Looking at Guşga, whose anger was written all over his face, Sarkan puffed out his chest and let out a deep sigh. Then, slowly shaking his head from side to side in denial, he spoke.
"Not openly. Adult orcs wouldn't dare attempt such a thing to avoid the Chief's wrath. As for the younger ones... since you and your sister have beaten every single one of them until they were bedridden, they cannot say a word to Lioness openly, nor can they even cast a dirty look her way."
Sarkan paused for a brief moment, took a massive bite from the greasy thigh in his hand, and began to chew slowly. Guşga, his appetite completely ruined by what he had just heard, glared sullenly at his uncle, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Swallowing the meat, Sarkan turned his face back to Guşga, and just as he was about to speak, he calmly reached out and snatched the leather flask right out of his nephew's hand.
"But that does not mean they won't judge her, Guşga. No matter how much our tribe changes, we have one immutable rule: the strongest one rules. This is the absolute code of our species; not even your father can change this rule that has existed for thousands of years."
Sarkan tipped the flask he had taken from Guşga and began to gulp down the liquor. Guşga stood silently without interrupting, patiently waiting for his uncle to wet his throat and finish his speech. Finishing his drink, Sarkan wiped the corner of his mouth, let out a relaxed breath, and continued his explanation.
"Ahhh... that hit the spot... Brother Gugalat taking a weak human girl as his own daughter began to spark negative murmurs within the tribe. Many did not approve of such a frail creature living among them, especially under the protection of the Chief's family. If she had been someone strong, it wouldn't have been an issue, but the position of the tribal chieftain is sacred. It is one of the boundaries that High Orcs simply cannot tolerate, Guşga. This situation was not only received negatively within our tribe, but we also became the laughingstock of the other tribes, which made things even worse. It was said that the Chief had grown weak and soft-hearted..."
As Sarkan sighed heavily in frustration, Guşga, struggling to digest what he was hearing, clenched his massive hands into tight fists out of sheer anger. Sarkan continued without a pause.
"Lioness grew up in this environment, Guşga. No matter how much you all wanted to protect her, she experienced and felt this treatment. That is why she came to us to train herself. Bolgad has a soft spot for the child, so he couldn't refuse her request... but you know how your mother fusses over Lioness."
When Guşga finally grasped everything that was going on, he let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his tired eyes with his thick fingers. Deep down, he blamed himself, wondering how he could have never noticed all of this before, how he could have been so blind to what his sister was feeling. After standing there in absolute silence for a while, he lifted his head and spoke.
"So, how is her training coming along?"
At this question, Sarkan raised his eyebrows slightly and, plastering a proud smirk on his face, answered.
"The girl is talented. Her body just hasn't fully matured yet, but she wields that greatsword like a true artist. She also wants to wear heavy armor just like her big brother... She keeps insisting that Lokko forge her a set of armor similar to the design of yours, but as you know, only specific individuals in the tribe earn the right to have custom equipment made by the blacksmith."
Hearing these words, the tense expression on Guşga's face softened; smiling despite himself, he gently shook his head from side to side. The fact that his little sister looked up to him so much swelled his chest, filling his heart with immense pride. Taking a deep breath, he cast a resolute look at his uncle and spoke.
"Alright, when we return, I will personally oversee her training."
Sarkan chuckled in amusement. But right at that moment, he suddenly snapped his head to the side, staring intently at a specific point in the valley below. Instantly shedding the relaxed atmosphere, he raised his booming voice and barked his order.
"PACK IT UP, WE ARE LEAVING!"
Startled, Guşga immediately turned his head in the direction his uncle was looking. He saw more than forty elven warriors charging down at full speed from the hill where Igris and Ciri had descended, crashing down upon the Dark Elves like a devastating avalanche. Narrowing his eyes, he looked toward the hill where the Twins were located and muttered to himself.
"I am glad you survived, sons of Elrond."
