The wind howled with enough force to tear the skin from one's face. Trent adjusted his cloak as he observed the desolate landscape of Yrdrast from his elevated position on a rock formation. In the distance, barely visible through the curtain of ceaselessly falling snow, rose the massive silhouette of his target.
The Ice Tyrant Troll.
Even from this distance, the creature was imposing. Twenty meters of pure height of muscle, fur white as freshly fallen snow, and crystalline scales that glowed with an unnatural electric blue. Its single giant eye blinked occasionally, sweeping the horizon with an intelligence that made most adventurers reconsider their life decisions.
Trent smiled. He wasn't like most adventurers.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Brugo's voice interrupted his thoughts. The Troll approached with that characteristic confidence that so irritated Trent, his short axe resting comfortably on his hip. "That monster could crush half of us before we even got close."
"That's why we have a plan," Trent responded, keeping his tone neutral and professional. He knew Brugo distrusted him—the group leader had made that very clear with his penetrating looks and passive-aggressive comments throughout the journey. "Coordination will be key."
Brugo studied him for a moment longer than necessary before nodding slowly. "Right. Coordination." He made a deliberate pause. "And staying focused on the objective. Without distractions."
The implicit message was clear. Don't do anything stupid with the group members, and you won't regret it.
Trent simply nodded, letting an educated smile touch his lips. "Of course. I'm only here to complete the mission."
.
.
.
The complete group had gathered in a temporary cavern they had established as a meeting point. Besides Brugo and his team—Leo, Rurik, and Lina—there were Rei and Ashe, as well as other Rank A adventurers from the same guild. All shared the same expression: a mixture of determination and well-founded apprehension.
Trent observed from his position at the edge of the group while Brugo unrolled a scroll with a detailed drawing of the monster. The image had been created by an explorer adventurer who had survived long enough to make a sketch before fleeing.
"Alright, listen everyone," Brugo began, his deep voice resonating in the cavern. "This isn't a common job. The Tyrant Troll isn't just massive—it's intelligent. We've seen how it manipulates the weather, how it uses the terrain to its advantage. Underestimating it means death."
He pointed to different parts of the drawing as he continued. "The tusks can pierce armor like paper. The crystalline scales are resistant to most physical attacks, but..." he looked specifically at Ashe, "fire magic should be effective. The problem is getting close enough."
Ashe nodded, her expression serious. Trent noticed how her fingers drummed slightly on her staff—a nervous habit he had observed during the past weeks. So beautiful even when anxious, he thought, though he kept his expression neutral.
"Rei," Brugo continued, turning to the huntress, "you and I will handle ranged support. We need to keep it distracted, create openings for the tanks to get close."
Rei, who had been cleaning her rifle with methodical movements, looked up. "Understood. What about the flanks?"
"Leo and the other rogues will handle that. We need constant movement—if we stay still too long, we'll literally freeze." Brugo paused, letting the gravity of that statement settle. "Rurik will lead the front with the other tanks. Your job is to withstand the main assaults."
Rurik, who could transform into a werewolf, nodded, his expression as serious as always. "I can handle it."
"And Trent," Brugo finally looked at him directly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You'll go with the second attack group. When Rurik creates an opening, you go in with everything you've got."
Trent inclined his head in acceptance. "I won't disappoint you."
Of course not, he thought to himself. This is my opportunity to prove my value and thus be able to deceive them. I haven't been able to do much of my thing, but maybe in the chaos of battle... well, opportunities always arise.
.
.
.
During the following minutes, Brugo detailed the complete plan. The strategy was solid—use staggered formations to keep the monster occupied while the mages prepared long-range spells. The tanks would absorb the main attacks, the physical attackers would take advantage of openings, and the healers would keep everyone alive as long as possible.
Lina, the cleric of Brugo's group, listened attentively while adjusting her healing equipment. Trent had observed her during the journey—she was competent, dedicated, and terribly innocent. The type of person who really believed everyone in the group had good intentions.
She didn't seem particularly interesting to him, but I suppose having a healer isn't bad.
