, “I merely emitted dazzling light.”
George said, “Great coordination.”
Little Dagji’s eyes had not left George. He had imagined many times how a powerful warrior like George fought. But he never expected that battle could look so ordinary—no flashes or flames; it was all about muscle power and swordsmanship, yet he had killed five trolls in an instant.
“Do you have something to say?”
When little Dagji came back to his senses, he found himself standing in front of George, who lifted his faceplate and asked him.
Little Dagji felt nervous and couldn’t find his voice for a moment.
“Were you scared?” George asked, “I’m sorry. In order to lure the trolls, I used you as bait without considering what you would go through.”
Jima chimed in, “It’s not a big deal.”
“No, it’s not like that.” Little Dagji raised his eyes to look at George: “Are you… really human?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Can a human be that powerful?”
“Yes,” George replied. “This continent was once ruled by the green skins and beastmen, which humans drove away with swords and spears we wielded.”
“Please,” little Dagji stammered, “since you’re such a strong warrior…
Jima crossed his arms, estimating that little Dagji was asking George for help.
“… can you tell me how to become a warrior as powerful as you?”
Little Dagji spoke sincerely: “I want to be able to kill trolls like you; if I could kill just one, I would be very happy.”
George said, “Of course you can.”
“That’s great,” little Dagji said. “What’s your name, hero?”
“George.”
“It’s you!” little Dagji exclaimed with surprise. “You are the hero who killed the demon king with a single sword, as sung by poets?”
Jima covered his ears and muttered, “So ear-piercing.”
Why wasn’t he turned into mush by a troll’s club?
