Harold walked through the doors of the mercenary's guild, his brand-new lance in tow, and took a moment to observe the people who were present. They varied greatly, though most looked quite similar to Vannol. Leather, chainmail or gambesons with weapons such as spears, bows, crossbows, bucklers and short swords. More notable figures included a couple of robed individuals who were clearly mages, a group of elves trying their best to avoid drawing any attention to themselves, and a few people with plate harnesses. He noted with some pride that theirs were clearly of much lower quality in comparison to his.
People sent plenty of curious sights his way, it wasn't everyday someone new with an enchanted steel plate showed up after all.
He walked up to the notice board to observe various contracts. If he understood correctly then the guild itself did not offer any work, they merely served as an enforcer to make sure contracts are fulfilled and pay is handed out properly, while taking a small share themselves of course.
Most of the work posted was quite tame in nature, guarding caravans to other cities, manual labor and the like. More dangerous work included bounties on bandits and thieves, scouting missions beyond the wall. Truly grand scale work were mostly issued by the council, mass reconnaissance and expeditions beyond even the massive Altena Forest, serving as a peacekeeping force between warring nobles, and even an extermination order on a giant ant nest.
Among the council contracts there was one in particular that caught his eye, a relatively minor one despite being issued by the council. An elimination order on a troll that's been raiding villages, they are normally easily dealt with by the garrison, but this one has been avoiding confrontation with the military. The council was offering 2 gold for locating the nest and 3 more for eliminating it (1 gold is worth 10 silver). It seemed like the perfect contract for him, it paid well, and he could retreat if things got too dangerous, a troll wasn't catching up to a man on horseback.
He took the notice to the receptionist fully prepared to put Vannol's tips to use just to find out that you can't negotiate payment for council issued work, you either took the pay offered or didn't take the contract. He supposed it was fine for him either way, in some ways it made his life much easier. Apparently, the troll has been raiding villages to the west of here, the latest report coming from a village named Sonin. He could get there in less than an hour if he moved now.
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The ride to Sonin was calm and he had lunch along the way. The grassy deforested hills of the frontier region being the only thing to fill his sight, and soon enough he was standing at the gates. It was a small livestock village, likely even smaller than Thomas's farmstead.
One of the people caught up in the raid explained that the troll wounded 2 people and took off with a cow, relatively low losses considering how dangerous trolls were to the average person. This was supposedly the second raid, with the previous one going much the same. The troll came after dark, assaulted the guards and ran away with livestock.
It had likely taken up residence in a cave at the base of the mountain to the north. Several people have already made differing reports of seeing the troll in one of the caves, but every time a squadron from the garrison arrived the reported cave would be empty. Thankfully the village had a map detailing the entire region, he could simply check them one by one until he found its nest and killed it.
The northern mountain was a strange landmark, it was a lone peak that was disconnected from the rest of the Otgon mountain range that connected the northern and southern frontier.
There were a dozen caves around the base, that's where he'll find his prey. Harold tried to call upon any information about trolls that he knew of as he made his way there. They were large stupid creatures, extremely strong and famed for their stamina. They were naturally capable of stemming bleeding very quickly, the only way to kill them was a single decisive strike to a vital organ. A pike formation of a dozen men made short work of the brutes, but Harold obviously couldn't do that here. He'd have to kill it with a decisive charge, 'not at all different from a jousting match' he humorously thought.
Still, he didn't fail to notice how empty of wildlife the area was. Trolls consumed large amounts of food, likely the reason why they lived alone, the one that had taken up residence here must've over hunted and resorted to raiding to feed itself. Trolls may be stupid but thousands of years of history have drilled into them the danger of an organized community. Afterall, the species were hunted to near extinction, by both humans and giant ants. They wouldn't attack human settlements unless they were desperate.
Each cave he checked was filled with animal bones and signs of it once being occupied, though not anymore. Each one was empty of trolls, it was just when Harold was beginning to get frustrated with his lack of progress that he finally found his prey. It was standing in a large clearing in front of its cave; it appeared to have been waiting for him. Harold wasn't surprised—his presence had likely been noticed long before he arrived.
What shocked him was the appearance of the troll. It was massive, if he had to guess it was well over 5 meters tall and likely weighed more than 5 tons. Much larger than the average troll, which explained the overhunting. But that wasn't the most notable feature of the creature standing in front of him, it was the fact that it had armor. Not of great quality mind you, it was a crude collection of metal plates tied to its body using leather straps. It took a moment for Harold to realize that the plates once belonged to someone, it was a collection of individual bent harnesses. If he were to fall here, his will likely be added among them.
