The troll village wasn't what I expected.
I had pictured something savage—huts made of bone, pits of fire, maybe a few skulls impaled on spikes for that classic "barbarian nightmare" look.
But in reality, it was nothing like that.
As I stepped forward, I entered a world woven into the very heart of the forest.
Towering trees arched overhead, their thick branches twisting together to form natural archways.
Vines draped down like curtains of green, their leaves shimmering in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy.
The ground beneath my feet wasn't rough, cracked dirt but a thick carpet of moss, soft and cool, absorbing every footstep like a whisper.
And the village itself was thriving.
Trolls—dozens of them—moved with purpose, each engaged in something that spoke of structure, of civilization.
Some were warriors, their massive forms clad in thick hides, muscles flexing as they sharpened weapons of stone and bone, each blade crude in design but clearly lethal.
Others weren't warriors but artisans, their massive hands moving with surprising delicacy as they carved intricate patterns into wood and stone.
Some wove cloth from fibers I didn't recognize, their gigantic fingers working with practiced ease.
Trolls laughed, talked, worked.
And I was shocked.
This wasn't a tribe of mindless brutes.
It was a civilization.
I must have looked completely awestruck, because beside me, Talia let out a soft sigh.
"It was once more beautiful than this," she murmured a hint of sorrow in her voice. "When magic still flowed through the vines."
More beautiful?
I couldn't even imagine it—what must it have looked like.
I turned to ask her, but she was already walking ahead, her steps sure, leading me deeper into the heart of the village.
More trolls joined the growing crowd, their curious gazes pressing in on me, murmurs spreading like ripples in a pond. They were curious about my identity.
The attention made me slightly nervous.
A tightness coiled in my chest
Then I saw it.
At the very center stood a great tree—its bark a deep silver, its massive roots spreading out like veins, twisting through the earth. It pulsed with an ancient energy, something old, something powerful.
And beneath its vast, shadowed branches—he sat.
The moment my eyes landed on him, I knew—he wasn't just any troll.
He was ancient yet powerful, his hulking body covered in thick scars, each one a testament to battles fought and survived.
But what truly caught my attention were the runes—intricate symbols etched into his skin, glowing faintly with a deep blue light.
They pulsed, almost like they were alive, their energy whispering through the air.
Then I met his gaze.
Piercing gold eyes.
There was something dangerous in them—something that saw through me, as if he could read every thought before I even spoke it.
Then, the system's notification appeared before my eyes.
[Shaman Orgrun. Level 10]
I froze. My breath hitched.
Level 10!
That was the highest I had ever seen.
No creature, no being I'd encountered had reached that level.
Talia moved first, dropping to one knee before him.
And then, as if following an unspoken rule, the rest of the trolls—one by one, knelt.
I, of course, remained standing.
And that didn't sit well with Gunther.
"You filthy runt! On your knees!" he barked, his massive frame tensing like he was ready to force me down himself.
I let out a short harrumph, crossing my arms.
Before anyone else could react, a deep chuckle rumbled through the air.
Orgrun.
His laughter was slow and rolling, like thunder before a storm.
It wasn't mocking—it was amused.
"And so the young one rejects tradition," Orgrun mused, his golden eyes gleaming with interest. "A sign of strength… or ignorance?"
I frowned.
"Let's call it a bad knee problem."
Silence.
The trolls around me stiffened, eyes narrowing.
A few let out low, guttural growls, their muscles tensing.
For a second, I wondered if I had pushed too far.
Then Orgrun laughed again, louder this time.
A deep, rumbling sound that cut through the tension like a blade.
Just like that, the unease in the air eased.
"Come, Sylas Stone. Sit," Orgrun said, his deep voice steady as he gestured to the woven mat before him.
I hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at me to stay on my feet, to remain ready—but refusing would be a step too far.
With measured caution, I lowered myself onto the mat, muscles still tense, eyes scanning the gathered trolls.
A troll stepped forward, a broad-shouldered warrior with rough, calloused hands.
He held out a wooden bowl, its surface carved with faint, swirling patterns.
The liquid inside was thick and dark, almost black.
I eyed it suspiciously.
"What is it?" I asked, my fingers tightening around the bowl's rough edges.
"A drink of welcome," Orgrun said, watching me carefully. "It will ease your weariness."
I lifted it closer, giving it a careful sniff.
Earthy. Bitter.
A scent like damp soil and crushed herbs.
My gaze flickered to Orgrun. This could be poison. Or something worse.
But even if it was, I knew it wouldn't harm me.
So I drank.
The moment the liquid touched my tongue, a wave of warmth spread through me. It wasn't like fire—not a burn—but more like a gentle, creeping heat, threading through my veins.
A strange relief washed over me, smoothing out the tension in my shoulders, seeping into my aching muscles. The dull fatigue in my body faded, replaced by a subtle but undeniable surge of strength.
It wasn't drastic—not like a sudden rush of energy—but it was enough to make me exhale, my fingers flexing as the newfound vitality rippled through my limbs.
I glanced at Orgrun, eyes sharp.
That was no ordinary drink.
[+1 to All Attributes (Temporary)]
Well, that was interesting.
My mind raced as I hurriedly pulled up my stats.
[Stats]
Strength: 33 (+1)
Dexterity: 18 (+1)
Constitution: 27 (+1)
Intelligence: 7 (+1)
Wisdom: 10 (+1)
Charisma: 6 (+1)
I blinked.
Wow.
This was good stuff.
The boost wasn't massive, but it was across the board.
Even my intelligence and wisdom had ticked up, and that was rare.
Talia moved, settling beside me. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could feel her watching me, studying me.
Then, she finally spoke.
"Chief," she said, her voice steady.
"This is Sylas. He is…" she paused for a second.
"Different."
Different?
In a good way, right?
The pause in between the intro told me otherwise.
Orgrun's golden eyes locked onto me, deep and unreadable.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"That much is clear."
I froze.
The f*ck you mean?
Talia then exhaled, her gaze steady.
"I believe he may be the one."
I stared. Blinked.
"The what now?"
What the hell was she talking about?
My mind jumped to the worst-case scenario.
Some weird arranged marriage with Talia?
A sacred ritual where I had to bond my soul to a tree?
I wasn't signing up for any of that.
I braced myself, ready to argue—maybe even run if it came down to it.
But then Talia clarified her voice firm.
"The chosen one."
Chosen one?
Now that… that was truly worse.
Honestly? I'd rather take the marriage.
Husband? Sure. I could roll with that.
But "Chosen One"? Nope.
That sounded like a whole lot of responsibility and expectations.
Murmurs spread through the gathered trolls like wildfire.
Some looked excited.
Eyes gleaming, hopeful.
Others? Not so much.
Their expressions ranged from skeptical to downright murderous.
I clicked my teeth in annoyance.
So this was why Talia had been so damn patient with me.
Why she wasn't as aggressive as Gunther and the others.
Why she had brought up the...