Currently, he was standing on what appeared to be a small ledge, so it was easier for him to see farther into the cavern but he was still far from the shadowy figures. He needed to get closer.
John jumped from the ledge, the weight of the armor causing his knees to buckle.
On closer inspection, he saw that the shadowy figures were ashae. The giant they were hunting was a troll.
This wasn't just any regular troll, it was a variant.
Even though he had loved playing 'Shattered Realms,' this troll was the only monster he easily recognised since transmigrating here. He knew it was a variant troll because of the numerous parts grafted to its main body.
This variant of troll is called a dire troll. As if to make matters more dreadful, this particular dire troll had six extra hands and five heads, all grafted at different points on its body. To top it all off, it also had eyes at every location on its body, covering all angles.
The ashae hunting it were graceful in their movements and cautious. They stayed at length firing bolts and spells at the behemoth. However, the troll was not to be underestimated. Its numerous hands and multiple eyes allowed it to match their attacks.
Evidently, the fight was dragging on to a deadly stalemate.
John watched carefully, anticipating how the fight would go. Anyone who made the first mistake would lose. The troll had no blindspots the ashae could exploit and in turn, the ashae were too slippery for the troll.
Whenever they fired a projectile, the troll could see it on time, anticipating its trajectory and swatting it away with a weapon on one of its many hands. It avoided having the bolts touch its skin, as if afraid they were poisoned. What was surprising to John was the combination of caution, skill and cunning that the troll was displaying. Especially since the game seemed to portray trolls as savage straight-forward creatures.
Perhaps, it was this cunning and skill that allowed this particular troll survive long enough to develop into a dire troll. In each of its many hands, it held a different weapon, with the highlight being a wicked looking mace on its prominent arm.
Exhibiting a level of patience and cunning, the troll would occasionally fake its movements, attempting to catch the ashae by surprise. It made as if to move forward then suddenly changed direction and charged towards its left, swiping at a nearby ashae.
Unfortunately for the troll, the ashae were also smart and devious. Such amateurish tactics could not deceive them. They easily evaded the troll's charge.
The clash between the six ashae and the troll was surprisingly quiet. Except for the light thumps of the troll's steps and the twangs of crossbows, the fight may as well be as silent as a funeral.
John was still watching the deadly dance unfold when he suddenly staggered, his knee hitting the wet floor.
Searching around for an ambush, he soon discovered what struck his knee. Funnily, he was holding it.
It was a stray bolt of lightning from his staff that had struck his knee armor, the force of the strike causing his knee to buckle.
Yeah, he had nearly forgotten he was holding lightning. Real, living, violent, crackling lightning. Magic may be cool and all but it couldn't still account for sheer stupidity. Magic requires will and concentration. Watching the fight had allowed his concentration to falter, allowing some arcs of lightning break free from his control. He could feel that the lightning was rearing to break free from his control.
With the lightning getting increasingly difficult to control, it was either he used it or discharged it safely.
But there was no off switch for this kind of magic. When channeling lightning, you need to release it somewhere.
But where would I release this lightning to?
The condensed lightning around his staff began to whizz violently as if struggling against the magical bonds that were keeping it from wreaking havoc. As if in protest, the staff began humming, struggling against the powerful energies it had been forced to contain.
John was running out of time.
Recalling how the bolt of lightning had destabilized the ceiling when he fought the orangu-scorpion, he knew one thing—he had to discharge the lightning as far from his location as possible. It would be bad if it struck the ceiling. He didn't want to be buried in a pile of rubble.
Also, dropping the staff and making a run for it was not an option. The resulting explosion from dropping the supercharged staff could do some heavy damage.
Whatever decision he was to make, he needed to make it fast. His hands were getting increasingly numb. The pressure from the staff alone was getting overwhelming—not to mention the stray arcs that were striking his armor, making it unbearably hot.
He knew what he had to do.
Throw the staff as far away as possible so the resulting explosion doesn't affect him. At least, throwing the staff will give him a chance to escape the lightning blast zone.
But where to throw it?
In searching for a suitable location, his eyes locked on the dire troll. He grinned, as his mind started running with possibilities. What better target was there in the cavern than the dire troll. It was large enough to aim at. However, the troll was still a little too far. He didn't know if he could throw that far, because back on earth as John, he never did any throwing sport.