Despite their crudeness Harold immediately recognized the problem they caused, he couldn't get a clean strike to a vital organ. The only target was its helmetless head, a disproportionately small thing that had an ugly sneer wiped across it, nearly six meters in the air. He'd have to be right next to it to land a hit with his lance, not a great idea to get that close when their opponent was 5 times the weight of him and his mount combined.
The troll simply stood there, looking at him while brandishing its concerningly large club, one hit from it wouldn't kill him, but it certainly would hurt. Harold began to circle around his opponent, observing it. It simply stared back; it was smart enough to know that it couldn't reach a man on horseback.
He wasn't getting anywhere like this, he had to test the troll, see how fast it was. If he was lucky, he'd be able to put it down with a single charge. He and Atlas rapidly pick up speed, continuing to circle the armored troll. Walk, trot, canter, gallop. Soon enough the troll is facing a ton of muscle and steel rolling towards it at over 50 km/h. Faced with such an opponent, even a drake would consider retreat.
But the plate trophies of this troll weren't just for show. When Harold gets close enough it raises its massive club and swings with surprising agility, completely catching him off guard. Only years of jousting allows Harold to react, practically throwing Atlas out of the way.
Alas, he wasn't quite quick enough, he was grazed in the shoulder. His pauldron groans under the pressure, deforming before setting itself back to its original shape, the wonders of enchanted steel. His excellent armor prevents his arms from being completely crushed, but his shoulder is badly bruised, and he is almost thrown off his mount. The troll doesn't chase after them, Atlas was untouched and quickly made some distance from the troll before stopping.
Harold understood the situation now; the troll was too dangerous for a lone rider to face alone. It would move nests once found if the attacker escapes, with those bold enough to put it down by themselves meeting a grim fate at its hands. Yet, Harold doesn't consider retreat for a single moment, his pride as a knight of Lyon wouldn't allow such an action. He would not back off before a mere troll.
Atlas seemed to agree, the stallion angrily pawed the ground, digging up dirt and breathing heavily, though certainly not from exhaustion. He wanted blood. But before any attempts at victory were to be made, he had to better gauge his opponent's capabilities. He drops his lance and draws his longsword, the lance wouldn't hold up if he were to try to parry with it, and breaking the lance was as good as losing the battle, he wouldn't be able to reach the troll's head.
Harold and Atlas charge once more, but slower with more caution this time. When the troll takes its swing Harold directs the momentum of him and his stallion in the same direction as the club's trajectory, and Harold uses his sword to slightly push the weapon off course, making it miss entirely. Mount and rider working together have done the impossible, they parried the massive log. His arms are numb from the action, but that was hardly an issue worth noting with the adrenaline flowing through his veins.
Again and again, they charge in for a skirmish before rapidly disengaging, Harold's parries become ever more precise while the troll's frustration quickly builds up. Its swings become wilder; it begins to chase them after disengaging despite knowing it's too slow to catch up. Somehow, Harold and Atlas were doing it, they were beating a troll, creatures famed for their stamina, in a battle of attrition. With each clash it became slower, but so did Harold and Atlas.
The parries were straining Harold's arms to its very limits, and his earlier bruise was beginning to hurt despite the adrenaline. Atlas, even with his monstrous stamina, was also beginning to burn out. Each charge was slower than the last, each acceleration longer than before. They'd have to end the battle sooner or later.
Eventually, Harold makes the decision to take up his lance and prepares for the decisive charge.
"Come on Atlas, one last push and we send this bastard to the devil" His steed seemed to understand the notion, practically snorting steam as they began to take up speed once again. Walk, trot, canter, gallop. Once again, a ton of muscle and steel was rolling forward at over 50km/h. Scraping up dirt and leaving a cloud of dust behind, it was all or nothing now. This time the troll seemed far more hesitant to face them, and its swing came much slower.
Harold tilts his body at the last moment, the club practically scraping his armor as he passes by. But as close as it may have been, the troll missed nonetheless, Harold certainly wasn't going to. In one fluid motion following his dodge Harold slightly lowers his lance, aiming it directly at the troll's head. Time slows down as both combatants see the lance inch ever closer, nothing could stop it now.
When the connection finally comes, it comes violently. Harold's lance practically exploded as it met the troll's face, now nothing more than a useless half broken shaft of wood in his hand. The troll's skull shattered like a porcelain vase, the explosive impact leaving nothing but a grotesque ruin of bone and flesh. The rest of its now headless body instantly drops to the ground, dead.
"RAAAAGH!" "HHRRNNH-EEEEEEH!"
Both Harold and Atlas let out their final guttural war cry and neigh respectively, the foe that had once towered over them lay beneath their feet, and the gory puddle of blood and brain matter to seep into Harold's heart, settling into a deep sense of twisted satisfaction.