As much as I'd love to play the rebellious lone wolf, I wasn't an idiot.
Fighting this many trolls was suicide.
And wven if I somehow managed to take a few down, the rest would tear me apart before I could escape.
Besides…I wanted to know more about trolls.
About this so-called clan.
I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders as I made my decision.
"Alright." I nodded. "I'll go."
Gunthar's entire body went rigid.
His face twisted in disgust, his breath coming out in ragged, angry bursts. He looked seconds away from exploding.
"You can't be serious!" he snarled, whipping toward Talia. "You're bringing a tainted into the clan?!"
Talia's gaze turned cold, her voice like sharpened steel.
"Do you wish to challenge my decision?"
Gunthar stiffened.
His fingers twitched, his jaw clenched.For a split second, I thought he might actually go for it.
Then, his shoulders slumped—just slightly—and he exhaled through gritted teeth.
"...No."
The word was forced, practically yanked from his throat.
Talia's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Good. Then let's move."
With that, she turned and strode off, her movements smooth, effortless—like she already knew no one would dare oppose her.
The other trolls hesitated, then followed, though I could feel their unease.
Gunthar lingered, his breath still heavy with barely restrained rage.
He shot me a glare so venomous I half-expected my skin to peel off.
Then, with a low growl, he turned and stomped after them, his entire frame radiating fury.
I exhaled, finally letting some of the tension in my body ease.
But not too much.
I glanced up.
The sky had deepened into a shade of dark blue, the last traces of daylight bleeding into the horizon.
Night was coming fast.
And that was a problem.
Everyone knew the forest was dangerous after dark.
I didn't know what exactly lurked in these woods, but I knew enough to be grateful I wouldn't have to find out.
Even at my size—even with my strength—some things weren't worth the risk.
Better to be cautious than dead.
Without another word, I fell in line.
The trolls ahead of me moved in a steady rhythm, their steps practiced, their formation instinctive—like they had traveled this path a thousand times before.
I felt eyes on my back.
Some of the trolls had positioned themselves behind me, their movements stiff, watchful.
Making sure I didn't try anything.
Running wasn't an option.
I exhaled, forcing my shoulders to relax—at least enough to seem like I wasn't still coiled and ready to fight.
As I walked, my gaze flicked to Talia's back.
A thousand questions swirled in my head.
Why had she defended me?What exactly did she mean by "unity"?And why did she seem almost amused by what I'd done instead of horrified like the others?
I didn't have answers.
But one thing was certain—I was about to find out.
Meanwhile…
Unbeknownst to Sylas and the rest of the trolls, someone was watching.
Perched high in the trees, a lone scout crouched on a thick, sturdy branch.
His muscles were locked tight, his breath controlled, but his heart pounded so hard it felt like a drum against his ribs.
The forest canopy swayed gently around him, leaves rustling in the evening breeze, masking his presence.
But still, he barely dared to move.
This wasn't what he expected.
He had been sent to track the missing adventurers—a routine recon mission.
They were overdue, and when hunters failed to return, it usually meant something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
He followed their last known path, keeping low, listening, searching for signs of struggle.
Then he heard them—snarls.
Deep, guttural.
Trolls.
Every instinct screamed at him to fall back.
But instead, he climbed, moving with practiced ease, scaling a massive oak until he found the perfect vantage point.
From there, hidden, he watched the unthinkable.
Two trolls. Fighting.
It had been a brutal, feral battle—one where he had no doubt one would die.
Trolls didn't fight for sport. They fought for dominance, for survival. And from what he had seen, the bigger one—would have been torn apart.
But then, it was saved.
Multiple trolls led by a female troll appeared.
She didn't attack. She didn't roar or bare her fangs. She spoke.
And just like that… the fight ended.
Then, she invited the younger one into their ranks.
Recruitment?
His breath hitched.
His interpretation of things was that the Trolls were gathering.
And that couldn't mean anything good.
He waited. Still. Silent.
And only when the last troll disappeared into the trees did he finally move towards where the troll fought.
Reaching there, his boots landing on the forest floor with a wet, sickening squelch.
Blood.
His stomach lurched.
A sharp, twisting nausea clawed up his throat, but he forced it down.
Bodies.
The clearing was littered with pieces of them.
The adventurers he had been sent to find—mangled, shredded beyond recognition.
Flesh had been stripped from bone.
Limbs were scattered like discarded twigs.
Pools of dark, congealing blood soaked the ground, thick and sticky under the fading light.
And the smell.
The stench clung to the air, heavy and suffocating. It crawled into his lungs, settled in his gut.
His hands trembled.
This wasn't a battle.
This was a slaughter.
His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch. He had seen death before.
But this...this was just brutal.
His mind raced.
Did the trolls do this?
It didn't make sense.
The war between trolls and humans had ended years ago.
Trolls—once fearsome warriors—had lost their magic, and their strength diminished.
They had been passive ever since, retreating deep into their territories, avoiding humans entirely.
There had been peace.
A fragile, uneasy peace, but peace nonetheless.
But now…
He stared at the carnage around him.
Something had changed.
This wasn't the work of starving beasts or wild animals.
This was deliberate. Savage.
Why?
Had they turned violent again?
His pulse hammered against his ribs, each beat pounding like a war drum.
A single rogue troll was one thing.
But an entire group?
That meant something bigger was at play.
His breathing quickened. He felt the familiar burn in his chest, the sharp edge of panic threatening to take over.
If the trolls were mobilizing, if they were reclaiming their savage ways…
Then this wasn't just some random bloodbath.
This was war waiting to happen.
His hands clenched into fists.
He had to report this. Immediately.
But first—
His fingers tightened around the wooden pendant hanging from his neck.
Eyes shutting briefly, he murmured a silent prayer.
A prayer for the fallen. For their families. For the horrors that had unfolded here.
Then, he was gone.
Vanishing into the shadows, he weaved through the trees with practiced precision, his footsteps light, barely stirring the undergrowth.
Every second mattered.
The guild needed to know.
Because if the trolls had truly turned—if their clan had been compromised…
Then there was only one solution.
Extermination.