Then, without wasting another second, he turned around. With rapid strides, he walked over to his kin who had already begun extinguishing the campfire and packing up, picked up his heavy helmet from the ground, and shoved it onto his head. Sarkan smiled faintly as he watched the broad back of his departing nephew. It genuinely pleased him to see this young Orc, whom he loved and protected like his own son, beginning to transform into a cold-blooded, rational leader who didn't succumb to his raw emotions. If he had discussed the Lioness matter with his fiercely temperamental sister instead of Guşga, the outcome would undeniably have been far more catastrophic. Contemplating this terrifying possibility, Sarkan shook his head, grimaced, and flashed a bitter grin.
"The son takes after the father, the daughter takes after the mother... poor Gugalat."
Chuckling to himself, he quickened his pace and began to follow Guşga. Right at that very moment, a cool breeze blew up from the ambush site below toward the High Orcs on the crest. Catching the scent carried by the wind, Sarkan's broad nose suddenly twitched violently. As his eyes flew wide open in absolute shock, he reflexively whipped his head back toward the bloody ambush zone. A remarkably harsh, dangerous smile spread across his face, while the old scars on his leg, his chest, and right above his eye simultaneously began to throb intensely, as if they were fresh, bleeding cuts. With a muffled chuckle rising from his throat, he murmured.
"So you survived the river... you have earned my respect once again, warrior! Fate has bound us together in this place, but unfortunately, I will not be able to fight you today..."
As Sarkan finally turned forward and walked away, he kept marching with that single question echoing relentlessly in his mind.
I wonder just how much stronger he has become.
While the High Orcs silently retreated due to the sudden intervention of Zerinya and her squad into the battlefield, a life-or-death struggle raged on in the valley below. Engaged in a brutal, tooth-and-nail fight with the Dread Lord, Igris's entire armor was overflowing with deep gouges and merciless slashes. Blood seeping from his shattered armor dripped onto the soil, while the fresh wounds newly opened on his body rapidly drained his strength. One of them, in particular, looked incredibly bad; due to the brutal blows he had taken, his chest was heaving rapidly, and he was breathing with a difficult, wet wheeze. Yet, his entire focus was fixed squarely on his opponent, whom he had just managed to wound in the waist. Right in the dead center of that unimaginably tense moment, an old scar on Igris's chest throbbed with an inexplicable surge of pain. This unexpected, sharp sensation startled Igris for a split second, sending a cold shiver racing down his spine. He had absolutely no idea what it was or what this sudden throb meant at that moment, but he certainly had no intention of breaking his iron focus right in the middle of a lethal duel.
Standing directly opposite Igris, Kaelith was drawing deep, furious breaths, his chest rapidly rising and falling. Today was, without a shadow of a doubt, the absolute worst day he had ever experienced in his thousands of years of life. Purely because of this man standing before him, all of his flawless plans had been utterly ruined, his mount had perished, and to top it all off, he had sustained a wound.
Today, he was absolutely determined to kill Igris right then and there, no matter the cost, but fate had entirely different plans for that moment.
Just as Kaelith focused his entire attention on Igris, he caught a sudden blur of movement at the very edge of his peripheral vision. Driven by the reflexes honed over years of combat, he swiftly hoisted his heavy shield upward. In mere seconds, six arrows fired in rapid succession violently slammed into the thick surface of the shield and ricocheted off. Witnessing this unexpected intervention, Igris let his tense shoulders drop, let out a deep breath of relief, and slowly collapsed into a seated position right where he stood. Then, sounding utterly exhausted and drained, he spoke.
"You arrived just in time, Zerinya... this fight has worn me out."
Moving swiftly with silent, ghostly steps, Zerinya materialized right in front of Igris. An arrow was already nocked on the bow in her hand; assuming an incredibly calm stance, she spoke with her cold, militaristic, and highly disciplined voice.
"You may rest now, Lord Igris. I am taking over from here."
Hearing this, Igris nodded in agreement and forced himself up from where he sat. Stepping back with slow, deliberate strides, he cleared a wide enough space for the two elves to clash. As he walked away, he spoke calmly without looking back.
"Zerinya, I can more or less guess that you are strong, but even if the Dread Lord before you is tired and wounded, do not underestimate him."
Since they had only recently stepped foot into this world, Igris still wanted to issue a word of caution. He knew full well that, based on what they had learned from Elven history, Zerinya possessed ample theoretical knowledge about Dread Lords and Dark Elves; therefore, he fell silent the moment his sentence ended, choosing not to drag it out or add anything else. Hearing Igris's cautious words, Zerinya drew the arrow on her bow to its absolute limit, aiming squarely at Kaelith. Without breaking her flawless stance for even a fraction of a second, she replied calmly.
