Chapter 48: Troll King
All eyes were on Roy, he had noticed the four Governors secretly gauging his strength but he didn’t react.
"You said your name was Jarden Rome right?" Governor Sorsha asked, "Based on our intelligence, isn’t Jarden the name of the Church’s first cathedral?" she asked.
"That is correct" Roy smiled, "I am Jarden Rome, the Saint of the Church of Varanus, the apostle of the God of Beast"
He introduced himself once again.
"A Saint?" Governor Kaelen’s eyes narrowed, "Why would a Saint of the Church be sent to us as an ambassador?"
"Is this delegation that important?" he asked.
"I believe you have the answer to that question" Jarden grinned, "Yeren City is vast and prosperous, we of Tempest would be foolish not to make trade agreements with your city"
"But I must say....we do not trust you Governors" Roy explained. "Why don’t you trust us?" Governor Vance asked.
"Few days before the army of Norona marched towards our home. We received news that Yeren were informed"
"Yet you people stayed silent and observed, not bothering to give a warning signal about the impending attack"
"How could we trust such a city and make them our trade partners?" he asked.
"I agree that we refused to warn your people, but..." Governor Vance paused, "We had no choice but to maintain our silence"
"We weren’t sure of your strength, this was our test to determine if the new Tempest was worth aligning with"
"And you have proven your strength to us" he stated, "Is there any chance you’ll let go of our errors?" Governor Vance asked.
"I understand your positions that’s why the new Tempest never picked offense" Roy giggled, "But still....we cannot afford to trust Yeren for now"
"We will be staying here for a few days so treat us with respect and great hospitality, on the third day"
"We’ll continue our delegation" Roy stated.
"Is that so?" Governor Corin sighed deeply, "I understand, you are free to stay as long as you like as long as the delegations are ongoing"
"But...." he hesitated.
"But what?" Roy calmly asked.
"You are aware that we desire both the Varanite and the Varanium steel that Tempest City is currently mining"
"And also the newly discovered sea within the territory of Tempest" he added.
"How much would you like to trade them?" Governor Corin asked.
"Hmmm...." Roy stroked his chin, "I don’t really think we are lacking anything at the moment, we have steady flow of water, enough meats from our hunt"
"We are mining Varanium and producing more concretes from our Varanite, our constructions are going smoothly"
"From what I can see, Tempest City doesn’t need Yeren, Yeren needs us...." his lips curled faintly, "But we are ready to trade"
" We don’t need mana cores, we can always hunt Beast-stage F-class abominations, harvest both their skins which could be used to craft our clothing and their mana cores" Roy explained.
"Then tell us...." Governor Sorsha frowned, her eyes flickered, "What does Tempest want from us"
"Just as you said, we truly need your resources, we are wealthy enough to make an official trade network"
"Just name your price" she stated.
"Name my price huh?" Roy lingered, "For now, we’ll prepare twenty gallons of sea water, two tons of Varanium and five hundred kilograms of Varanite"
"In exchange for informations" Roy smirked.
"Information?" Governor Vance raised an eyebrow, "Whose informations?" he asked.
"Tempest City needs solid informations on both Raksha City and Norona City" he answered, "Just like Yeren City, we desire to make the closed Raksha City our allies"
"But Norona City must be purged from the Hudeii Desert" he declared, "The Hudeii Desert will be made the holy land for all beastmen to thrive"
"For that to happen....the disgusting and impure filths must be purged" he stated. "And you don’t have to worry about incurring the wrath of the Troll King for selling his information"
"I’ll end the wretched life of the Troll King myself" Roy assured.
There was silence in the council room.
The four Governors were in deep thoughts, they needed to discuss in other to make a decision.
"I’ll take my leave now" Roy turned his back on the Governors, "Once the sun sets on the third day, your answer should be ready by then"
He left the room, leaving the Governors in a state of confoundment and perplexity.
If Roy had called a price, they wouldn’t hesitate to pay.
But what Roy demanded wasn’t something that could be given out so easily.
And he understood that very well.
This was meant to test Yeren City.
***
The temperature within the grand, ice-sheathed throne room of Norona City plummeted to a suffocating frost as the massive obsidian doors groaned open.
Six towering figures, the supreme martial elite of the Western Coalition, marched in unison across the freezing stone floor.
Their heavy, spiked armor clattered against the permafrost, the sound echoing like war drums off the vaulted bone ceilings.
The vanguard consisted of three massive, blue-skinned Troll Generals, a scarred and tusked Orc General clad in heavy jagged iron, and two hulking, cyclopean Ogre Generals, one wielding a colossal spiked club.
The other a crimson runed broadsword.
Reaching the foot of the jagged permafrost throne, the six behemoths dropped heavily to one knee, their massive fists slamming against the icy floorboards in a synchronized display of absolute fealty.
"O Great King!" the eldest Troll General bellowed, his voice rattling the frost-coated pillars. "We have lost all connections with our eastern spies. We are losing momentum, our authority over the Desert is dwindling faster"
The Troll General paused, "But before we lost connection with the spies, Our border runners just intercepted a trade merchant traveling from the eastern region. They confirmed it.
