“Greetings. I am Anuata,”
the forest troll said.
Is its voice only reaching me? Or can Surabar, who was watching from behind just moments ago, hear it too?
I didn’t know how the situation was unfolding, but things likely weren’t going well for the leader either.
The fact that he wasn’t helping me right now meant he might be caught in a similar hallucination—or perhaps an even worse illusion, floundering helplessly.
A shaman capable of deceiving a swordmaster’s senses wouldn’t need any explanation for how it could affect beastmen, who are vulnerable to magic.
If things were going truly badly, the leader might have Furdwal and Tenok in his grasp, strangling them. Or worse, they could already be dead.
Gripping my sword, maintaining my aura, and readying myself for whatever might come, cold sweat still trickled down my back.
What if it wasn’t the troll that attacked, but the leader, Furdwal, or Tenok?
I didn’t want to imagine a future where I cut down my comrades, especially the leader, with my own hands.
For nearly thirty years, only ordinary forest trolls roamed Garam Forest, and now a troll shaman wielding magic so advanced it could deceive a swordmaster’s senses?
This wasn’t part of our plan.
If things turned out this way, I’d have to punch that smug face of Maximilian, the guild branch leader.
Especially that proud nose of his—I’d crush it. Did the branch leader really not know such a monster lurked in Garam Forest?
“Strong human. What is your name?”
“Paramir.”
For now, stalling was the best option.
It’s vague, but I’m starting to get a sense of the illusion this troll shaman is weaving.
That’s the feeling I’m getting.
By expanding and focusing my senses further, I could feel the real forest troll squirming beneath the swamp.
It’s him!
I found its true location, not hidden by the spell, but it wasn’t good news. It was too deep, somehow breathing beneath the swamp.
To strike it, I’d have to dive into the sticky swamp where I couldn’t breathe, or force it to come up.
Neither digging into the swamp nor luring it out seemed easy.
In this situation, with its mysterious spell still active, one misstep could mean failing to gauge the distance and drowning in the swamp.
A swordmaster drowning in a swamp—wouldn’t that be a legendary tavern tale?
Even if I could hold my breath, I wouldn’t be able to swing my sword freely in the swamp.
What if I focus my aura into a single point and stab? I considered it but quickly dismissed the idea.
The aura’s destructive power wouldn’t hold that deep. If I couldn’t sever its life in one strike?
It would further confuse my senses with its spell and widen the distance.
It might even amplify this illusion to make us kill each other.
Just as it couldn’t strike me, I had no way to strike it. A damned stalemate.
“You seem deep in thought. I’ll speak first, Paramir. You’ve already cut me down. What lies beneath the swamp is merely another forest troll, long dead and buried… a pitiful corpse of my kin. Sometimes, excessive introspection leads you into traps that don’t exist. You’d do well to be cautious.”
“A monster… daring to give me advice?”
“We were not originally monsters. We didn’t choose to crave blood and flesh. I swear on my life, we never wished for the death of the blessed races of the heavens. Even if you don’t believe me, this is the truth.”
What kind of nonsense is this?
The forest troll shaman, a monster, was claiming they weren’t monsters.
Is this like saying, “I drank, but I didn’t drive drunk”?
“Your words can’t be trusted, vile monster. Do you think stalling will let you win? You might escape for now, but you can’t hide forever. You’re not facing an ordinary human. I’m a swordmaster.”
“I know. But you are not yet a complete swordmaster, human. Paramir. Your level. Your strength. Your destiny. All of it was determined from a place unseen. Even this meeting of ours is visible to me.”
“Stop your nonsense and come out. You seem to have some reason, so I’ll at least send you off painlessly. I swear this on my sword.”
“Paramir, I say again, you’ve already cut me down. Our conversation… ends here. Your world has been set. I am now…”
Cut you down? Cut what down? The first neck I slashed was just an illusion…
“…What is this?”
When I opened my eyes, I saw the head of the forest troll I’d first cut, half-buried in the swamp.
Is this… an illusion? Or a trick?
A trick within a trick, a lie within a lie, something like that?
But even as I circulated mana through my body and meticulously scanned the surroundings in the now-stopped rain, I couldn’t find a living forest troll, let alone a shaman.
Except for that thing, dead with its head half-sunk in the swamp.
Dumbfounded, I turned around with a blank expression.
Behind me, Surabar, Furdwal, and Tenok were jumping and running toward me.
As I cut its head, a single black bird that had flown into the sky soared above us.
…Was it a dream? I couldn’t understand…
“By the gods! Paramir! You’re really a swordmaster!”
“Blessed by Barhan! To cut down a forest troll, a shaman no less, with a single strike! You’re incredible!”
“I believed in you, Paramir.”
I couldn’t say a word.
What did I see? Who was I talking to?
The forest troll called itself Anuata.
Illusion, magic, spell, whatever it was, it had clearly spoken to me with its own mouth.
That was an undeniable fact.
I couldn’t say there’s no magic capable of deceiving a swordmaster’s senses, but a mindless monster, driven by instinct, prowling its territory, eating people, and reeking of filth couldn’t pull it off.
I’m certain of that.
But Anuata did it.
How?
Tenok, having pulled the troll’s head from the swamp with a rope, brought it to me like it was some treasure.
Sticky, with a melted surface as if burned, wrinkles, and jutting tusks—an utterly hideous and ugly forest troll’s face.
Its eyes… are closed…?
