Chapter Forty-Six: The Warrior’s Job Change Quest (Part One)

I have always believed that my life is a tapestry woven from a series of coincidences. These coincidences seem to be deftly arranged by a mysterious hand, guiding me at just the right moments, connecting my existence into a smooth and complete thread. Sometimes, I even find myself entertaining the odd notion that my life is nothing more than a sequence of events already scripted, unfolding slowly along a predetermined path toward its end.

When such coincidences occur one after another, leading us onto the tracks of life at every crossroad, they acquire a new name—destiny.

Yes, perhaps every subtle change in our lives yields to the force of destiny. It is so insubstantial that most of the time you hardly notice its presence; yet it is unyielding, and whether you accept or resist, you must ultimately follow its guidance to fulfill your life.

When I reached level thirty-five, I happened to arrive at Reed City. This was a thriving commercial hub in the northwest of the Kingdom of Delanmeya, the second largest port along the middle reaches of the Dawn River, known for its convenient transport and abundant resources.

You could easily call this a coincidence—I happened to arrive at this city at that moment. Had I leveled up a bit faster or slower, perhaps I would have been in some unknown corner instead of walking the grand streets of this magnificent city.

However, when I delivered the consignment to Lieutenant Colonel Campbell, the city’s garrison officer, completing the last task entrusted to me, and discovered that the robust, fully armored woman standing beside him was none other than the trainer of the Battle Warrior class, I could not help but attribute this coincidence to the workings of fate.

I have said before that long before reaching level thirty-five, I had set my sights on becoming a Battle Warrior.

In Valen Fortress, I searched every nook and cranny but never found a Battle Warrior trainer. Only when I reached the outskirts of Reed City, having slain a mud monster and successfully leveled up, did I fear I might never find the guide who would help me become a Battle Warrior. Yet she appeared at just the right moment, as if the almighty god had heard my wish and dispatched her to my side.

“Hey, kid, don’t think you’re tough yet. To me, you’re as flimsy as a broken broom. I could snap your neck with my armpit. Get lost—unless you want to take your pursuit of strength further!” As I approached, the muscular Battle Warrior trainer regarded me with contempt and spoke gruffly.

I must admit, as a man, having my strength questioned by a woman—and perhaps needing to learn combat skills from her in the future—left me feeling somewhat humiliated, but I wisely avoided any conflict.

On one hand, Lieutenant Colonel Campbell and his attendants stood nearby, and I doubted he would allow me to disrupt city order in his presence merely because I brought him a friend’s gift; on the other hand, my combat instincts made me wary of this woman before me. Though she was a woman—and not an unattractive one at that—when facing her, I sensed a dangerous aura emanating from her, the kind possessed only by warriors far beyond my own abilities.

I stole a glance at this female Battle Warrior trainer. Her shoulders were broad and solid, and though her arms were not overly thick, the firm and elastic muscles traced clear, powerful lines, suggesting she could unleash deadly force at any moment.

Her chest muscles were so pronounced that her armor could not fully contain them, leaving much of her rounded chest exposed... Oh, of course, that was not all muscle, and realizing this, I quickly averted my gaze—though, I confess, I couldn’t help but steal a couple of glances at that bronze, full bosom before doing so.

“I wish to become a Battle Warrior, ma’am,” I answered earnestly.

“You must first prove your courage and resolve...” She looked at me with a challenging gaze.

“There is a village to the north called Alber. A band of trolls has slaughtered its residents and taken it as their camp. Sooner or later, we will make them pay in blood, but before that, Jeffritz Kidd, you must infiltrate their camp, bring back their ugly tribal banner, and use your actions to shatter their morale. The moment you hand that banner to me will be the moment you become a Battle Warrior!”

The trolls were once an aboriginal race on the continent of Falvey. I had heard many legends about their lineage. Some say that in distant, unknown history, trolls and elves shared a common ancestor, their similarly pointed, upright ears standing as proof. Others claim trolls are closely related to half-orcs, as both possess blue-green skin and sport two heavy tusks at their lips.