"Understood."
The furious Kaelith, who had been carefully observing the situation unfolding before him throughout this entire exchange, finally faltered when he heard Igris's name. After taking a second, much closer look at the man's shattered, blood-soaked armor, he truly realized who was standing before him. From between his lips and clenched teeth, he spoke with burning malice.
"The Dark Knight, Igris!"
Igris halted his steps for a brief moment and turned his head slightly to glance back at Kaelith. The Dark Elf, on the other hand, glared back at Igris's weary gaze with all the pure, unadulterated rage boiling inside him and continued to shout.
"Once again, you have thrown a wrench into the works of the Dark Elves! Even if I die here, Lady Morathi will absolutely avenge me! You are already at the very top of her kill list!"
Igris stared blankly at the ranting Dark Elf for a while. Blinking a few times as if unable to make any sense of it, he calmly thought to himself.
'MAN, WHEN DID I EVER PISS OFF THE DARK ELVES THIS MUCH? I'VE FOUGHT THEM DIRECTLY LIKE, THREE TIMES AT MOST, DAMN IT!'
Of course, he was not the type to voice these absurd thoughts aloud and ruin his serious demeanor. Keeping his tone perfectly flat, he casually replied to Kaelith's threat-laced words.
"You're free to try, Lord Eggplant. I would love to see what that old witch can actually accomplish."
Hearing these mocking words, the provoked Kaelith angrily opened his mouth, wanting to shoot back a harsh retort, but Igris acted much faster and cut him off.
"Zerinya! Capture him alive if you can; Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel would surely want to welcome him as a guest of honor. But if he gives you too much trouble, just kill him. There is no need to put yourself in danger."
Uttering these final words, Igris continued his trek toward the Ambush site, clutching his endlessly bleeding, deep wounds with his hand. Left behind him, Zerinya gave a subtle nod in response, her eyes never leaving her target.
"Understood."
Kaelith made a move to shout something else after him, but he was forced to abruptly raise his shield once again to block a new volley of arrows flying rapidly toward him. After parrying the strike, he glared directly at Zerinya from behind his shield with those cold, hatred-filled eyes. Zerinya, making absolutely no concessions, met his gaze with the exact same cold, deadly eyes. Calmly setting her bow aside, she drew the twin long daggers resting on either side of her hips from their sheaths with an incredibly graceful and equally lightning-fast motion, and spoke.
"I am your opponent now."
Locking onto his new opponent with his red eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and fury, Kaelith spat with malice.
"DO NOT DARE UNDERESTIMATE ME, YOU ********** ELF!"
At an unexpected moment, Kaelith lunged forward with blinding speed, charging toward Zerinya with his entire body weight. The instant he closed the distance, he swung his heavy sword in a horizontal, lethal arc. Zerinya, completely unfazed, waited for a split second for this attack of pure brute force to come right at her. Just as the blade was about to reach her, utilizing her unbelievable, cat-like reflexes, she swiftly ducked underneath it and dashed forward, exploiting the openings her opponent had left bare.
As she slipped right past the Dread Lord's flank, she nimbly spun her torso around. Her arms moved so fast they practically became a blur in the air; after delivering two vicious, pinpoint strikes with her razor-sharp daggers to Kaelith's thick sword-bearing arm and his exposed waist, she landed a few paces behind him, perfectly re-establishing her balance. When she slowly turned to look back, she saw dark blood beginning to seep from the arm and waist of the Dark Elf she had just struck. Without breaking her flawless stance, she spoke in a challenging tone.
"It is you who should not underestimate me, Dark Elf."
Kaelith met the sharp pain that suddenly flared in his arm and waist with profound shock. The arrogant expression in his eyes vanished instantly as he turned around with heavy movements and utmost gravity to face the woman standing behind him. The fluid speed and flawless precision of the blow he had just taken served as clear proof that this elf operated on an entirely different, far more perilous level than Igris, whom he had been fighting to the death just moments ago.
