Chapter 75: Color Blindness Kills
Trolls are a widespread species of omnivorous creatures, possessing immense strength. They are solitary or live in small groups and have a fondness for alcohol. Because they can speak a few simple common words, some people regard them as intelligent beings that can be communicated with, rather than monsters that must be eradicated.
Kolgrim claimed that during his travels, he once encountered a rather shrewd troll. This creature had built a stone bridge over a river, and its daily job was to lie beneath the bridge, collecting a 'toll' from passing villagers usually a palm-sized chunk of meat, or at least half a bottle of beer. If it wasn't hungry, an apple would also suffice.
But the troll currently before them was clearly not the kind of 'good troll' that exchanged labor for food. Staring at Arthur charging toward it, a strand of transparent drool dripped from its mouth: "Meat! Meat!"
"Beast, take this!"
After achieving Master-level proficiency in swordsmanship, Arthur's control was no longer limited to the greatsword in his hands; it now included his own body. He subtly adjusted his footing, securing a comfortable range while running at top speed. The Temerian Blade on his shoulder let out a faint whoosh, and a faint blue arc of light sliced through the air, precisely hitting the troll's arm mid-way.
Arthur felt a surge of pride. His strike had perfectly avoided the hard bone, cutting into the joint gap of the elbow. If his opponent had been human, the blade would have slid through smoothly, spraying blood everywhere.
But this time, his opponent was a Forest Troll. The blade only dragged a deep score, failing to even draw blood. The creature's hide was thick and tough, covered in hard, knotty growths that deflected the blade's path. Its resistance to slashing was stronger than the best leather armor Arthur had ever seen!
The troll had completely forgotten about Red Kite in the tree. After taking a heavy slash to the elbow, it merely shook its shoulder dismissively, spreading its two massive arms to embrace Arthur, completely blotting out the sky.
This was the troll's favorite move. Whether it was a wolf, a monkey, or any other prey, once it grabbed hold and squeezed, the victim would quickly go limp amidst a chorus of cracking noises. Then, it would be time for a pleasant meal.
"Ugh!"
Using the recoil force from the greatsword, Arthur arched his back and dodged under the troll's armpit. Unfortunately, he dodged the physical attack but not the bio-chemical one as a monster, the troll clearly didn't bathe. The dense, concentrated body odor, accumulated over an unknown number of years, shot straight up his nostrils. The effect was comparable to having a jackhammer installed in his skull.
"Ugh!"
Arthur staggered through the woods, occasionally spitting a messy mixture of hard biscuits and broth several meters away, chased relentlessly by the troll.
"Arthur, don't panic! I'll help!"
Seeing Arthur in peril, Zoltan straightened his iron sword with his foot and charged up, relentlessly hacking and hammering at the troll. Cling! Clang! Boom! Sparks flew as if he were mining.
"Stab the joints! And the folds of skin!" Arthur clenched his left fist and pounded his own abdomen three times, barely suppressing the vomiting through the sharp pain.
While dodging, he poured a vial of Ogre Oil onto his sword and then spun around, thrusting fiercely. He used a move similar to a Revolving Spear technique his body hadn't turned, but the sword had already arrived. The troll, caught up in the chase, suddenly felt one of its legs give out. It crashed to the ground, spraying foul-smelling blood everywhere.
"Nicely done!" the Dwarf shouted excitedly. Arthur's sword had sunk in half a foot deep. Even with a troll's constitution, that leg should have been disabled.
But before the words could fully leave his mouth, the bleeding from the troll's wound gradually stopped. After a brief ripple beneath the skin, the wound healed at a visible rate!
"This thing has regeneration abilities more exaggerated than a werewolf!" Arthur could barely speak coherently as he watched the troll's leg begin to move again.
What the hell is this abomination? It's self-healing a spraying arterial bleed while poisoned with Ogre Oil?!
This was no ordinary monster; he needed to hit it hard!
He turned his head and shouted at Kolgrim: "Give me a vial of Superior Ogre Oil!"
These days, he had learned the brewing methods for most Witcher potions and blade oils. However, the recipe for Superior Ogre Oil included troll liver, which was impossible to purchase, so he hadn't been able to brew it.
"Catch!"
The Witcher didn't waste words. He tore the pouch from his waist and tossed it over the centipede's legs.
Watching the pouch arc towards him, and seeing that the troll's leg hadn't fully recovered its sensation, Arthur felt a slight relief. If nothing went wrong, this troll was finished.
However, while the pouch was still ascending, the giant centipede suddenly whipped its body, its dozen spear-like legs thrashing in the air, batting the pouch far away into a thicket of bushes.
The voice of a dead rat echoed in Arthur's ear: If nothing goes wrong, something is bound to go wrong.
"Damn it, didn't the guide say this thing was witless?" Arthur cursed under his breath. According to the bestiary, while the giant centipede was enormous, it was as stupid as its smaller relatives some centipedes would even try to bite the sword blade.
But the giant centipede's move just now looked exactly like it was buying time for the troll!
Seeing the troll groan and struggle back to its feet, Arthur had no time to think. He turned to Zoltan: "Go and retrieve the potion and throw it over. The yellow vial is the one!"
The Dwarf acknowledged, dropping his now-curled iron sword and sprinting toward the thicket.
"I found it! Catch!"
The bushes violently shook, and a vial shot up into the air, tracing a glowing blue arc. Judging by the trajectory, it should land right on top of the troll's head.
"You idiot! What did you throw?!"
Arthur immediately felt something was wrong, and then he heard Kolgrim's shout:
"Get down! Hide! That's Superior Northern Wind!"
Zoltan didn't know what Superior Northern Wind was, but hearing the Witcher curse, he knew it was bad news. He rolled onto the ground and hid behind a massive oak tree.
Whoosh!
An arrow flew past Arthur and accurately pierced the troll's eye socket a wound it certainly couldn't self-heal.
He didn't feel an ounce of excitement, shouting back at the woman in the tree:
"Hide! Get behind the trunk!"
Red Kite turned to run, but she had chosen too thin a branch to find a suitable firing position. Just as she swung a few meters away, the blue glass vial smashed squarely against the troll's head.
The troll raised its head blankly, staring at the faint blue mist swirling above. Just as it reached out to touch it, the mist suddenly exploded.
A blue-white blast of air expanded rapidly from above the troll's head, coating everything in its path with a thick layer of ice and snow.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He thrust his left hand high:
"Quen!"
A pale yellow protective shield materialized out of thin air. Although the cold shockwave instantly shattered it, it managed to protect Red Kite behind him.
......................
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