The sound that emerged from the forest depths was worse than any goblin shriek, worse than any nightmare.
Heavy, thunderous footfalls that shook the earth. The sharp crack of ancient trees snapping like kindling. Underbrush being crushed flat beneath massive weight. Something enormous was coming, and the goblins—those twisted, vicious creatures who moments before had seemed like the greatest threat—were suddenly scattering, fleeing to the sides like rats abandoning a sinking ship.
Making way for something far worse.
"TROLL!" Knight-Captain Voss screamed, her voice cutting through the chaos with desperate urgency. "Defensive formation! Everyone together! Brace for—"
It burst through the treeline like a living avalanche, like nature itself made flesh and given rage.
Eight feet tall at minimum, possibly nine. Its body was a mountain of muscle wrapped in gray-green skin thick as boiled leather, layered with scars from countless battles and patches of actual moss growing in the deep crevices of old wounds. Arms like tree trunks, corded with muscle that could tear a horse in half, ending in massive clawed hands with fingers thick as a man's wrist. Its legs were pillars that shook the ground with each step.
Its face was a nightmare—a jutting lower jaw filled with yellowed tusks that jutted upward like broken spears, small piggish eyes that gleamed with dim but malevolent cunning, a nose that was little more than two gaping holes in the center of its face. Drool hung in thick ropes from its tusks, steaming in the cold air.
The troll wore the remains of armor—scraps of plate metal torn from dead knights, bound haphazardly to its body with crude rope and strips of cured leather. Recognition marks, trophies of previous kills. Each piece told a story of some warrior who'd died trying to bring this thing down.
And in its massive hands, it carried a club—an entire tree trunk stripped of branches, easily ten feet long and as thick as a man's torso. Rusted nails and bone fragments had been driven through it, creating a weapon that would pulverize and tear simultaneously.
The troll opened its mouth and roared.
The sound was physically painful, a bass rumble that hit like a shockwave. Several squires actually stumbled, hands going to their ears. The very air seemed to vibrate with the force of it. Birds exploded from trees in panic. Small animals fled in all directions.
And behind that roar came a smell—rotten meat, festering wounds, the stench of death and decay concentrated into something almost solid.
"HOLD THE LINE!" Voss commanded, though Adrian could hear the strain in her voice, the edge of concern that even her veteran composure couldn't quite mask. "Trolls regenerate! You cut them, they heal! You have to burn them or take the head clean off! Don't waste strikes on the body—you'll just tire yourselves out!"
The troll charged.
Despite its massive size, despite the bulk that should have made it slow, it moved with terrifying speed. Each footfall was a small earthquake. The ground shook. Frost-hardened earth cracked beneath its weight. It swung its massive club in a wide horizontal arc, aiming to scatter the entire formation like a child knocking over wooden toys.
Knight-Captain Voss met it head-on.
Her greatsword blazed with white spirit flame, burning so bright it left afterimages. She planted her feet, raised her blade in a high guard, and caught the descending club with the flat of her sword.
The impact was like a thunderclap.
The sheer force of it drove Voss backward three full steps, her boots carving deep furrows in the frozen earth. Her arms shook from the impact, muscles straining against the overwhelming strength. But her spirit-enhanced blade held, turning the blow that would have crushed her into a glancing strike.
She held.
"Squires!" she roared, already pivoting to engage the troll from a better angle. "Handle the goblins! Keep them off my back! I'll deal with this thing!"
But the goblins, seeing their massive champion arrive, had found new courage. They swarmed forward with renewed fury, emboldened by the troll's presence. They darted around its massive legs, using the creature as mobile cover, popping out to strike before vanishing behind its bulk again.
The situation had gone from desperate to catastrophic.
Adrian's mind calculated rapidly, assessing the tactical situation with the cold precision of someone who'd commanded thousands in battle. The troll was a force multiplier—not just because of its own threat, but because it broke the psychological cohesion of the enemy's opponents. The squires were already exhausted from the initial ambush. Now they faced a regenerating monster while still dealing with dozens of goblins.
This was a killing ground. A death trap.
And Voss, for all her skill, couldn't handle both the troll and protect the squires simultaneously.
Edric was at his limit. A goblin blade had opened a cut along his ribs, blood soaking his tunic. His blocks were getting slower, sloppier, exhaustion and pain breaking down his form. Another minute and he'd make a fatal mistake.
Finn fought with grim determination, but three goblins had cornered him against a fallen log. He was holding them off through sheer stubborn refusal to die, but he couldn't break free.
Brann, despite his earlier bravado, had taken a club to the shoulder. His left arm hung limp, possibly dislocated. He fought one-handed now, his strikes lacking their earlier power.
Derrin, the noble's son Adrian had saved earlier, was down on one knee, barely conscious, a goblin circling him like a predator sizing up wounded prey.