Anyway, he couldn't do anything with her, plus it wasn't the moment. With Brugo watching him like a hawk and Leo throwing him suspicious looks every time he got too close to any of the women, he would have to be extremely careful. Any obvious movement would be detected immediately.
He also couldn't do anything with Leo. With her suspicion, she would obviously break the spell, or maybe she wouldn't, but that woman seemed too cautious to try it.
No, he would have to wait for the right moment. And in a battle against a creature of that caliber, those moments would inevitably arise, or maybe no opportunity would arise, so he would have to be patient until one appeared.
After all, if Trent had anything, it was patience. And if he wanted quick sex, well, there were plenty of slave women he could always buy or rent.
"Any questions?" Brugo asked, scanning the group.
Silence.
"Good. We move in an hour. Prepare yourselves, rest, do what you need to do. Because once it begins..." he left the sentence unfinished, but everyone understood the message.
Once it begins, there's no turning back.
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.
.
Trent moved away from the main group, seeking a quiet corner of the cavern to review his equipment. His great sword rested against his back, the familiar weight comforting. He had enchanted the blade with reinforcement magic—a spell that doubled his physical strength at the cost of his speed. In a battle against something as massive as the Tyrant Troll, speed would be less important than pure striking power.
"Nervous?"
Ashe's voice surprised him. He turned to find her standing a few meters away, her staff resting against her shoulder. Despite the situation, she looked... beautiful. Her platinum blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes observed him with cautious curiosity.
"A little," Trent admitted, allowing an honest smile to touch his lips. "It would be foolish not to be."
Ashe nodded, moving a little closer. "It's my first time against something of this magnitude. I've fought large monsters before, but this..." she shook her head. "This is different."
"It is," Trent agreed. He felt the impulse to use his gift—it would be so easy, just a soft word, a particular tone, and he could plant the seed to make her desire him sexually. But he restrained himself. Not with Brugo potentially watching. Not with the risk so high.
Patience, he reminded himself. Patience.
"But you have experience," Ashe continued, studying his face. "You can tell by how you move, how you speak. You've done this before."
"We all have experience," Trent responded carefully. "I remember we're both Rank S, so we've faced many complicated enemies. After all, people count on us." He gave her an ironic smile.
"We may be the strongest among the groups, but..." She shook her head. "Rank isn't everything. Experience, strategy... that counts more than people think." She paused. "Rei and I... we're strong, yes. But sometimes I wonder if we're strong enough."
There it was—that crack of insecurity Trent had been looking for. It would have been so easy to exploit it, deepen it with carefully chosen words. But again he restrained himself.
Not now. Not yet.
"You're stronger than you think," he said simply. "And when this is over, you'll have proven it."
Ashe looked at him for another moment before nodding slowly. "Thank you, Trent." A touch of warmth entered her voice. "I know things have been... tense. With Brugo and the others. But I appreciate you being here."
"It's an honor to fight alongside you," Trent responded with genuine sincerity—or at least, what seemed like genuine sincerity, since it was obviously fake.
After Ashe walked away, Trent allowed his smile to widen slightly. Apparently, the seed he had planted before with his power had managed to work. Sometimes, he was very proud of how intelligent he was. Honestly, sometimes his social skills surprised even himself.
It's good that I don't just think with my dick, he laughed at himself. After all, I was able to kill my father because of that. I learned to be better. And when all the pieces of my board are in place, I can claim my prize.
Trent wanted to let out an evil laugh, but restrained himself at the last minute, but in doing so, he choked on his own saliva.
.
.
.
The hour passed too quickly.
The group emerged from the cavern in formation, moving like a well-trained unit through the frozen landscape. Trent marched in the center of the formation, his sword ready, his senses sharpened. Around him, he could feel the palpable tension—the kind of nervous energy that preceded every major battle.
"Visual contact," Rei murmured from her elevated position, looking through the telescopic sight of her rifle. "Five hundred meters to the northeast. Hasn't moved in the last five minutes."
"It probably detected us long ago," Brugo commented, adjusting his grip on his axe. "It's waiting."
"Waiting for what?" asked one of the other adventurers, a brown-haired warrior whose name Trent hadn't bothered to learn.