Now, however, these towering, hunched, ugly, and brutal creatures have become unwelcome guests throughout Falvey. They are synonymous with corruption, betrayal, savagery, and opportunism, all because of the war two hundred years ago.

During that war, the trolls’ leader, the cunning and evil sorcerer known as Mlak of the Hand of the Void, led his kin to serve the Lord of the Apocalypse, becoming his ruthless henchmen as he ravaged the continent.

When Detotan the Guardian of the Firmament summoned the magic of the Devouring Gate, most trolls, along with their master, vanished with the swallowed lands. Yet some scattered troll tribes remain across Falvey.

They are now the enemies of all, the continent’s most ruthless and despicable bandits and robbers, murdering travelers, pillaging villages, sparing neither women nor children.

I was glad to have the opportunity to teach these brigands a lesson and gladly accepted the task. Following the Battle Warrior trainer’s instructions, I left Reed City and headed north. Before long, the ruins of a village appeared before me.

This must once have been a tranquil mountain hamlet, a few rows of simple yet sturdy cottages nestled on the southern side of a hill, bathed in warm sunlight.

Fields of wheat surrounded the homes, a path winding through to an orchard on the nearby slope.

There was a modest granary and a small livestock pen, likely shared by the handful of residents.

Despite its humble simplicity, what touched me was the presence of a temple dedicated to the Supreme God Darraymos, perched on an elevated spot to the west of the village, beside rocky outcrops and backed by a cliff—a two-story stone house, with the first floor housing the sacred altar, and the second perhaps serving as quarters for the lone priest.

Standing there, it was easy to imagine the scene: on worship days, the village’s twenty-odd residents gathering in the small temple, familiar with one another as neighbors, friends, and perhaps kin.

Here, they would pray devoutly, listen to the priest’s teachings of divine wisdom, each face serene and kind.

What a warm, comforting scene that must have been. Yet now, the green-skinned giants had destroyed it all: many roofs were burnt away, walls collapsed, all doors and windows smashed, leaving the once cozy homes exposed to the elements.

The wheat fields had been reduced to scorched earth, the orchard nearly razed, with only a few skeletal trees remaining, their presence forlorn.

A large hole gaped in the granary wall; the livestock pen was strewn with picked-clean bones. Smoke still curled from various spots in the village, and blood-stained blades and arrows were embedded in ruined walls.

In this devastated mountain village, the marks of a brutal slaughter were everywhere.

Suppressing my fury, I hid behind the charred trunk of a dead tree beside the path, carefully observing the scene: the assailants belonged to a troll tribe known as the Filthy Axe. About thirty of these trolls were scattered throughout the village. Most wielded heavy single-handed axes, though a few shaman spellcasters in robes mingled among them.

They had placed their tribe’s red tusk banner in the village’s largest building—the temple hall of the Supreme God Darraymos—planting it in the center of the altar where the idol once stood. The idol itself had been toppled.

From my vantage point, I could see the idol’s broken head rolled against the wall, the face of Darraymos chipped, half a nose gone, staring into a mouse hole in the corner, its former mercy and majesty lost.

From my hiding spot to the temple was about fifty paces. Along that stretch, four troll sentry posts were stationed, each manned by two Filthy Axe Heads and a Filthy Axe Spiritcaller. Additionally, two pairs of trolls patrolled the village as mobile sentries.

They were level thirty-two and thirty-three combatants. One-on-one, I was confident I could handle them, but if they swarmed, I would surely be hacked to pieces.

I wisely remained still, observing their movements. Gradually, I discovered my opportunity: the fixed sentries were loosely arranged, not fully blocking the approach to the village. With careful use of rocks and trees for cover, I could safely infiltrate.

The two patrol pairs, after circling around the temple, would swing behind the houses, tracing the temple’s wall in a loop before heading off in opposite directions. Though brief, this window was enough for me to reach the temple if I timed it right and moved swiftly.

After repeated observation, I confirmed my plan and resolved to try. As I crept along the hillside, seeking to bypass the first troll post, my eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of a burly figure flashing on the far side of the village.