However, the pressure on his hands was enough to hasten his actions. Afterall, it wasn't about hitting the target. What was important was getting the supercharged staff as far away from him as possible.
The pressure on his hand was building to a tipping point, even making his whole body tremble from the vibrations. His options were to throw or get exploded. He for sure didn't want to be blown up by his own magic. That would be supremely embarrassing. If he managed to survive enough to feel shame.
Please fly as far as possible. I don't want to be blasted by my own magic.
John threw with all his might, aiming for the troll.
What happened next amazed him. It was less like he threw the staff and more like it broke free from his hands. The force of the lightning blasting the staff towards its target. He didn't know if it was his aiming abilities or the shenanigans of magic that let the staff stay true to its aim, even with all the vibration.
With a mighty sound like thunder on a stormy day, the staff flew, propelled by the power of lightning and traveling faster than a thrown projectile. It flew like a lightning bolt towards the troll.
The loud boom was enough to alert the troll to the staff speeding towards it. But there was nothing it could do, as the lightning propelled staff moved faster than the troll could dodge.
Like a zeus bolt descending upon its target, the staff flew towards the troll's midsection. On Impact, the condensed lightning on the staff exploded outwards, blasting the stomach of the troll to smithereens.
Trolls had amazing regeneration capabilities, and could recover from any kind of physical damage if given enough time. The best way to kill them was either through poison or by swiftly cutting off its head.
But what happens when a troll not only loses all its innards, but has bolts of lightning coursing through its body.
That was what John was about to find out.
The scene that followed was nearly comedic. The dire troll, convulsing from all the lightning coursing through its body, dropped to its knees. It stretched one of its many hands to feel its abdomen but met a wide gaping hole. In shock, the troll searched the darkness for where the lightning had come from. However, it did not find what it was looking for as its eyes began to grow dim.
It collapsed to the cavern floor with an ominous thud.
John, meanwhile, stared in awe, mouth agape at the level of destruction he had wrought.
'Did I just create a flying chidori?'
The group of ashae, not one to miss an opportunity, rushed the troll, firing their spells and projectiles at it, but it was pointless. The troll was already dead. However, caution was a natural instinct to any ashae.
After confirming the troll was truly dead, the ashae turned towards the direction the lightning bolt had come from. On noticing John, they took defensive stances, turning their backs to the dead troll.
One of the ashae broke from the group and began to walk towards John, their steps cautious with eyes alertly scanning the cavern floor.
After throwing the charged staff, John felt very tired. Fatigue was beginning to catch up to him. Notwithstanding his exhaustion, he forced himself to be at alert. The group of ashae in front of him were unknown variables to him just like he was to them. It wouldn't be good, starting off on the wrong foot. Besides, Darien's memories cautioned him to project strength, no matter the situation.
Grimacing, he forced himself to stand straighter, crossing his arms around his chest and taking on a calm demeanor.
When the approaching ashae reached some distance from him. it called out in a strange language that was clearly not English. John was surprised to find that he could understand the language even though it wasn't a language he had spoken before.
The feeling he got from hearing that language was almost nostalgic. But he knew it wasn't because of him. Darien's memories must be working overtime.
"Who are you?" the ashae asked, its tone wary but a little angry.
From the pitch of its voice, John could tell that this ashae was female.
He made to move closer as the ashae was still a little far for a normal conversation. She didn't seem to like that and pulled out her crossbow. It was armed and pointing towards his chest.
Sighing, he stood still and revealed his empty gauntleted hands, raising it above his head to show he meant no harm.
"I am John… I mean, I am Darien."
Nearly slipped there.
After calling out his name, the female ashae came a little closer to observe him better, her eyes a glowing red in the perpetual darkness of Suterra. She had an angular face, and bow-shaped lips that were currently pulled back in a scowl directed at him.
To put her at ease, he pulled his hood back to reveal his face. He wanted to try all means to alleviate the tension. He didn't want her to be spooked and shoot him with that nasty looking crossbow.
She sneered when he revealed his face.
"So a worthless male stole our kill, huh?"
John could not help but snarl in anger, but the ashae side of him, Darien's side, helped him school his expression back to placidity.