"Waiting to see if we're a threat or easy prey," Rurik responded, his deep voice resonating even through the howling wind. "We're going to show it, we're the former."
They advanced in silence after that, each step bringing them closer to the colossal creature. When they finally saw it completely—when the Tyrant Troll rose in all its terrifying glory—several members of the group involuntarily stopped.
It was... magnificent. Terrifyingly magnificent.
As the descriptions dictated. It was exactly the same with its white fur moving with the wind like frozen waves. The crystalline scales covering parts of its body reflected the winter sunlight with flashes of electric blue. The curved tusks were the size of small trees, and its single giant eye—that luminescent eye that glowed with unnatural intelligence—observed them with what could only be described as... curiosity.
And then it roared.
The sound wasn't just auditory—it was physical. The wave of pure pressure hit the group like an invisible hammer, making several of them stagger. The snow around the monster exploded outward in a blinding cloud.
"FORMATION!" Brugo shouted, his voice barely audible over the continued roar. "NOW!"
And so the battle began.
.
.
.
Rurik was the first to move, his werewolf transformation activating in a flash of silver light. His body expanded, gray fur sprouting from every inch of skin as his features became lupine. With a roar that rivaled the Tyrant Troll's, he charged forward, his massive shield raised to absorb the inevitable counterattack.
The Troll didn't disappoint. Its claw—each finger the size of a human—crashed against Rurik's shield with a force that made the ground tremble. But the werewolf held, his feet sinking into the snow as he absorbed the impact.
"NOW!" Rurik roared, and the other tanks launched forward, flanking him on both sides.
Rei and Brugo opened fire simultaneously. Rei's rifle spat enchanted bullets that glowed with blue light, each seeking weak points in the monster's fur. Brugo's magic shotgun roared with a sound like thunder, firing explosive projectiles that detonated against the crystalline scales.
The Tyrant Troll roared again, but this time there was pain in the sound. Well, not exactly pain—more like irritation. As if they had just pricked it with needles when it expected something more substantial.
Shit, Trent thought as he observed the initial exchange. This is going to be harder than we thought.
The rogues—Leo among them—moved like shadows around the perimeter, seeking attack angles. Their daggers gleamed with poisons and enchantments as they sought to lie in wait for when the opportunity arose.
And then Ashe began to chant.
Her voice rose above the chaos of battle, clear and pure as crystal. The words were in an ancient language—elven, probably—and each syllable resonated with power. Her staff glowed with red-orange light, and the air around her began to ripple with intense heat.
Trent didn't recognize the chant, but he knew it was a preparation spell—one of the big ones, the kind that required time but promised devastating power. If she managed to complete it...
The Tyrant Troll also recognized it. Its giant eye fixed on Ashe, and it roared with what could only be described as fury. It began moving toward her, each step shaking the earth.
"PROTECT THE MAGE!" Brugo shouted, redirecting his fire to try to capture the monster's attention.
The tanks redoubled their efforts, throwing themselves between Ashe and the Tyrant Troll. Rurik took another massive blow, this one sending him rolling through the snow. Another tank wasn't so lucky—the monster's claw caught him full on, and his scream cut off abruptly when he was thrown several meters away.
First casualty, Trent noted coldly. Won't be the last.
"SECOND WAVE, ADVANCE!" Brugo ordered, and Trent moved.
Along with three other warriors, he charged toward the Troll's exposed flank while it was distracted by the tanks. His sword glowed with red light when he activated his reinforcement enchantment—this enchantment helped so his sword could cut super hard things. Once, he split 30 blocks of steel, and the sword still had its edge.
Trent didn't know if he had the necessary speed to dodge the monster's attacks. But it didn't matter; he didn't need speed right now.
He jumped, using a snow mound as a ramp, and his sword crashed against the Tyrant Troll's side. The blade penetrated through the fur, finding flesh beneath. Blood—surprisingly red, nothing crystalline blue—spurted from the wound.
The monster roared, turning with a speed that contradicted its massive size. Trent barely had time to throw himself backward before a claw swept the space where he had been. He landed clumsily due to his weight; he couldn't land properly, and this almost made him fall.