Zerinya, harboring not the slightest trace of emotion on her face, slowly turned and stared at the wounded Dread Lord before her with those familiar, icy eyes. Gripping her twin long daggers tightly at chest level, she leaned forward like a taut bowstring ready to snap at any given moment, assuming an impeccably balanced and utterly lethal combat stance.
The Dread Lord standing opposite her was well aware of how much the crushing fatigue slowly numbing his muscles and the blood relentlessly oozing from his body had put him at a massive disadvantage. Accepting this harsh reality, instead of launching a reckless, impulsive assault, he firmly planted his feet. Carefully aligning his heavy shield and sword to completely cover his blind spots, he shifted into a cautious defensive posture and began to wait, battle-ready, without taking his eyes off his opponent for even a single second.
Shattering the silence, Zerinya gripped her twin daggers tightly and suddenly lunged forward. Her blinding speed stood in complete contrast to her stationary, tranquil stance from a moment ago. When Kaelith saw the agility of the elf hurtling toward him, he gripped his heavy shield tightly at chest level and shifted his body weight onto his uninjured leg, rooting himself to the ground. Zerinya launched her first strike with the dagger in her right hand, aiming directly for Kaelith's throat. Swiftly angling his shield in that direction, Kaelith managed to parry this sudden attack with a dull thud of metal clashing against metal.
However, Zerinya had already anticipated this block. Using the momentum of her dagger ricocheting off the shield's surface, she spun gracefully on her heel and this time, brought her left dagger slashing down rapidly toward the Dark Elf's already bleeding waist, which his shield failed to protect. Gritting his teeth in defiance of his aching muscles and the surging pain, Kaelith swung his heavy sword downward, deflecting the dagger's trajectory at the very last second with the flat of his blade. As sparks flew from the violent collision of the two weapons, Kaelith seized the opportunity, throwing his entire strength into a brutal shove with the flat surface of his shield to knock Zerinya back.
To evade the heavy shield barreling toward her, Zerinya arched her back and vaulted backward with the flexible grace of a feline. As Kaelith's shield bash struck nothing but empty air, the Dark Elf swung his heavy sword in a wide, horizontal arc to create some distance between them and buy himself a moment to breathe. Even though the rushing wind from the blade's tip kissed Zerinya's face, the elven girl had already retreated to a safe distance.
Following this brief yet intensely brutal scuffle, Kaelith began to draw deep, wheezing breaths. Fresh blood oozing from his arm and waist trickled down his battered armor and dripped onto the soil; however, the stubborn, unyielding will to survive in his eyes remained entirely unshaken. Zerinya, on the other hand, stood before her gasping, wounded opponent with an impeccably calm rhythm, calculating the fatal openings in the man's stance with her icy eyes.
After a brief pause, Zerinya launched another assault. This time, rather than charging straight at him, she began to circle Kaelith in a dizzying zigzag pattern. With rapid, razor-sharp dagger strikes raining down successively from the right and the left, she forced the Dark Elf to remain trapped in a desperate state of constant defense.
As Kaelith met every single strike with either his shield or his sword, he could feel the muscles in his arms steadily growing numb. For a fleeting moment, Zerinya masterfully slipped past the edge of his shield and attempted to plunge her dagger straight into Kaelith's shoulder joint. However, drawing upon thousands of years of combat experience, the Dread Lord violently thrust his shoulder forward, deflecting the dagger with the thick rim of his shield, and brought the heavy pommel of his sword crashing down hard against Zerinya's wrist.
Although Zerinya felt a sharp, momentary sting in her bone, she didn't let her facial expression falter in the slightest. She swiftly pulled her wrist back, stepped away, and raised her twin daggers once more. Kaelith, despite his legs trembling from sheer exhaustion, kept his shield raised like an impenetrable fortress over his chest. Refusing to budge even a single millimeter from his spot, he continued to hold his ground, awaiting the next onslaught. Without tearing their eyes away from one another, they remained locked in a deadly staring contest, each anticipating the other's next fatal move.