Amradur was a matriarchal society, but even so, mages were still given their due respect. He didn't like the way she looked down at him, dismissing him as worthless.
Well, what better way to show someone you aren't worthless than by projecting your strengths.
He tried his best to put on a smug smile, unclasping the gauntlet on his left arm to allow him freedom to cast spells. His staff was somewhere on the dead troll and so unavailable to him for spell casting. Plus, he needed his hands free for what he wanted to do next.
Luckily he was taller, which made him feel satisfied, as he could effectively look down on her both physically and mentally.
｢Darien casts [Darlan's Kiss] ｣
He made sure to let lightning build up in his hands. His abused hands were getting numb again but he didn't mind. Instead of releasing it, he allowed the lightning dance wildly on his hand, forcing the lightning to bend to his will.
The female ashae became alarmed, raising her crossbow at him again.
John didn't mind. Better to die glorious than a coward.
This time, he wiped the smug smile from his face, replacing it with an intense scowl.
"The way you speak reminds me of a troll, I have a problem with trolls," he hissed, pointedly looking in the direction of the dead troll.
"You dare!" she roared, "You dare challenge a priestess of Noor?" Her chest began to rise in anger, but she quickly schooled her expression as the lightning on John's hand kept cackling.
Grinning at her reaction, he let the lightning strike at his armor instead of the priestess. His armor got momentarily hot but he didn't mind. Besides, his hands were getting numb anyway. Seems the staff was better for channeling that kind of lightning spell.
She reciprocated his action by returning the crossbow to her waist, striding forward to stand close to him, really close. Her actions would have been intimidating if she wasn't short compared to him. The crown of her head barely reached the tip of his nose.
He didn't step back and met her stare head on. Her glare was really intense, making up for her smaller size in attitude.
"Have you gotten so arrogant? Exile." She stepped even closer, staring up at him.
What? She knows I am an exile?
This female must have an idea of who he was. However, he didn't know who she was. He searched Darien's memories but the woman's face still remained unfamiliar.
But if she stepped so close to a mage who was capable of one-shotting a troll, that meant she clearly knew who he was—at least who the previous Darien was.
He was at a disadvantage here. She knew who he was but he didn't know her. As such, he didn't know how he should behave towards her. She had the advantage of knowledge.
He broke his intense stare, letting his face relax into a smile and stepping away from her challenge.
"You seem to know me, priestess. If I may be so bold as to inquire about your name."
Her expression was one of scorn. But did he detect an amused smile there?
"My name should not concern you, exile. Follow me. The tasteless rabble are afraid you are an agent sent to assassinate them on their training hunt." She chuckled at her own statement, turning her gaze to the group of ashae down below. "They overestimate their importance."
She turned to face him again, indicating he walk ahead of her towards the group of waiting ashae.
Are all ashae this paranoid? That they can't turn their backs to anyone?
He shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the larger group with the priestess following close behind. He didn't like a stranger he didn't trust walk behind him but he didn't want to show he was afraid. Moving with as much swagger as his exhausted legs could manage, he walked towards the ashae group.
On reaching the group of ashae hunters, he noticed that they were all male. Most of them wore leather armor and short cloaks that reached all the way to their thighs. Only the priestess wore chainmail, though he barely noticed it, covered by her shirt.
He smiled on seeing them, imagining himself as a giant among ashae. They were all shorter than him. The ashae did not understand why he was smiling and understood it as him attempting to be friendly.
He looked at them awkwardly, the silence nearly starting to become uncomfortable. The priestess saved him from having to introduce himself. It was for the best, as he didn't know the proper etiquette among ashae.
She stood in front of them, like a commander addressing her troops.
"This is Darien. An exiled mage." She moved to stand beside him. Imperiously scanning the rest of the male ashae as if expecting questions. When no one spoke, she continued. "He is the one that stole your kill."
One of the male ashae with light-golden hair stepped forward. His eyes, unlike the rest, glowed purple and he looked a little younger than the rest.
John didn't know how ashae aged, but from experience, he knew this one was the youngest here.
The young ashae was visibly pissed.
"You stole my glory, we nearly had it and you took it from us," he snarled, glaring at John, though he was sensible enough to keep his distance.
From his stance, John knew he was about to attack.