But it had worked. He had wounded the monster. Others followed his example, striking where they could, creating a network of superficial cuts that would gradually accumulate.
The battle became controlled chaos. The tanks held, the ranged attackers maintained constant pressure, the healers worked feverishly to keep everyone alive, and the physical attackers sought any opening.
And through it all, Ashe continued chanting.
.
.
.
Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. The battle became a war of attrition—the group slowly wearing down the Tyrant Troll's seemingly infinite resistance while the monster tried to crush them one by one.
Trent had lost count of how many times he had struck the monster. His sword dripped with troll blood, his arms burned with the effort of swinging the heavy weapon repeatedly. Around him, he could see others were equally exhausted.
Rurik had been forced back twice, his armor dented in multiple places. Rei had burned through almost half her magic ammunition. The healers worked constantly, their mana reserves diminishing with each emergency heal.
But they were winning. Slowly, inexorably, they were winning.
The Tyrant Troll moved more slowly now. Its fur was tinged red with its own blood. Its breath came in visible gasps, creating clouds of steam in the frozen air. And its eye—that luminescent eye—had lost part of its initial brilliance.
"WE ALMOST HAVE IT!" Brugo shouted, reloading his shotgun with practiced movements. "ONE MORE PUSH!"
But the Tyrant Troll wasn't finished.
With a roar that eclipsed all the previous ones, the monster rose on its hind legs. For a moment, it stood there—a living mountain of muscle and fury—and then it dropped.
The impact was catastrophic.
The ground literally exploded, sending snow, ice, and rock fragments flying in all directions. The shockwave threw adventurers through the air like rag dolls. Those who were too close were simply crushed under the monster's impossible mass.
Trent was thrown backward, his speed not sufficient for him to react in time. He flew through the air, spun uncontrollably, and crashed into a snowbank with enough force to expel all the air from his lungs.
For a moment, he could only lie there, stunned and disoriented. His ears rang. Every part of his body hurt. Slowly, painfully, he managed to get to his knees, spitting blood.
He looked toward the battlefield and cursed.
The formation had completely broken. Adventurers were scattered everywhere, many motionless, potentially dead. He could see Brugo crawling back to his feet, blood dripping from a head wound. Rurik lay partially buried in snow, his werewolf transformation faded.
And there, just a few meters away, he saw Lina.
The cleric had been thrown against a rock formation. She was conscious but clearly dazed, trying to orient herself while groping for her scattered healing equipment.
Trent looked around quickly. The snow continued falling densely, reducing visibility. The Tyrant Troll was busy trying to crush a group of adventurers who had managed to regroup on the other side of the battlefield.
No one was watching them.
Opportunity. And I'm not going to waste it.
He stood up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs, and approached Lina with deliberately slow movements—partly due to the pain in his ribs, partly to not scare her.
"Lina," he called, keeping his voice soft and concerned. "Are you okay?"
She looked up, her eyes still slightly unfocused. "Trent... I... yes, I think so. Just... dazed."
"Let me help you," he said, extending his hand.
Lina took it, and he helped her to her feet. She wobbled slightly, and he held her firmly by the arm to stabilize her. In the process, he made sure to position himself between her and the rest of the battlefield—blocking any potential line of sight.
"Thank you," Lina murmured, rubbing her head. "That impact... I didn't see it coming."
"No one did," Trent responded. He could feel his pulse accelerating. This was the moment. It had to be now, quick, before anyone noticed. "Lina, I need to ask you something."
She looked at him with confusion. "Now? We have to get back to..."
"Do you trust me?" he asked directly, and let a touch of his power slip into the words. Just a touch—enough to call her attention, to make her really listen.
Lina blinked, her expression becoming slightly glassy. "I... yes, I suppose..."
"Good," Trent said softly, letting more power flow into his voice. Each word now was charged with that hypnotic quality he had perfected over the years. "Because trust is important, isn't it? Trusting your teammates. Trusting they'll do the right thing."
"Trust..." Lina repeated, her eyes losing more focus. "Yes, trust is... important..."