Watching this fiercely contested duel from a distance, Igris observed Zerinya's techniques for a while before finally letting out a deep, lung-filling breath of relief. Seeing her raw skill and absolute cold-bloodedness, his confidence in her victory was fully cemented. As he turned and began to walk slowly toward the ambush site, he took stock of his own condition. His body was profoundly exhausted and riddled with several bleeding wounds, yet the crushing tension inside him had melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace. After all, the Crimson Archers were not just a band of ordinary warriors; they were a renowned, genuine execution squad. Those agile maneuvers Zerinya had executed in mere seconds were more than enough for Igris to roughly calculate her capacity.
"She is far stronger than I am... I could only manage to defend myself against the Dread Lord, and even then, my body was left battered and bruised... but Zerinya managed to land two instant blows on the man in the very first minute... This wasn't just technique; it was a perfect culmination of experience, discipline, timing, and pure instinct."
Running these harsh truths through his mind, Igris paused for a moment and stared down into the palm of his own hand. It was entirely stained with his own blood; the warm crimson liquid was trickling down his wrist, seeping silently through the metallic joints of his armored gauntlet.
"Seventeen days of inactivity has visibly weakened my body... but that is nothing more than a pathetic excuse... I still have so much to learn..."
Tearing his gaze away from his palm, he clenched his hand tightly into a rigid fist. An unquenchable spark of determination flared in his eyes.
"So be it! I will train harder, and I will become as strong as I possibly can."
Pushing forward with these newfound goals burning in his mind, Igris left the ringing clash of metal and the chaotic din of the battle far behind him. Truth be told, he would have loved nothing more than to stand there and watch this master-class clash until the bitter end, but he needed to tend to his own wounds first. Moreover, he was terribly anxious about the condition of Ciri, who had been dragged right into the dead center of this mess entirely because of him. After all, if anything were to happen to the girl, it would not only mean suffering the crushing guilt of failing to protect someone entrusted to his care, but it would also utterly ruin his relations with any other Witchers who might eventually find their way into this world.
---
Check out my original novel! If you're interested in stories that blend high-tech sci-fi with epic fantasy, I highly recommend giving it a look. Follow the journey of Elenor Alvarez on Nevarion, a planet pushed to the brink of collapse by a devastating apocalypse. In a world where 'Awakened' warriors wield high-tech military armor and massive mechas, Elenor must face threats ranging from goblins and dragons to autonomous destroyer robots and advanced AI systems.
Title: Shadow of the Rifts: Survival Diaries of the Artificially Awakened Available on: Scribble Hub, P@tre@n, and Royal Road.
Here is a sneak peek from the novel:
"DAMN IT!"
Elenor slammed the brake and yanked the steering wheel to the left. The SUV slid into a sharp drift, narrowly skimming past the rift by mere inches. She twisted the wheel again, straightened the vehicle with practiced precision, and continued forward—but for a brief second, she glanced at the rearview mirror and let out a tense sigh.
As she sped along the asphalt, another rift caught her eye to the right, torn open within the forest. A little farther ahead, she glimpsed an orange rift on the opposite side. The deeper she drove, the more the forest around her came alive with sounds—roars, howls, and distant screams echoing through the trees.
"…This forest won't be safe after tonight."
After five minutes on the asphalt, she turned sharply off the road and into the forest. The SUV drifted hard to the right, leaving faint tire marks behind. The moment she left the asphalt, she tapped the vehicle's control panel and switched to off-road mode. The tires reconfigured, becoming thicker and more rugged. The suspension lifted, the front bumper reinforced itself, and a pull bar extended outward. What had once been a luxury SUV transformed into a full-fledged off-road vehicle.
Without slowing down, Elenor skillfully guided the car through the uneven forest terrain, weaving between trees and rocks in sharp zigzags. A faint smirk crossed her lips as she thought to herself.
"Good thing I've been driving since I was ten. Those insane emergency drills Aunt Amanda forced on me finally paid off… though I'm still better on a motorcycle."
As she advanced, a group of goblins suddenly appeared in her path. They stared in shock at the approaching vehicle—something they had clearly never seen before in their lives. Elenor, upon spotting them, floored the accelerator and tore straight through the group. Three goblins were crushed instantly; two others were flung aside by the impact, smashing into trees.
