Simon checked his quest log and decided to visit the human settlement at the mountain pass in the western Tundra.
Earlier, the Wolf Pack had deliberately avoided that area because of the constant flow of people, but now they had no choice but to check it out, simply because it was too close to the Wolf Pack Resting Place, making it too likely for their strange, non-human little group to be discovered by wandering humans.
Before dawn, the Troll approached the human settlement early, crouching behind a low mound. Its snow-white fur blended with the environment, making it look like a Polish sniper. The Wolf Pack wandered aimlessly; after eating and drinking their fill, they became very lazy. Jonas, that Breton Boy, was taking a long time to relieve himself, and only after much dawdling did he finally come over and crouch beside Simon.
At the mountain pass ahead, there was a downward cave. In the distance, a group of Nord Men, carrying pickaxes and wearing longswords and axes, slowly walked along the snowy gravel path at the foot of the mountain. They whistled and sang, their voices uneven and relaxed, but unable to hide the underlying weariness and fatigue.
Jonas hummed along. Simon glanced at him. Seeing humans, did the Breton Boy not think of escaping from the Troll?
That was the truth; Jonas seemed determined to follow the Troll.
Simon marked this location as the Western Tundra Mine on his map, then ignored it and stood up to leave.
A few casually observing miners vaguely caught sight of a fluctuating figure in the distant snow. They blinked, but when they looked again, there were only the ancient snowflakes drifting across Skyrim.
They joked with each other, saying they saw unavenged ghosts that would come for them tonight. However, some looked worried, concerned about the impact on the surrounding safety.
In short, it was another new topic of conversation, though somewhat old-fashioned, simply because there were too many strange things in the wilderness, and people were quite numb to them.
Quest: Explore the Surroundings
Quest One (Completed): Explore the human settlement at the mountain pass in the western Tundra.
Quest Two (Uncompleted): Explore the ancient ruins in the southeastern Tundra.
Although it was still early, Simon wasn't too keen on doing the next quest.
No hurry, take it slow.
All day, Simon stayed on the coast, continuing to dig more fishing pits and collecting Frostbite Spider silk.
Jonas diligently practiced his sword. Although he was a child, his physique was good. He practiced for a while, rested for a while, and managed to persist for the entire day.
For him, he should actually start learning martial arts from more basic things, like standing in a horse stance. The effect of his current sword practice was not much different from calisthenics.
However, children are naturally active, and with the language barrier, Simon could only plan Jonas's specific training program in the long run.
Being with the Breton Boy, one never had to worry about loneliness, but one also needed good patience.
Following the muddy flats along the edge of the current towards the actual seashore was a winding, distant journey. In fact, for so long, Simon had never truly stood by the sea and gazed at the vast, boundless horizon.
On a whim, he led the Wolf Pack against the current towards the shore. After about an hour, they rounded a large bend, and the ice caps on both sides suddenly opened up, revealing a bay area. In the distance, a Walrus was basking on a floe, patting its belly, looking very content.
Since he wasn't hungry, he decided not to disturb it. Simon continued to lead the Wolf Pack westward. Not far along, he saw human remains scattered everywhere.
Following the bones, a sense of danger abruptly emerged from the scent of frost and seawater. The Wolf Pack grew uneasy. Simon smelled a familiar scent.
A maddening and nauseating stench.
At the junction of the lower ice cap and the muddy ground, there was a crevice. Fresh, blood-stained bones were scattered here, and messy blood splatters and frantic claw marks were still faintly visible.
Jonas's face turned pale, "Mr. Troll, shall we go back?"
Simon looked down at him, and the Breton Boy immediately tensed his face, "I'm just kidding! By the Divines, let us destroy this evil nest!"
The Troll sighed slightly. This cave was the one from last night's dream.
The former home of the Troll Soul.
Simon gripped the leather shield in his left hand tightly. The handle was wood wrapped in leather, providing a firm and elastic feel.