Anuata looked as if it were peacefully sleeping.
Though this sleep, an eternal one never to wake from, was slightly different from our familiar slumber.
“Is something wrong? It didn’t cast some strange spell before it died, did it?”
Tap.
Surabar’s voice, as he lightly placed a hand on my shoulder, brought me back from the strange space between illusion and reality.
“No, I’m fine, Leader. I’m okay.”
I tried to answer as usual, but even I could feel the awkwardness lingering in my voice.
Surabar merely twitched an eyebrow, not pressing further.
Even if he asked, and even if I wanted to answer, explaining this properly would be impossible. At least for now.
Tenok wrapped the forest troll’s head in a cloth and handed it to Furdwal.
Furdwal had lost at rock-paper-scissors.
Returning to the hideout, we announced to everyone that the hunt was successful as the rain stopped.
Cheers erupted.
The Black Tail Mercenaries, purely joyful, celebrated the fact that we’d successfully hunted a forest troll in a highly dangerous mission that could’ve wiped out the entire group, without a single injury.
And so, we returned to the city and tossed the forest troll’s head at Branch Leader Maximilian.
The mission was completed perfectly within the deadline, and the reward was substantial.
“Welcome back, Surabar.”
Jasmine, who came to greet us (or rather, Surabar), wore her usual soft, curved smile on her crimson lips.
A few strands of her swaying fox tail tickled her nose before drifting far away on the breeze.
Far away.
***
“The forest troll spoke to you?”
Jasmine asked, sipping gently boiled milk.
Water or milk were currently the only drinks she could have.
Even her meals were carefully chosen, only the cleanest and best.
It was a testament to the leader’s love for Jasmine.
Truly devoted care.
The reason Jasmine, who once loved liquor so much, had sworn it off overnight was because a child was growing in her womb. The leader’s child.
“Yes. It said its name was Anuata.”
I answered, sitting with my knees bent like a refined lady.
Sitting cross-legged is supposedly bad for the back.
Since becoming pregnant, Jasmine had studied what was good and bad for health and recommended this posture to me.
“Maybe you dreamed it? Drank too late with Furdwal and got confused.”
“No, it really happened.”
At my words, Jasmine laughed heartily, saying how could a monster, especially a damp, creepy forest troll that never leaves the swamp, speak human language?
Her fox tail trembled as if she genuinely found it amusing. Ah, fur’s flying.
Her recently fuller fox tail shed fur everywhere, but no one complained.
Every morning, all sorts of fur ended up in our mouths.
This was nothing.
My ability to adapt to a mercenary band of beastmen for nearly a year was thanks to my resilience.
Monster hunting pays well but isn’t steady, so our mercenary band lives together in one space.
“It must’ve done something to you. It sacrificed its life to affect you, Paramir. I hate to say it, but you should go to the Elon Temple.”
Surabar spoke.
Unlike Jasmine, the leader listened to my story as if it were his own, with utmost seriousness.
“If you go to the Elon Temple, they might figure out Paramir’s a swordmaster. Those priests are sharp, and I don’t like it.”
“That’s true, but…”
Surabar, who suggested visiting the Elon Temple, scratched his head.
In the mercenary band, Surabar was undoubtedly number one, but in private settings like this with just Jasmine and him (I’m kind of an exception, often overlooked), Jasmine was always number one.
Why? Think of the saying: the world is ruled by men, but men are ruled by women.
I haven’t seen every beastman adult male with a wife in the Armenia continent, but I’m confident they generally cherish their wives deeply.
Seeing Surabar so devoted to Jasmine, it’s hard to imagine a beastman male mistreating his wife.
“It might be better to go, no? Elon priests swear to keep patients’ secrets. No one’s foolish enough to break a vow to their god.”
“That’s true, but… if the target’s a swordmaster, someone might think it’s okay to break that vow. And Elon priests aren’t exactly experts on monsters.”
“That’s… true.”
Jasmine and Surabar put their heads together, deep in thought.
With Jasmine temporarily retired from active duty, they couldn’t just brush off a powerful asset like me as “no big deal.”
More than anything, wasn’t it my achievement (if you could call it that) to have killed the forest troll at the tail end of an unexpectedly long spring rain?
If I’d been affected by the forest troll shaman’s illusion and killed Furdwal and Tenok, or even Surabar, I might’ve returned to the hideout and torn my cherished comrades to pieces with my own hands.
I don’t want to imagine it, but without me, it could’ve happened.
It’s in the past, but… the fact that it created such an illusion after I cut off its head makes me think it wasn’t an ordinary monster.
No, was its head even cut off?
The conversation with it had too many incomprehensible parts.
“I’ll ask the receptionist and others.”
“Thanks, Jasmine.”
“No need to thank me.”
As always, she was a naturally kind and thoughtful woman.
“Even if no one knows, there should be books about Garam Forest in the Great Library. Of course, it’s restricted to nobles, and even if we could enter, I doubt they’d let Barhan’s followers like us read them… But if you’re really worried, you can check with the Elon Temple. Don’t stress too much, Paramir.”
“Got it. But don’t push yourself too hard. The baby comes first, you know.”
“Right. Go on. And… thanks for this.”
“It’s nothing.”
Expressing gratitude was likely awkward and embarrassing for Jasmine.
To be considerate of her and her husband, I left the room immediately.
Having returned from a dangerous monster hunt, they deserved some tender time as a couple.
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