Trent smiled, but there was something predatory in the expression. "And you trust me, right? Because I've been here, fighting by your side. Protecting you. Caring about you."
"You... have been..." Lina shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear a fog. "Wait, I..."
Damn it. She was resisting more than expected. Maybe due to her training as a cleric, they often had built-in mental resistance against control effects. He had to act fast.
Before she could say anything more, Trent stepped forward and covered her mouth with a gloved hand. Her eyes widened with alarm, and she began to struggle.
"Shh," Trent whispered, and began to sing.
It wasn't a song with words—not really. It was more like a melodic humming, a vibration that resonated in his throat and transmitted through the air and his hand directly to Lina. The effect of his power multiplied when he sang, deepening exponentially.
Lina fought for a few more seconds, her hands weakly pushing against his chest. But gradually, inevitably, her movements slowed. Her eyes, which had been full of panic, began to glaze over again. Her body relaxed against his.
He could feel through his hand how a relaxed smile spread across Lina's face.
Trent continued singing for another thirty seconds, making sure the effect was completely settled. Finally, slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth.
Lina looked at him with completely dazed eyes now; all resistance vanished. She sighed happily, and the smile widened. "I... trust you," she murmured, her voice monotone.
"Good," Trent said, satisfied, though he maintained his kind expression. "Now listen to me carefully, Lina. Nothing bad happened here. You just helped me get to my feet after the impact, and I helped you. Do you understand?"
"Nothing bad happened," she repeated obediently.
"And our conversation is private. You won't tell anyone we talked. It's between you and me."
"Private... between you and me..."
"Perfect." Trent gave her a reassuring smile. "Now, when this is over, you'll trust me completely. You'll seek my advice. You'll value my opinion. Because I'm your friend, right?"
"My friend," Lina murmured, and a touch of warmth entered her empty voice. "Trent is my friend."
Excellent. Trent was about to deepen further when a massive roar interrupted him. He turned just in time to see the Tyrant Troll launch another devastating attack—this one aimed directly at their position.
"MOVE!" he shouted, grabbing Lina and practically dragging her to the side.
An ice projectile the size of a car crashed where they had been standing seconds before, exploding in a spray of frozen fragments. Trent shielded Lina with his body, feeling several fragments tear through his cloak and clothes, opening superficial cuts.
When the ice dust settled, he looked back. The rest of the group was regrouping, taking advantage of the monster's distraction with them to reorganize.
And Ashe...
Ashe had finally finished her chant.
.
.
.
The sorceress was suspended in the air, levitating several meters off the ground. Her staff glowed with such intensity it was painful to look at directly. And above her, slowly manifesting in reality from some arcane plane, there was...
Fire.
Not common fire. This was primordial fire, pure elemental fire, fire that existed in the heart of stars. It twisted and danced in the air, taking shape—a massive sphere that grew with each passing second.
Ashe opened her eyes, and they glowed with the same orange-red color as the fire she controlled. When she spoke, her voice resonated with power that made the air itself tremble.
"Hear, elements that slumber in the primordial void," she began, her voice rising above the roar of wind and battle. "I invoke you by the ancient oaths, by the pacts sealed at the dawn of time."
The fire above her burned brighter, and Trent could feel the heat even at this distance.
"Flames that consumed the first forests, Embers that forged the first mountains, Ashes of fallen stars that sowed life, Answer the call of your servant!"
The Tyrant Troll, finally seeming to comprehend the threat, roared and began charging toward Ashe. But Rurik, bleeding and battered, threw himself in its path. Other tanks joined him, forming a desperate line.
"By the First Fire that illuminated the darkness, By the Eternal Flame that burns in the core of the world, By the Sacred Heat that beats in every living heart, I command you: MANIFEST!"
The sphere of fire had grown to be almost as large as the Tyrant Troll itself. The heat was so intense that the snow around the battlefield was melting, creating streams of water that immediately evaporated into steam.
"Element of the South, Lord of Passion, Devourer of Darkness, Purifier of Sins, In your name I pierce the veil between worlds, And bring your wrath to this mortal plane!"
