Chapter 68: Mysteries
The air in the outer transit tunnels was thick with the stench of unwashed hide and frost-iron.
Roy, perfectly maintaining the massive, blue-skinned frame of Captain Anoda, marched at the head of his hunting unit.
He carried the heavy frost-halberd with a casual, practiced ease, his faux white eyes staring straight ahead into the gloom.
Behind him, two dozen Orcs and Ogres shuffled through the mud, their heavy boots clanking against the wet stone as they poked their torches into every dark alcove and drainage pipe.
"Spread out!" Roy ordered, his voice coming out in the guttural, arrogant rumble native to the Troll vanguard. "The rabbit said the scent trails split at this fork. Check the lower shafts!"
The soldiers grunted, splitting into smaller clusters of three and four as they fanned out down the branching tunnels.
They thought they were hunting cornered, terrified beastmen spies.
They had no idea they had been led directly into a slaughterhouse.
At the furthest end of the western shaft, two Orcs were violently shoving their iron shields into a rotted wooden drainage door.
Shhhk.
There was no scream.
A brilliant, compressed beam of pure kinetic mana punched clean through the back of the first Orc’s skull, exiting his forehead in a silent spray of dark blood.
Before his companion could even turn his head, a pair of slender, grey-clad arms materialized from the darkness behind him.
Eurenia’s fingers wrapped around the Ogre’s jaw and the back of his neck.
With a brutal, fluid twist fueled by her newly attained Middle-enlightened stage Martial Master power, she snapped his spine like a dry twig.
She let the corpses slide into the freezing mud without a sound, her eyes burning with a cold, quiet rage.
A few dozen meters away, three Ogres were dragged backward into an empty storage room.
A sudden, suffocating pressure dropped on them, paralyzing their vocal cords before a storm of invisible mana blades systematically severed their throats.
One by one, the torches carried by the unit began to sputter out in the dark.
The heavy clanking of iron armor grew sparser, replaced by the faint, wet sound of bodies collapsing into the permafrost.
"It’s all done"
Roy walked slowly down the central corridor, listening to the magnificent rhythm of his followers harvesting his Faith Points in the dark.
Every silent death echoing in the distance was a deposit into his divine system.
Within twenty minutes, the heavy footsteps behind him had completely ceased.
The entire unit had been erased.
He knew what was going to happen next.
Just as he predicted, the moment he reported the sudden disappearance of his squadron.
He was summoned before the Troll King.
***
The massive obsidian doors of the Grand Frost Sanctum ground open, their ice-rimed edges groaning against the stone floor.
Roy, still occupying the form of Captain Avoda, stepped into the colossal audience chamber.
The room was immense, flanked by towering ice pillars that reflected the eerie, flickering light of blue-fire braziers.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne carved from a single block of jagged permafrost, sat the Troll King.
The monarch was monstrously large, his deep blue skin covered in ancient war scars, and a heavy, suffocating aura of a Peak-enlightened stage Martial General radiated from his massive frame, chilling the air to a visible fog.
’So that’s the Troll King huh?’ Roy smiled inwardly.
He could feel it, the intense pressure from Damascus’ divinity coming from this figure.
This was Roy’s first time standing face-to-face with the ruler of Norona City.
"Captain Avoda," the Troll King rumbled, the sheer volume of his voice making the stone floor vibrate. "You returned alone. Where is the hunting squad I granted you?"
"Where are the heads of the Mandraxx vermin?"
Roy dropped heavily onto one knee, lowering his frost-halberd in a flawless display of military submission. "Sire, we fell into a calculated ambush. We fell into a trap"
"A trap?" the Troll King questioned.
"Yes" Roy answered, "The moment we entered the lower transit grid, a high level Martial Master struck from the shadows."
He gulped hard. "The Orcs and Ogres were wiped out before they could form a defensive line.
I barely managed to trade blows with the assassin and break through the perimeter to bring you this report."
The Troll King’s frost-white eyes narrowed, a dangerous, freezing mist pouring from his tusked jaw.
"A Martial Master hidden within the slums... The northern vermin are growing bold." the Troll King chuckled.
"Very well then" the air trembled as the Troll King moved his body, "Go."
"You’ll receive a new squadron, re-garrison at the eastern gate and wait for my command."
"Do not fail me a second time." the Troll King warned.
"Understood, Your Majesty," Roy replied smoothly.
He rose, bowed his head, and walked out of the audience chamber, his expression perfectly calm beneath his stolen face.
The second phase of his scheme has just begun.
He now understands the strength of the Troll King.
But....
The moment the heavy obsidian doors clicked shut behind Roy, the absolute silence of the throne room was broken by the sound of heavy, metal-plated boots scraping against stone.
From the deep, pitch-black shadows stretching behind the Troll King’s icy throne, two figures slowly emerged.
They were completely draped in heavy, polished emerald battle-knight armor that gleamed with holy defensive runes.
Their faces were hidden behind stern, T-shaped iron visors, and heavy crimson capes trailed behind them, embroidered with the golden sunburst crest of the ten continents’ human empires.
These were not northern barbarians.
They were elite priests of the Church of Damascus.
"That Troll is lying to you, Razarak," the first knight-priest spoke, his voice muffled by his iron helmet but dripping with a sharp, educated arrogance.
"I know" the Troll King exhaled a deep sigh.
"Our magic arrays did not detect the mana fluctuations of a wide-scale Martial Master-tier battle in the lower sectors." the first knight-priest continued.
"Your captain is either incompetent, or he is no longer your captain."
The Troll King did not turn his head, his massive claws tightening around the armrests of his ice throne.
"Whether a mere pawn is incompetent or not, that doesn’t matter to us" the second knight-priest stepped forward.
"We came here for a reason, Razarak!" the second priest uttered.
"I know" the Troll King’s eyes flickered for a second, "The ritual is reaching its final alignment, priests. It won’t be long before Lord Damascus walks amongst us"
"Good"
The first knight-priest stepped forward, his gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of a massive broadsword.
"The Domini Kingdom has sacrificed a lot of resources just for this" he uttered.
"We’ll remain, to ensure your borders remain closed." the first knight-priest stated.
"You know what will happen if the Holy See catches wind of what we are compiling in this desert right?" the first knight-priest questioned.
"I do" the Troll King answered.
"Good." the first knight-priest nodded, "Neither your walls nor your crown will survive the erasure."