A carriage drawn by Beast- stage F-class Striggars has crossed the Hudeii Desert." the Troll General reported.
"Delegates from Tempest City... they have openly entered Yeren City. They are meeting with the Four Governors at this very moment."
"The heretics of Tempest City have grown arrogant under their false god. We stand ready!" The Troll General clenched his fist.
"Grant us your blessing to march south, to trample their jade citadels, and to bring the head of their so-called High Priest to your feet!"
The Troll King sat in absolute, chilling stillness, his hollow pale-yellow eyes tracking the generals.
The silence stretched until it became a physical weight.
After the catastrophic failure of General Yvoda, the King had no intention of sending a divided command.
He needed absolute, fanatical ruthlessness.
Slowly, the King’s gaze locked onto the youngest of the three Troll leaders—General Tagar, a brutal warlord known for his merciless scorched-earth tactics.
"General Tagar," the King rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "You shall command the invasion. I grant you an army of five thousand western colossi. You will march south, and you will turn the Hudeii Desert into a graveyard."
The Orc and Ogre generals exchanged a brief, subtle glance of dissatisfaction, their pride stung by being passed over for a Troll.
But before they could even voice a breath of dissent, the Troll King moved with a terrifying, supernatural speed that defied his massive size.
CRACK.
In a fraction of a second, the King materialized directly before the kneeling commanders. His massive, clawed hands shot forward like iron traps.
One hand clamped around the throat of the Orc general, while the other seized the massive skull of the Ogre.
"M-Me...Mercy O Great King....."
"Keeeuuuukkkk....please spare our lives" they pleaded for mercy, struggling to break free.
The Troll King paid deaf ears to their cries.
Before the remaining generals could even process the horror, the Troll King unhinged his monstrous jaw, revealing rows of serrated, yellowed teeth.
With a sickening, wet crunch, he tore into the flesh of the Orc and Ogre generals, violently devouring them alive right there on the throne room floor.
Blood sprayed across the pristine white ice as the King consumed their physical forms, but he wasn’t eating for hunger.
A blinding, dark-purple miasma erupted from his throat as he forced the raw, unrefined mana cores of the dying Orc and Ogre out of their collapsing chests.
The last Ogre General watched with a cold grin written on his lips.
With a brutal thrust of his palms, the King slammed the stolen mana reserves from the emptied mana cores directly into General Tagar’s chest cavity.
He was proceeding with a Forced Mana Transfer to speed up the enlightenment stages of the Initial-staged enlightened Martial Master.
General Tagar threw his head back, letting out a guttural, blood-curdling shriek as the combined, volatile mana of two high-tier generals violently rewrote his meridians.
His muscles expanded, his blue skin turning a dark, bruised violet as his cultivation pressure spiked wildly, dangerously close to the absolute peak enlightenment of the Martial Master realm.
"Take their strength," the Troll King growled, wiping the dark blood from his tusks as he stepped back onto his dais. "And do not fail me."
"Now... leave my sight."
"By your absolute will, Your Majesty!" Tagar choked out, his new, suffocating aura flaring as he, the last Ogre General and the surviving Troll generals scrambled backward, fleeing the throne room in sheer, trembling awe.
The moment the heavy obsidian doors thudded shut, sealing the throne room into absolute isolation, the frantic, bloodthirsty aura of the Troll King vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating solemnity.
He turned toward the rear of his dais, stepping through a hidden door that led to an isolated, heavily fortified sanctuary deeper within the mountain.
As he crossed the threshold, the crisp scent of winter frost was completely replaced by a thick, nauseating stench of decay, iron, and ancient death.
The floor of this secret chamber was a literal nightmare.
It was filled to absolute capacity with broken bones, scattered limbs, and the hollowed-out skulls of hundreds of beastmen—sacrifices harvested from the southern border purges, piled high like a gruesome carpet.
In the center of this temple of bones stood a grand stone desk.
Resting flat upon it was the young, flawlessly sculpted human body, its chest rising and falling in that same chillingly mechanical rhythm.
Enrounding the altar was a coven of twelve ancient, decrepit Troll priests.
Their bodies were draped in tattered, blood-soaked ritual robes, their skeletal hands raised high as they continuously chanted and prayed toward the human body in a frantic, multi-layered dialect of the Unknown.
The massive, violet-and-crimson magic circle etched around the desk pulsed violently with every syllable they uttered, drawing the residual mana from the sea of beastman bones directly into the vessel’s flesh.
The Troll King approached the edge of the circle, his massive frame trembling slightly—not from anger, but from anticipation.
The mortal armies were already moving to the desert, but the true war would be decided here.
The mana array was reaching maximum synchronization.
The descent of Lord Damascus was drawing closer by the hour, and when the Unorthodox God finally opened his eyes within that human vessel.
The entire sandbox would burn.