Ashe raised her staff, pointing directly at the Tyrant Troll.
"STELLA FLAMMA MAXIMA!"
GREAT STELLAR FLAME.
The fire launched.
It didn't fly—it exploded forward like a living meteorite, leaving a trail of superheated air and distorted reality in its wake. The sound was deafening, like a thousand thunder sounds sounding simultaneously.
The Tyrant Troll tried to dodge. For such a massive creature, it moved with surprising speed, throwing itself to one side. But the fire followed it, guided by Ashe's will, adjusting its trajectory impossibly.
And then it impacted.
The explosion was... apocalyptic.
Pure blinding light filled the world. The heat became so intense that Trent felt his skin beginning to burn even at this distance. The roar of the fire consumed all other sounds.
When he could finally see again, blinking spots from his vision, he found the Tyrant Troll.
Or what remained of it.
The monster was... burned. Large portions of its white fur had been completely charred, revealing carbonized flesh beneath. The crystalline scales that had been so resistant had cracked and partially melted, dripping like molten glass. Its giant eye, once so luminescent, was now clouded and full of pain.
But it was still standing.
Impossible, Trent thought with genuine amazement. That spell should have killed anything.
The Tyrant Troll roared—a broken sound, full of agony but also endless fury. It staggered, clearly on the edge of collapse, but its survival instincts kept it moving.
"NOW!" Brugo shouted from somewhere on the battlefield. "WHILE IT'S WEAK!"
Trent didn't need to be told twice.
He left Lina leaning against a rock—she was still dazed but safe—and ran forward. His reinforcement enchantment was still active, making each step deliberate but full of accumulated power.
Others converged as well. Rei fired relentlessly, each bullet finding exposed flesh. Brugo had switched to his axe, charging with a war cry. The surviving adventurers—less than half the original group—launched into a final desperate push.
The Tyrant Troll tried to defend itself. It swept with its claws, catching an unfortunate warrior and throwing him. It stomped on another who got too close. But it was operating on pure instinct now, its movements clumsy and predictable.
Trent saw his chance.
While the monster was distracted by Rurik, who had re-entered the fray despite his massive wounds, Trent channeled all the power of his enchantment into a single point. His sword glowed with intense red light, vibrating with contained energy.
"Power Form: Double Strength, Zero Speed," he murmured, activating the second phase of his enchantment. His speed decreased considerably—now he moved like walking with long strides—but the strength flowing through his muscles doubled.
The Tyrant Troll turned toward him, its clouded eye focusing on this new threat. It raised a claw to crush him.
Too slow.
Trent jumped—not high, not fast, but with explosive force. He propelled himself directly toward the monster's chest, where the scales had been most damaged by Ashe's fire. His sword, charged with all the power he could channel, sank deeply.
It didn't just pierce flesh. It went through muscle, bone, and found something vital—a major organ, perhaps the heart or something similar.
The Tyrant Troll froze.
For an impossibly long moment, the world seemed to stop. The monster looked at him with its single eye, and Trent would have sworn he saw something like... recognition. As if the Troll understood, in its final moments, that it had been defeated by creatures it considered inferior.
And then it collapsed.
The fall was like a localized earthquake. The ground trembled, the snow exploded outward, and the massive body of the Tyrant Troll finally lay motionless.
Silence.
A silence so profound that Trent could hear his own heart beating, could hear the monster's blood dripping from his sword, could hear the wind whispering through the devastated landscape.
And then, someone shouted.
"WE DID IT!"
The shout was taken up by others. "VICTORY! VICTORY!"
The surviving adventurers began to celebrate—some falling to their knees in relief, others hugging each other, some simply laughing with the hysteria of those who had just survived the impossible.
Trent extracted his sword from the Troll's body, the visceral sound almost lost in the celebration. He stood atop the corpse for a moment, letting the realization settle.
He had done it. He had killed it.
It hadn't been him alone, of course. Without Ashe's devastating spell weakening the monster, without the tanks keeping it occupied, without the healers keeping them alive... they would never have had a chance.
But it was his sword that delivered the killing blow. It was his power that finally stopped the monster's heart.