She didn't look back. Biting her full lower lip, Elenor pressed on. Monsters were already pouring out of the rifts, and she still hadn't reached the laboratory. She pushed the speed higher—but drove with even sharper focus. At that moment, a goblin leapt up along the left window, shrieking as it slammed a crude club against the glass.
Kkiiiieeeee!
A normal woman would have screamed and lost control of the wheel—but Elenor, trained since the age of ten by an A-rank hunter and a former special forces commander? She merely glanced sideways for a split second, then completely ignored the goblin. She knew perfectly well that even if it were wielding an axe or pick instead of a rotten stick, there was no chance it could break the glass. The vehicle was bulletproof, impact-resistant, and constructed from special alloys designed to withstand small to medium-sized monsters.
The goblin continued pounding on the window as Elenor drove on without diverting her attention from the road. Suddenly, her ruby-red eyes widened—but only for an instant. She immediately regained her composure, her gaze sharpening as she refocused.
Ahead of her, a seven-meter-tall troll stood roaring in her path.
Elenor reacted instantly, spinning the wheel and drifting around the troll in a tight arc. She twisted the steering again with expert timing, narrowly avoiding a tree before snapping the wheel the opposite way, sending the car sliding sideways. She regained control in a heartbeat and continued through the rough forest path.
A quick glance at the rearview mirror made her frown—the troll was chasing her.
"Tch!"
She turned her eyes forward again and growled irritably.
"Eda, how far to the target?"
[Calculating… 14 minutes 23 seconds.]
Elenor's brow furrowed. It was impossible to go any faster in the forest. She flicked her gaze to the left—the goblin was still trying to break the window. She looked back ahead as the SUV tore through the trees.
Behind her, the troll continued its pursuit, smashing through trees that stood in its way, uprooting or shattering them with brute force. It roared in rage, the sound echoing throughout the forest.
RRRRROOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRR!
Elenor ignored the roar and pressed on. After passing another tree, her eyes suddenly widened in shock. With superhuman reflexes, she jerked the steering wheel hard. A blue rift loomed directly ahead—she drifted past it by mere centimeters, narrowly avoiding being swallowed by it.
Barely escaping, Elenor snarled internally.
"That makes two!"
After nearly falling into a rift twice—without any armor and without awakened powers—Elenor's anger flared. She decided to vent her frustration on her grandfather, cursing him in her mind.
"You rotten old man! Why do you always have to build your laboratories in the most hidden, cursed places possible?!"
Even as she continued mentally berating him, she never took her eyes off the road. But when she felt intense vibrations on her left wrist, she issued a command to her smart watch.
"Eda, accept the call."
The moment the call connected, the watch's speakers erupted with the sounds of roaring, explosions, screams, and gunfire. Amid the chaos, a calm, slightly worried yet warm female voice came through.
"Sweetheart? Did you make it?"
Elenor replied evenly.
"I'm almost at the gate."
As she spoke, she burst out of the dense forest into an open area. Towering mountains rose before her. Between bursts of gunfire, Amanda's voice came through again.
"I see. Did you run into any trouble on the way?"
"No. I just ran over a few goblins, barely avoided two rifts, and now I've got a troll chasing me. Nothing too serious."
Gunfire continued to crackle through the speaker. A monster's roar rang out clearly, followed by several shots and then its agonized scream. Amanda roared in fury.
"YOU DAMNED BASTARDS! YOU PICKED THE WRONG WOMAN TO MESS WITH!"
Hearing that, Elenor raised an eyebrow and asked cautiously.
"…Is everything okay?"
Through the chaos of gunfire, screams, and roars, Amanda's voice came through warm and affectionate.
"Of course~ I just went out hunting. We're buying time so people can get into the shelters."
At that moment, a male voice shouted through the commotion.
"COMMANDER! A GROUP OF OGRES HAS APPEARED ON THE RIGHT FLANK! HEIGHTS BETWEEN TEN AND TWENTY-TWO METERS—REQUESTING IMMEDIATE REINFORCEMENTS!"
Amanda's authoritative voice rang out.
"I UNDERSTAND. DEPLOY THE 5TH AND 6TH HEAVY ARMORED INFANTRY SQUADS, AND THE 12TH, 13TH, AND 27TH TANK UNITS TO THE AREA! ESTABLISH IMMEDIATE COMMUNICATION WITH THE BASE AND REQUEST MECHS IN THE 10 TO 20 METER CLASS!"