The heat of battle coursed through his chest.
"Roar—!!!"
A roar like a collapsing mountain, shaking even the perennial ice caps. The clouds in the sky seemed to freeze. Jonas covered his ears in horror, but he didn't flee, only retreated a few steps.
The roar echoed through the passage into the cave, reverberating and chilling to the bone.
Before the low roar had fully dissipated, a series of furious howls surged from the depths of the nest, overwhelming in their momentum, like a thousand charging cavalry.
Jonas only felt a fierce wind rushing towards him, muttering some words, and secretly moved away from the cave entrance, watching from a distance with the Wolf Pack.
The Breton Boy looked at the cowering Icefield Wolves in surprise. "How come your boss is about to fight, and you're running faster than me?"
That's how it was. Simon stood firm, his gaze never wavering, and he gave no thought to reinforcements or retreat.
The Troll's Nest was a place of evil in this area that struck fear into the hearts of many, where countless hunters, villagers, and travelers were cruelly slaughtered and devoured.
Simon walked step by step into the cave. Down the sloping path, sunlight filtered through the ice above and on both sides, casting a faint blue light. The ground was covered in a continuous layer of snowdrifts and snow chunks, shaped by the endless chilling wind.
Chewed and shattered human skulls and sternums protruded halfway from the deep snow. The continuous roars in his ears grew closer. Around a tight corner in the narrow passage, a mature Snow Troll raised its arms, its three malevolent eyes locking onto the encroaching challenger.
Simon was silent—Charge!
Beasts have no morals. Trolls are mostly solitary creatures, and even in groups, they do not abandon their malice towards their own kind.
The Troll was an outsider, the first to provoke, and the Snow Troll felt only killing intent towards him.
Simon retreated slightly to avoid a ferocious lunge, then slammed his leather shield into the Troll's face. While it reeled back, he leapt up, plunging his sword tip down into its throat mid-air. The blade continued downward, piercing into its chest.
The Troll was not yet dead, but the sensation of choking and the intense pain drove it mad, causing it to flail its claws wildly. Simon ignored his longsword still embedded in his opponent, merely pulling back and retreating.
Three more Trolls came running, one after another. Due to the narrow passage, they couldn't advance and roared furiously from behind.
Simon watched their flailing, aggressive forms, and certain memories flashed through his mind... heavy breathing, the shrill cries of hunters, the hissing sound of arrows cutting through the air in the darkness—like a whistle.
He shook his head, dispelling the illusion. The Troll in front gripped the hilt of the sword in its throat, slowly pulling it out. The bone-deep pain made all three of its black eyes turn red.
Simon charged forward. The Troll actually retreated in panic. Death, indeed, was the most common fear. Anger could counteract fear, but pain—pain was the spicy appetizer of death, capable of scouring every gyrus of the mind until it was stark black and clear—the very color of fear.
The Troll's agile claws ripped through the beast's eyeball. The opponent wailed and fell to the ground. The three Trolls behind roared malevolently and charged forward in quick succession.
Simon used the same tactic: when they charged, he retreated; when they swung their claws, he moved in to inflict wounds.
Trolls understood Trolls. Simon knew their hunting techniques.
However, the Troll's greatest reliance was its regenerative ability. Simon would knock one down, and another would rise. A palm-sized wound could heal in moments, and after recovering, they would be as lively as ever.
Simon quickly realized that it was magic energy that boosted the effectiveness of Troll blood. Magic energy permeated every corner; it wasn't only present under direct light. Fighting Trolls was also fighting the strength of a race, the power of the world.
Simon suspected that his mother hadn't actually killed that Troll, but merely incapacitated it temporarily. Had his mother not sacrificed the Troll's flesh and blood to the Daedric Prince, that beast would have risen again.
By common sense, only fire could stop a Troll's regeneration.
Simon grinned, tearing off their heads one by one.
No fire? No problem, just chop off their heads!
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