Simon twisted his neck. It was soft and resilient, making no cracking sounds, which left him a little disappointed.
The Necromancer, cowering by the wall, was astonished to see the Troll's human-like behavior and spoke with an excited tone.
Simon ignored him. His Icefield Wolves were outside, enjoying the corpses, their greedy tearing sounds echoing. Inside, the crackling campfire burned incessantly, like some subtle and malicious hint.
The old man coughed continuously, blood flecks appearing with each hack. He seemed to have adapted to the pain and began to cast a spell again. His left hand gripped the sword hilt in his chest, while his right hand held a golden orb of light that emitted a warm, comfortable glow, enveloping his aged body and gradually repairing his damaged torso.
During this process, Simon remained a cold observer. He could feel the concentration of magic energy, wielded by the Necromancer's will, and through a kind of 'resonance'—a harmonization with some invisible, higher will—the magic began to exert its specific effects.
The Necromancer's mouth twitched with pain, his expression anxious, fearful, yet hopeful. As he painstakingly pulled out the long sword, before he could even heal the wound, the Troll tore off his head.
He died with his eyes wide open.
Simon sighed, "He's an old good-for-nothing, with three little good-for-nothings."
It really wasn't easy for a group like that to survive in the wilds of Skyrim.
Simon marked this location on his log map, naming it Wolf Pack Resting Place.
The room was approximately one hundred and eighty square feet, originally quite spacious, but a small area buried by snow suddenly made it feel cramped.
On the ground in a dim corner was a blood-stained six-pointed star array. Each of the six points had a candle, and in the center was carved a vertical eye-shaped rune symbolizing oblivion. Inside the array lay a bloody goat skull, a bunch of purple wildflowers, and a bowl of bone meal.
Besides the campfire, there were five fur bedrolls, an alchemist's crafting table, a pile of storage chests, six wooden barrels, and one locked wooden treasure chest.
There were four people in total, so why were there five bedrolls?
Simon took a soft breath, smelling fresh human flesh from the locked chest.
He had no lockpick and didn't know how to pick locks, but the chest was just wood. The Troll clawed through the planks, and terrified screams continuously came from inside the chest.
It was a small boy.
Simon grabbed the treasure chest, shook it with the opening facing down, like pouring out yogurt, and then a Breton Boy, wailing like a mad pig, plopped onto the ground.
The boy landed on his back, eyes tightly shut, mouth wide open producing noise in all directions, arms and legs flailing and kicking wildly, like a restless sea urch, as if to scare off enemies.
He had smooth, well-kept black short hair, fair skin, and regular features, with slightly high cheekbones hinting at his elven heritage. His entire face, aside from his extremely contorted expression, met the standards of a handsome young boy.
Simon picked up the Necromancer's wide-eyed head. The head had been violently torn off, a section of the spine still attached, blood and brain matter dripping and emitting a pungent smell. Now he threw the head into the boy's arms.
"Ah! I'm dead!" The boy instantly froze, his body rigid and straight, as if he had suddenly died.
The Troll gently stroked his mane, his three black eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Simon grabbed the boy's ankle. The boy was so scared he urinated, and although he professionally maintained the posture of a corpse, his pants quickly became soaked, and the stench was unavoidable.
The boy was dragged to the campfire.
The scorching heat gently licked his face. His eyes secretly opened a little, like some heat-stressed fern, and the light reflected in his pupils did not escape Simon's eyes.
The Troll turned and walked a few steps away to pick up a long sword. The Breton Boy sprang up and fled frantically. Simon waited for a moment, and then the boy was caught by the left pant leg by a male wolf, lying on the ground screaming.
The Wolf Pack, having eaten flesh and blood, had a glint of ferocity in their eyes, eager to devour the tender-skinned boy. At this moment, the Troll ambled out and dispersed the Wolf Pack.
The young Breton looked at the Troll, and the Troll calmly observed him. They gazed at each other, and for a moment, a certain understanding seemed to be reached.
"Hello, Mr. Troll, I... I'm Jonas..."
Simon didn't understand his words, but simply grabbed him and dragged him back to the Wolf Pack Resting Place.
Log updated.
[Quest: Healthy Growth]
...Quest Three (Completed): Lead the Wolf Pack to a safe dwelling.
New entry unlocked.
[Quest: Explore Magic]
Description: My encounter with the Necromancer made me realize the wonder of magic. With the help of lycanthropy and meditation, I might be able to explore how to use magic energy. Remember, safety is paramount.
Quest One (Incomplete): Attempt to sense magic energy with my mind.
[Quest: Master of Tongues]
Description: The newly captured boy might be able to help me with language immersion. It's time for me to learn a foreign language.
Quest One (Incomplete): Learn to communicate orally.
[Quest: Explore Surroundings]
Description: The Tundra is not a large place. It is suitable as my activity range, and within this area, I need to know more information to live comfortably.
Quest One (Incomplete): Explore human activity points in the western mountain pass of the Tundra.
Simon looked down at his palm. The Troll's broad, thick hand had a surprisingly nimble structure, with white fur covering the back of his hand and rough, rubbery skin on his palm, and in the very center, a small epiphyllum pattern.
The pure land in his palm had not yet fully stabilized, but after absorbing magic energy, everything was developing in a good direction.
The Breton Boy named Jonas was curled up by the wall. The Wolf Pack's eyes glowed green, like ghastly emerald flames. They were gnawing on the Necromancer's body, occasionally looking up at him, their blood-stained muzzles making him tremble with fear. Meanwhile, the Troll was idly rummaging through boxes and chests in the room. For a moment, he felt very uncomfortable in his damp pants. Although they wouldn't freeze indoors, they were cold and sticky no matter what.
In his mind, stories from tavern bards, like 'Hero Fights Bear,' swirled, hoping to borrow a little courage. The Troll glanced back at him, and Jonas immediately put on a fawning smile.
Simon spent time organizing his spoils.
A certain amount of food, a certain amount of currency, a certain amount of materials, a certain amount of weapons, a certain amount of books, two sets of leather armor, one set of heavy armor, one set of Necromancer robes, and one captive.
Jonas couldn't help but want to talk to Simon. In the entire room, the most human-like being right now was this Troll.
Simon didn't understand, but he carefully memorized the pronunciations.
Soon, the boy realized the Troll didn't understand him, so he began to complain wildly.
There was simply too much noise, but Simon remained silent.
Having been away from human society for too long, the natural elements had almost stripped him of his linguistic abilities, leading to Simon never having much desire to confide.
The Troll threw the Necromancer's pants to Jonas, then turned his back, indicating for him to change his underwear himself.
The Breton Boy squirmed, not daring to change his clothes under the gaze of the Wolf Pack, not because he was afraid of exposure and embarrassment, but because he was afraid the hungry wolves would have ideas about his flesh.
In short, he procrastinated for a while, then came up with a very silly method: he put on the dry pants first, then took off the soaked pants from inside.
He was like Mr. Bean!
Simon was speechless. He had thought the boy would turn around once he had changed, but instead, he saw him fumbling with both hands in his crotch.
-------------------------------
I've already uploaded 40 chapters of this story on Patreon!
If you enjoy it, come check out the latest chapters in advance.
Here's the link:
[patreon.com/Greyhounds]
Thank you so much for your support!!
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"