Chapter 46: The Warrior's Job Change Quest (Part Two)

That figure was clad in sturdy bronze armor, a short purple cape fluttering in the wind. Across his back, he bore a two-handed greatsword with a blade of burnished bronze, his steps firm and forceful. Like me, he was a warrior, yet he was shorter and stockier. Though his helmet concealed his face, it could not hide the golden beard, braided and long, that tumbled from beneath it—a telltale sign that this was a dwarf warrior.

Above his head glimmered his soul name: "Exaggerated Weeping." It was a mournful and plaintive name, strikingly at odds with his robust and boisterous appearance.

His unexpected arrival had disrupted my plans; I worried he might blunder into my affairs, yet curiosity gnawed at me—what had brought him here? So I remained hidden, equipping the "spyglass" I had crafted myself, and quietly observed his movements. To my surprise, the dwarf warrior acted with remarkable caution. He pressed himself close to the trees lining the path, his eyes never leaving the nearest troll sentry, as he crept forward inch by inch.

When he drew closest to the troll outpost, one of the "Filthy Axe-Heads" within turned in his direction. Believing his movements had alerted the sentry, he instantly withdrew his right foot, as nimbly as a cat, and spun behind the trunk of a nearby tree.

It was a false alarm. Moments later, the "Filthy Axe-Head" turned away again, and the dwarf released a long breath, edging out from behind the tree and slipping cautiously past the sentry post.

His success in passing the first sentry only made him more meticulous. This dwarf, "Exaggerated Weeping," advanced on the second outpost with practiced skill, and soon passed through using the same method.

It seemed he had made the same observations and drawn the same conclusions as I had; even his chosen route into the village ruins mirrored my own plan exactly, save that we approached from opposite directions.

Watching him successfully slip past the last sentry, I felt a surge of reassurance—at the very least, he had confirmed my reasoning. So long as I kept my distance and moved carefully, I could also infiltrate the village without alerting a single troll.

As he neared the temple, a patrol of two Filthy Axe warriors emerged from the alley to the right. He instantly hunched his shoulders in alarm and retreated to his previous position. Waiting for the two patrols to meet before the temple and then both turn into its rear, the dwarf summoned all his strength and dashed toward the tiny temple at the village center.

Dwarves are not graceful runners. His short, thick legs and squat, plump body made for a comical sight, his long head and beard constantly whipping across his face, forcing him to grab his brows and whiskers into a fist to keep his vision clear. He looked for all the world like a giant, golden-haired meatball rolling across the ground. Besides, his boots, rimmed with metal plates, clanged noisily with every step. I marveled that the trolls, with their long, pointed ears, seemed oblivious to such obvious sounds, letting him approach the temple unchallenged.

The patrol was gone from the temple entrance long enough for Exaggerated Weeping to reach it unhindered. Now I began to feel something was amiss—his goal seemed the same as mine: the banner of the Filthy Axe Troll Tribe.

No sooner had he stepped inside the temple than a small fireball hurtled toward him, exploding against his breastplate. The attack was mild, costing him only fifteen points of health, but at once a "Filthy Axe Soulcaller" leapt from the wall’s far corner, brandishing a heavy wooden staff. He halted about five paces from Exaggerated Weeping and began chanting, crackling electricity gathering at his fingertips.

Beside him stood a totem pole carved with mysterious designs, which launched another fireball at the dwarf. This "Flame Rift Totem" was the simplest form of fire totem, able to release basic firebolt spells for a limited time. Against weak foes, such a totem could be useful, but to a warrior of higher level, the firebolts were little more than a nuisance.

I had never realized an enemy lurked within the temple, hidden as he was behind a wall facing away from me. Thankfully, Exaggerated Weeping had charged in first, luring out the Soulcaller. Had I entered alone, I might have been caught unawares and forced into a troublesome fight.

The dwarf, though ambushed, remained calm. Ignoring the totem’s feeble damage, he charged directly at the spellcasting Soulcaller, not even bothering to draw his sword. Instead, he swung a powerful backhanded fist at the troll’s long face.

Just as the Soulcaller prepared to unleash his spell, the dwarf suddenly leaped upward, tilting his head back and aiming a fierce headbutt at the troll’s green jaw—the only part of the tall troll’s face he could reach. His hard helmet struck home, neatly disrupting the incantation.

This move, called "Headbash," is a warrior’s effective counter to spellcasters. Though it inflicts little damage and costs only five points of vigor, it can interrupt an opponent’s casting and grant the upper hand—a skill both cheap and invaluable against magical foes. The only flaw is its slightly long cooldown and the inevitable headache it brings afterward.

Having broken the Soulcaller’s concentration, Exaggerated Weeping drew his greatsword from his back. Though dwarven warriors usually favor heavy hammers or axes to showcase their strength and courage, this two-handed sword seemed anything but delicate in his grip.

Frankly, were it not sharpened on both sides, I would have mistaken it for a giant axe. The blade was nearly as long as the dwarf was tall—perhaps even longer. At its thickest, it was broader than two hands laid atop one another. Even wielded sideways, it could kill as easily as it could cleave.

With just two swings, he battered the Flame Rift Totem to the ground. At that moment, the Soulcaller finally summoned a bright arc of lightning, which staggered Exaggerated Weeping. But that was the only truly dangerous spell the troll managed to cast. The dwarf, now fully engaged, brought down his heavy sword in a relentless flurry, utterly suppressing the raggedly clad Soulcaller.

The Soulcaller tried to fight back with his crude staff and a few instant spells, but a troll shaman in cloth armor stood no chance against a greatsword-wielding dwarf whose life depended on his skill in close combat.

Soon, the Soulcaller was at death’s door. Only now did the wicked creature sense mortal fear, his face twisting in terror as he tried to flee the temple. The experienced dwarf gave him no chance. With a leap forward, he brought his sword down in a mighty arc, felling the Soulcaller on the spot.

The troll’s soul burst into white light and, in an instant, became a soul tonic to strengthen its slayer. At the same time, two patrolling troll sentries rounded the temple from behind, none the wiser to what had transpired inside.

Seeing Exaggerated Weeping reach unimpeded for the Filthy Axe Troll Tribe’s banner, I felt a pang of disappointment. Had I arrived a moment earlier, the banner would have been mine. Now that he had seized the initiative, I wondered if I still had a chance to salvage this mission, or if my advancement would be affected.

As I brooded over my regrets, Exaggerated Weeping grasped the banner without hesitation and gave it a mighty pull. A pillar of green magical fire shot skyward, exploding with a thunderous roar.

Bathed in the green light, I saw the dwarf’s face turn a sickly shade, his eyes darting around in panic and confusion.

It seemed every troll in the village had seen that burst of magical fire...