[Warning: Heavy Fatigue 25%]
“Damn it!” he cursed mid-flight as he realised he’d misjudged the leap. He hadn’t taken the buff’s unnatural power into account; he was going to overshoot his target. Instead of landing square atop the troll’s back, he came hurtling down in front of it.
Instinct took over as he was about to pass the troll. William twisted his body, stored his sword, and retrieved the vicious polearm from his storage. He swung the new weapon in a desperate sideways arc as he flew past. The axe-like blade roared with [Divine Fire] and sheared away the top of the troll’s skull in a sizzling spray of bone, brain matter, and molten metal before he crashed shoulder-first through the upstairs window of a small house.
“Bloody hell!” He rolled onto his back amidst a shower of splintered wood and glass. His armour had taken most of the impact, but every bone rattled from the landing. “Hell! I’m never doing that again.”
He staggered upright and looked at what remained of the melted polearm; it had no rune enchantments and wasn’t designed to take his divine power. Discarding the melted weapon, he shoved through the half-collapsed stairwell and kicked open the barricaded front door.
He was met by an old woman and her grandson. The pair were ripping away the wood from the boarded-up cottage door to get to where William had fallen.
“Thank the Gods!” The old woman looked relieved. “I was expecting to find your crumpled corpse, m’lord.”
Not a dozen feet behind her, the troll had toppled to its knees, half its head gone, its roars reduced to gurgling bellows. A dozen defenders swarmed it, spears stabbing, blades hacking at its limbs in a frenzy to keep it from standing.
With no time to lose, Will nodded a thanks to the grandmother and grandson before sprinting to rejoin the battle. The troll’s skull was already knitting back together, bone bubbling and reforming as if sculpted by unseen hands.
With his sword equipped and blazing white-hot, he snarled and drove his blade straight into its half-healed head. Divine flames seared through brain and sinew, the stench of charred flesh filling the air as the creature thrashed and clung to life.
What the hell does it take to kill these things? William roared, “Keep it down!” Defenders swarmed, hacking at tendons and stabbing deep into its chest to keep it pinned.
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Fredric, his face streaked with blood and filth, raised his sword. With the rallying cry, “For Brindlecross!” he struck the troll’s neck. Blood splattered as the blade was pulled free. The second strike and vertebrae severed with a scraping sound. On the third swing, the neck was severed through with a wet crack, and the head plopped free; it rolled and splashed in the bloody mud.
The troll’s headless body convulsed once, then slumped forward, dead. The defenders gave a ragged cheer, though William only leaned on his gore-coated blade, panting hard as he received a [XP: +5] notification for the assisted kill. His arms trembled, his chest heaved, and all he could think was that there were still three more trolls, and the buff’s minutes were slipping away along with his stamina. Something dinged off his pauldron. “What the hell was that?” There was a small scratch on his pauldron.
The village of Brindlecross burned. Flames licked at thatched rooftops, smoke curled into the night sky, and the air reeked of blood, sweat, and fear. The defenders had pulled back to the square around the village hall, where the children and nursing mothers had huddled in the bunker below.
Small packs of goblins ran through the village looking for people to kill and provisions to steal. A pack ventured near the village square and engaged with Grukk and Nobby.
Nobby was balancing on the half-orc’s shoulder while firing bolts from a small crossbow. “Grukk! Stop jerking around so much!” the gnome complained. “I can’t aim with this thing. I almost hit the simpleton.”
Grukk grunted, ignoring the runesmith’s unreasonable demands. He slammed his war hammer into an unlucky goblin’s skull, ending its life.
The small gnome almost fell off the blacksmith’s shoulder. “Hey! You did that on purpose!” Nobby repositioned himself. “I’m building you a harness when we get back in the smithy.”
The annoyed half-orc smashed the skull of another goblin.
While the goblins searched for resources to steal and villagers to slaughter, the three remaining trolls were still near the wrecked palisade. They were stuffing their bellies full of any corpses left behind after the defenders abandoned the area.
With his chest heaving, William leaned on his sword. The Archmage’s buff still sang in his blood, giving him strength enough to keep standing, but the increased stats had meant he’d overextended his body well past what he was capable of. He needed a long rest. The smoke from the fires wasn’t helping; he wiped his irritated eyes. In the distance, he heard screams from those who had decided to hide out at other locations in the village. They should’ve stayed together.
Will checked his interface. Stamina’s below 10%. He willed a [Slice of Strawberry Cake] from his storage and ate the cardboard-tasting food, hoping it would aid in his recovery. He offered a slice to Marie, who was standing beside him.
Marie took it with a smile and took a bite. “That tastes like… straw!”
“It might help recover stamina.” Will forced himself to swallow. He now only had 1x [Slice of Strawberry Cake] in his spatial storage left.
Her eyes lit up as she forced herself to eat. “We’re not going to win this.” She wiped cream from her mouth. Her voice was steady, though her arms trembled from strain.
William only nodded. There must be a way to win. But he couldn’t think of one.
The defenders’ faces told the true story. No more than eighty remained to defend the village square; their armour was dented, their clothes torn, and their eyes were hollow with grief and exhaustion.
From the treeline, the two orc shamans raised their staffs high. A hundred goblins clustered tight around them, forming a living wall of snarling, yellow-eyed bodies. They began their slow, deliberate march towards the village hall.
William’s stomach twisted. If the shamans reached the square, Brindlecross was finished.
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Chapter 035 [Game Notification: A Prayer to the Old Gods]