Chapter 53 - Explosive Kill Please Follow

“Traitors, you bunch of traitors, roar!” the Half-Ogre fumed, hammering the ground with his once-treasured Nodular Gnarled Club, clang clang.After collecting most of the taxes, he had regained his former prestige; no longer suppressed by Gaven, the fiery temper typical of Ogres was flowing back into him.

“Open the door, or I’ll smash it to bits!” Roar threatened viciously.

Creak!

Creak!

Before the Half-Ogre could act, the rudimentary gate of the Goblin’s camp swung open on its own.

A tall, hunched figure staggered out.

From a distance, one could tell that he was as tall, if not taller, than the Half-Ogre, his build lean and towering, with astoundingly long arms nearly dragging on the ground.

His fingernails were a dozen centimeters long, curved into arcs like dark, long Daggers; his skin was a dark green, with black tumors growing all over his broad back.

Troll.

This Guardian of the Goblin Tribe was actually a Troll.

When the Troll emerged, he had a Goblin impaled on his right hand, which he brought to his mouth as he walked, crunching away with loud snaps.

In just a few bites, half of the Goblin had disappeared into his stomach.

Barbaric, utterly barbaric.

Seeing this, even the Half-Ogre Roar couldn’t help but inwardly scream barbaric, for this was the behavior of an uncivilized beast.

This Goblin Tribe must be insane to choose a greedy Troll as their Guardian.

Given the creature’s voracious appetite, it wouldn’t take many sets of ten days for him to devour them all.

The absence of tributes from one or two tribes shouldn’t be too big of a deal.

The Half-Ogre started having second thoughts.

If it were any other enemy, even a true Ogre, he would have the courage to fight, but facing a Troll, retreating was the wiser choice.

Their regenerative abilities were well known; waging war against such an enemy would hardly pay off.

“Who…

said you…

could go?” the Troll spoke slowly in the guttural language of Giants, his shoulders slumped, ready to pounce at any moment.

“What do you want to do?” the Half-Ogre swallowed dryly.

“Everything, what’s on you…

leave it all behind…

It’s all mine,” the Troll’s eyes glinted greedily at the large sack on the Half-Ogre’s shoulder and the new weapon in his hand.

“Dream on.” Without a second thought, the Half-Ogre rejected the demand and turned to run.

“Kill you…

and everything will be mine.” The Troll gave chase, his speed clearly surpassing that of the Half-Ogre.

The Half-Ogre, encumbered with the sack of miscellaneous items, was more cumbersome, especially since he was weighed down, slowing his escape.

And in his greed, the Half-Ogre couldn’t bear to discard the sack, even in these circumstances.

Though the items weren’t his to begin with, they were his now.

In a few leaps, the Troll caught up and swung a claw.

With a ripping sound, the Half-Ogre’s sack was slashed open, spilling its contents everywhere.

“Seeking death!” the Half-Ogre roared, spinning around to strike back.

This blow displayed the fruits of Gaven’s brutal tutelage over the recent days.

It was not mere brute strength but included combat technique, somewhat akin to a riposte.

With the power of his waist and arms combined, he swung the Nodular Gnarled Club in a circle, catching the Troll off guard with a direct hit.

Bang!

The Troll behind him was knocked over by the Half-Ogre’s swing, half his head flattened, his right eye burst out, dangling.

Against most creatures, such a blow would be lethal or at least incapacitating.

But the Troll, as if nothing happened, shook his head, cut off the protruding right eyeball with a slash of his finger, and tossed it into his mouth as a snack, crunching and chewing it before swallowing it down.

In the eye socket, countless flesh buds squirmed as a new eyeball regrew.

The blow had greatly bolstered the Half-Ogre’s confidence, relentless in its pursuit, the Nodular Gnarled Club smashed down relentlessly upon its target.

The Troll evidently didn’t see it coming, completely stunned, before it could regain its senses, it had already solidly received three or four blows.

Two of those hits were direct strikes to its thigh.

The Half-Ogre’s strength, even if it wasn’t at twenty Transcendent points, was almost there, which made the attacks extremely terrifying.

It turned that leg into three separate pieces, each a compound fracture.

No matter how formidable the Troll’s regeneration abilities were, they required time to work, especially with compound fractures which took even longer to heal.

The Half-Ogre didn’t give it that chance, circling around and unleashing a furious beating, while muttering repeatedly, “Chasing after me… catching after me… This is my territory… my territory… Hou… How dare you run wild in my land… Hou… Let you see how formidable I am… Haha… Hou…”

The Troll also roared continuously, its claws swinging nonstop, attempting to break free from the incessant hammering of the Half-Ogre.

But the Half-Ogre was unexpectedly slippery, stepping left, pivoting right, and it managed to make most of the claw attacks miss.

The few that did hit him, in his state of rabid excitement, went totally unfelt.

A step too late, and every subsequent move falls behind.

Before the leg with the compound fracture could fully heal, the other leg was smashed into another compound fracture by the Half-Ogre.

The practice battles that Gaven often engaged in with him had fostered a habit of aiming for lower targets, which when applied to the big-bodied Troll, was an attack to the lower third of the body.

The effect was unexpectedly good, with speed restricted, the opponent was an easy target.

In recent times, the Half-Ogre had often been the one battered; this time, he finally tasted the pleasure of battering someone else.

By the time Gaven and the others arrived after hearing the news, the Troll had been hammered into an unrecognizable form by the Half-Ogre, dead beyond the possibility of death.

Just because Trolls have strong regenerative powers, it doesn’t mean they are undead.

Especially when, in a short time, they sustain a vast amount of fatal damage, far exceeding the load of regeneration, and the nutrients stored in the body are depleted, they will die completely.

Therefore, Trolls can sustain themselves for a while by eating their own regenerating limbs, but not indefinitely; without consuming food from outside, they would still starve to death eventually.

“Hou… Stop, he’s already dead,” Gaven called out loudly, trying to halt the Half-Ogre who was still hammering away at the corpse.

“Hou!” The Half-Ogre, completely oblivious to Gaven’s command, responded with an even louder roar.

It was then that Gaven realized something was not right with the Half-Ogre’s state.

His muscles bulged unusually high, veins protruding, his eyes a blood red filled with endless rage, a berserk fury to rip everything apart.

Berserk.

Barbarian Berserk.

The Half-Ogre Hou had unexpectedly activated his professional archetype and transformed into a Barbarian.

It was uncertain whether he had undergone the job change before or after killing the Troll.

Gaven believed the latter was more likely.

In gaming terms, the Half-Ogre Hou’s feat could be considered punching above his level.

The Ogre race is at least level seven (judged by Life Dice), while Hou as a Half-Ogre was slightly lower, only level five.

And the Troll’s racial level reached level eight; normally, even an Ogre would have to make a detour upon seeing it, let alone Half-Ogre Hou.

Before meeting Gaven, a couple of Half-Ogre Hous bundled together would still be no match for the Troll they faced now. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs Novᴇ(l)Fɪre .ɴᴇt

The main reason why Half-Ogre Hou could punch above his level laid in the past ten days of mad intensive training Gaven put him through, especially in terms of combat, where his improvement was the quickest.

Of course, a bit of coincidence and luck were also crucial.