And that meant something.
He turned to find the rest of the group. Brugo was helping Rurik to his feet, both smiling despite their massive wounds. Rei had lowered her rifle, her eyes closed in what seemed to be a moment of silent prayer. The other adventurers were regrouping, taking stock of who had survived.
And Ashe...
Ashe had descended from the air, leaning heavily on her staff. Her face was pale from slight mana exhaustion, but she was smiling—a smile of pure relief and triumph.
Her eyes met Trent's across the battlefield, and she nodded. A simple nod of respect, of recognition.
Trent returned the gesture, allowing a genuine smile to touch his lips.
After this, he thought, observing how the group began to gather. After this, they'll trust me completely. I've proven my worth. I've bled alongside them. I've killed the monster that terrorized this land.
His gaze briefly slid toward where Lina was being helped by another healer, her expression still slightly glassy but functional. Then toward Leo, who was watching him with... no longer pure suspicion (though it was still there), but something more complex. She had seen the final blow. Everyone had seen it.
And finally, his gaze returned to Ashe and Rei.
Patience, he reminded himself again. Just a little more patience.
The cold bit now that the adrenaline of battle was beginning to fade. Trent could feel every bruise, every cut, every muscle protesting. His enchantment had faded, leaving him exhausted in a way few things could achieve.
But as he stood there, atop the Tyrant Troll's corpse with the freezing wind whipping around him, he felt...
Satisfied.
Not just for the victory. Not just for having survived.
But because he had planted seeds. Seeds that, with proper care, would bloom into exactly what he needed.
Lina now trusted him implicitly.
Ashe had seen him as an equal, as someone worthy of respect. And he suspected she was trusting him.
And when they returned to the guild, when they celebrated this impossible victory...
Then, Trent thought with a cold smile. Then the real work will begin.
"Trent!" Brugo's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The Troll was approaching, limping slightly but smiling. "Hell of a final blow. I thought that monster would never fall."
"We couldn't have done it without Ashe," Trent responded diplomatically, pointing toward the exhausted sorceress. "That spell... I'd never seen anything like it."
"True, true," Brugo agreed, though his smile became somewhat suspicious as he studied Trent more closely. "Still, good work. I suppose I owe you an apology—I was pretty hard on you during the journey."
You have no idea how hard you should have been, Trent thought, but externally he only smiled and shook his head.
"There's nothing to apologize for. I understand the caution. But I hope I've demonstrated that my only intention is to help."
Brugo observed him for another moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes... I suppose you did."
He extended his hand, and Trent shook it firmly. The grip was strong, evaluative, but no longer hostile.
Progress.
"Let's go," Brugo finally said, releasing his grip. "We need to gather everyone, count our casualties, and begin the journey back. This mission is far from over—we still have to get home."
Trent nodded, allowing Brugo to guide him back toward the gathered group. As they walked, he cast one last look at the Tyrant Troll's body.
The creature had been magnificent in life. A supreme predator, a king of these frozen lands. But even kings fell when they were outmaneuvered in strategy, when multiple forces converged against them.
A valuable lesson, Trent reflected.
And one he would apply well in the coming days.
For now, he had proven his worth. He had saved lives. He had killed the monster.
He had gained trust.
And that was all he needed.
The rest... the rest would come with time.
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.
Note Author: Brugo's mistrust and suspicion haven't gone away, but he's given him the benefit of the doubt. Leo still doesn't trust him, but she will stop being extremely cautious. Rurik, well, he still has some reservations. Rei doesn't even consider him a threat, and Ashe and Lina... well, it seems they've started to trust him... We'll see what happens. At least Trent won't do anything suspicious until he returns to the guild. So Lihan must return as soon as possible. And then we'll see the next chapter from his perspective and what happened to him.
By the way, did you like the chapter? If you want to support my writing and help me continue, you can do so at ko-fi.com /paxkun12. Any support is very valuable to me and will help me a lot. This is not an obligation, and all my chapters and stories will always be free to read. Although your support will motivate me a lot, not to mention that if you want me to update a specific story, I will do my best to do so. Everyone is always welcome to enjoy it.