They were breaking.
Knight-Captain Voss parried another massive swing from the troll, her spirit flame burning brighter as she pushed more power into her blade. But even she was struggling. The troll's club came down again, and again, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone. She was giving ground, being pushed back, her movements becoming more defensive.
And then Adrian saw it—the troll winding up for a vertical overhead strike, putting all its massive strength into one devastating blow. If that connected, even Voss's spirit-enhanced defense wouldn't be enough. The impact would drive her into the ground, shatter her guard, leave her vulnerable.
She saw it too. Tried to dodge. But a goblin had gotten behind her, slashing at her leg. Not a deep cut, but enough to slow her pivot. Enough to trap her in the strike zone.
The club began its descent.
Time seemed to slow.
Adrian made a choice.
His body blurred forward—no pretense now, no holding back—moving with speed that no squire should possess. His sword came up, and for just an instant, just the barest flicker, crimson light traced along its edge.
He met the descending club.
The impact should have shattered his blade, pulverized his arms, driven him into the earth. Instead, his reinforced strike—backed by a fraction, just the smallest fraction of his true power—caught the club and stopped it.
Wood cracked. The club's descent arrested mid-swing.
For one frozen moment, Adrian stood there, a fifteen-year-old boy holding back a troll's full-force strike, his blade glowing faintly crimson before he forced the color back to white.
Voss stared at him, eyes wide with shock.
The troll stared at him, confused by this tiny creature that had stopped its attack.
The other squires stared at him, unable to process what they'd just seen.
And then the moment broke.
"MOVE!" Adrian shouted at Voss, already disengaging, letting the club fall harmlessly to the earth. "While it's distracted!"
Voss didn't hesitate—whatever questions she had could wait. Her greatsword came around in a massive horizontal arc, white flame blazing, targeting the troll's neck. The blade bit deep, cutting through thick hide and muscle, nearly severing the head.
The troll roared, stumbling backward. Black blood sprayed. Its massive hands went to its neck, trying to hold the wound closed.
But trolls regenerated. Already, the flesh was beginning to knit back together, healing with visible speed.
"FIRE!" Voss screamed. "We need fire! It'll just heal otherwise!"
Adrian's mind raced. Fire. They needed fire. But they had no fire runes prepared, no alchemical incendiaries. Just steel and—
His eyes caught on the oil lanterns hanging from two squires' belts. Standard equipment for night patrols. Highly flammable oil.
"Finn!" Adrian shouted. "Your lantern! Throw it at the wound!"
Finn, despite his exhaustion and fear, responded instantly. He grabbed his lantern, smashed it against a rock to shatter the glass, and hurled the oil directly at the troll's neck wound.
The oil splashed across raw flesh.
"Brann! Your flint!"
Brann fumbled one-handed with his fire-starting kit, struck sparks that caught on a strip of cloth, and threw the burning rag.
It arced through the air in slow motion, trailing smoke.
And landed directly in the oil-soaked wound.
The troll's neck erupted in flames.
Its roar became a shriek—high, agonized, inhuman. It thrashed wildly, massive arms swinging without aim, its club smashing trees and earth indiscriminately. The goblins scattered, fleeing from their burning champion.
"BACK!" Voss commanded. "Give it space! Let it burn!"
The squad retreated, forming a protective circle as the troll staggered, the flames consuming it from the inside out. Regeneration fought against fire, healing against destruction, but fire was winning. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, thick and nauseating.
The troll took three more steps, still trying to fight, still trying to kill.
Then it collapsed, a burning mountain of flesh that still twitched even as the flames consumed it.
The remaining goblins, seeing their champion fall, broke. They fled into the forest, their courage evaporating like morning mist. Within seconds, the ambush site was clear except for corpses and the burning troll.
Silence fell, broken only by ragged breathing and the crackle of flames.
Knight-Captain Voss turned to look at Adrian, her expression unreadable.
"Blackthorn," she said quietly, her voice carrying despite its softness. "What exactly are you?"
Adrian met her gaze, his face carefully neutral, even as his mind raced through possible explanations, possible excuses.
"A squire who wants to survive," he said finally. "Nothing more."
Voss studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "We'll discuss this later. For now—" she raised her voice to address the entire squad "—count off! Who's wounded? Who can't walk?"
As the squad began checking themselves, Adrian felt multiple sets of eyes on him. Edric's, wide with confusion and something that might have been fear. Finn's, sharp and calculating, reassessing everything he thought he knew. Even Brann's, his earlier confidence replaced by wary respect.
Adrian had revealed too much. Not everything, but enough.
Enough to create questions he couldn't easily answer.
The mission wasn't over. But for Adrian, the real complications had just begun.