"YES, MA'AM!"
Meanwhile, Elenor continued forward without breaking her focus. As she approached the gate, she tapped on the SUV's panel—Omar's vehicle—and prepared to enter the password via voice command.
Ah! This is so embarrassing!
"Password: My Cute, Little White Bunny, Elenor."
A green light illuminated on the panel.
[Password confirmed. Voice recognition verified. Welcome, Elenor Altarez.]
Amanda couldn't hold back her laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! That old man is still completely obsessed with his granddaughter! WATCH THE RIGHT SIDE!"
Hearing the mockery, Elenor's eyebrows twitched wildly, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.
'One of the first things I'll do in my new home is change that password!'
The gate, isolated within the rocky face of the mountain, began to open slowly. Glancing into the rearview mirror at her furious pursuer, Elenor started to slow the car. With graceful hands, she reached for the bag filled with bombs resting on the seat beside her. Keeping her left hand on the wheel and her eyes fixed on the road, she opened the bag with her right hand and carefully felt inside, recognizing the stamped markings on the bombs by touch alone.
'Let's see… smoke bomb, grenade—ah, there they are!'
She pulled out two cylindrical, black, futuristic bombs adorned with glowing neon lights. Setting them within reach, she held the steering wheel with her right hand and lowered the left window with her left. The sudden movement startled the goblin clinging there; as the glass descended, it prepared to strike—but unfortunately for it, Elenor was faster. Keeping her right hand steady on the wheel, she slammed her left elbow hard into the goblin's face.
The goblin was stunned. A tooth flew from its mouth, its nose shattered and bled as it fell from the window, rolling on the ground before groaning in agony and trying to stand. It glared with hatred at the retreating vehicle—then felt the ground tremble. Turning around, its world froze: a five-meter-tall troll was about to step on it. Regret flashed through its mind for attacking the car so persistently—but it was far too late. The troll crushed it underfoot. Green blood smeared against the troll's sole, but the creature continued forward without a second thought.
At the same time, Elenor slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Her vision became slightly more difficult, but she only needed to drive straight for another 200 meters. She had already memorized the path and every obstacle along it.
Reaching to her right, she picked up one of the two bombs. She slowed the car just enough to keep a seven-meter distance between herself and the troll, then activated the bomb. Its neon lights began to blink as a countdown beep sounded. Elenor counted the detonation timing in her head.
'6… 5… 4… 3…'
As she counted, she glanced into the mirror. The ferocious troll was dangerously close—but that was exactly what she wanted. With two seconds left, Elenor hurled the bomb out of the window and immediately looked away. She grabbed the second bomb and activated it, never increasing her speed.
The bomb struck the troll square in the face, exploding in a blinding flash that painted the world white. Caught completely off guard, the troll roared in confusion, clamping its eyes shut as it slowed to a halt, rubbing its watering eyes. What it didn't realize was that Elenor had already thrown the second bomb backward the moment she activated it—and then floored the accelerator, speeding away.
The second bomb spun through the air toward the troll's head. Its casing bore a green skull entwined with a smoke emblem. Thick clouds of purple-and-yellow gas poured from it mid-air. The troll, still rubbing its eyes and screaming, was engulfed by the toxic fumes.
Its skin began to burn. Abandoning its eyes, the troll roared in agony and opened them, surveying its surroundings. Its green eyes were bloodshot from the flashbang. Its lungs and throat burned as it clutched its neck with both hands—the poison had already been inhaled. Its body began to shut down from the inside. Green blood spilled from its mouth.
With hatred, it looked toward the car entering the mountain. The gate was closing behind it. The silhouette inside the vehicle was barely visible, but its vision was already blurring. With a final mouthful of blood, the troll collapsed to the ground. It was dead.
As the gate sealed shut, Elenor swallowed hard at the pitiful sight.
Amanda's worried voice came through.
"Elenor? Are you okay?"
As the entrance locked, Elenor calmly raised her left wrist and spoke into her smart watch.
"…Remind me never to get close to those poison gases again… They killed a troll in seconds… I think…"