Chapter 17: ARC 1-The Enchanted Forest-Part 17

Head-to-head battles suck. Most of my body is bruised and aching. I have no idea how I came out on top. After the first couple of blows to the head, things got blurry. I think this body’s size alone let me survive.

I can’t believe trolls have any energy to do anything after beating on each other the way they do. I go my own way to find food but it’s hard to concentrate on anything with this pounding in my head.

Their hunting success must be a result of their pure affinity for earth, which I don’t have. This is so unfair. I have to do things the old-fashioned way while these brainless lumps of muscle can just drop the ground from underneath their prey.

No, no. I’m reverting to my old ways, complaining about everything. Remember all the training Kierra put me through. I need to do this for my elf.

Since they have a pure affinity, it should be okay if I use one of my tricks. If it isn’t, screw it.

Going back to elemental form to get rid of my aches seems like too much of a cheat. Instead, I change the insides of my ears to that of a green wolf and my eyes to those of a dusk hawk. Much better. Trolls are blind in comparison.

Not much compared to a pure affinity but the scales are a little more balanced. Now, time to catch dinner.

-

Trying to catch rabbits and deer with your bare hands is harder than it sounds. A lot harder. Pretty much impossible if you’re a troll. Running between trees is difficult when you have limbs as thick as logs. I almost got somewhere trying to hit the fleeing prey with stones or, more accurately, small boulders, but it’s hard to aim properly with these sausages someone might think are fingers.

I march home, dinnerless. The other four are lingering by the entrance to the den, their kills piled in a bloody mound. The sight disgusts my human mind as my troll stomach grumbles with anticipation.

I grab something that resembles a deer and drag it behind me as I crawl into the den, leaving the others to fight over the rest. I do my best not to think about the raw meat I’m tearing into and the blood that’s staining the ground I’ll have to sleep on later.

This is not disgusting. I can’t let myself think about how disgusting this is because I have to do it all again tomorrow. Savagery isn’t learned in a day. I’ve become a troll but I don’t think I’ve become a troll. And I’m not stopping until I do.

-

I come roaring out of the den, startling my den mates who were still grooming. I kick the closest troll, sending him sprawling to the ground before knocking him across the face with a deer bone. The end breaks off and I stab the jagged end into his shoulder, grinning viciously as my victim screams.

Someone knocks me to the ground. Blows rain down on my face but I ignore the pain. Grabbing the attacker by the tusks, I roll him off me, straddling his waist. Then I pull his head up and slam it into the ground. Over and over, until he stops fighting.

Heart pumping from adrenaline, I get to my feet and search for the next opponent. Again, the mottled troll faces me but this time, he’s swaying on his feet after taking down his first opponent. Looks like it’s going to be an easy victory this morning.

We trade blows. I concentrate on protecting my head, taking the heavy blows on my chest and abdomen with barely a grunt. I started out fighting like them; lashing out wildly until my opponent went down but I wised up on the third day when a sneak attack across the back of my skull knocked me unconscious.

First and only time I lost. Picking through bloody scraps while the selfish, upright pigs around you try to steal your dinner when they haven’t even finished their own portions is not my idea of a good time.

That loss taught me not to just rely on my strength. To strike decisively and make sure they don’t get back up.

He’s not going to accomplish that with his flailing. Is one day enough for them to forget how tough this body of mine is? It doesn’t take long before he starts slowing down and I’m not even bruised. I make my move.

Stepping past his next attack, I clasp my hands together and swing them like a hammer, putting my body behind the blow. The troll’s head snaps back and he falls to the ground.

I roar out my victory, pounding on my chest as I dare the losers to challenge me again, circling them. As I pass by the trolls, I kick their sides until they climb back to their feet.

These losers owe me dinner and it better be something special. I’ve spent over a week amongst these animals. I’m plenty savage. With the mood I’m in, I could break their tusks off in a fit of rage. I smell like a troll, to my horror, I walk like a troll, and I fight like one.

It’s time to go back to my elf and deliver my surprise. Hehe.

-

I wait until the other trolls have come into the den and I hear their heavy breathing. Then I creep out of the den and begin collecting foliage; dead branches that have fallen, rotted logs, and the smaller greenery I can pull up. I take my bounty and stack them into the main tunnel.

I believe that I could take them all out one by one but if I did that, they might get spooked and try to run. Then I’d be chasing them all over the Enchanted Forest for days on end, longer if they were even a little clever about it. No, not me. Best to get them all in one go.

And finally, magic! Ah, fire affinity. I knew you would come in handy eventually. At the beginning of the tunnel where the last of my kindling is stacked, I close my eyes and concentrate.

Now that I’m not pressed for time or about to be eaten by giant bugs, I can focus on what I’m doing.

The first step to casting magic is to be aware of mana. Since it's concentrated in the blood, gaining awareness of it is as simple as focusing on the blood and the heart that pumps it. Knowing that it circulates in the bloodstream is to know that it saturates the body with mana the same way.

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While I did slack on my studies, this has been ingrained since I could understand words. It comes naturally. I know I have control of it when I feel a weight on my chest.

Channeling mana is a stressful exercise. If one tries to overexert themselves, the pressure on the heart intensifies and in extreme cases, it can explode under duress, killing the caster immediately. Such is the measure of a caster, how much mana they can channel before it becomes too much to bear.

My capacity has definitely increased. Before, I couldn’t differentiate blood from mana as it was being pumped. Now, I can feel something else moving with the blood, a kind of heat pushing outwards from my heart, or my mana core since I’m casting right now, growing weaker as it reaches my fingers and toes.

I’ve heard about this level of awareness. My father told me that it’s reserved for casters with a capacity of at least 100. That’s over double what I had when I left for the Grand Hall. I think I’m excited to see what I can do now.

Cosmo, you lovable all-powerful elemental, I take back every curse against you. I might have to kiss you when we meet again.

With a grip on the energy needed to power it, I began building my spell. Most casters could do something as simple as starting a fire instantly, but I won’t feel comfortable unless I work it out in my mind. Lack of experience and all.

Spells are divided into groupings of numbers that explain what it does. The more groupings you have in a spell, the more exact you can get the effect to be. A grouping consists of a variable and a coefficient that describes it.

The first group is what you want to effect. For that, I put in the variable for fire affinity and a coefficient of 10. Some of this bark is tough and I need to make sure it burns.

The second group is the range. This one is a little trickier as I want to do something special. I put in a variable of 1 but then I draw a line before putting in another variable of 20. The reason why this is tricky is that the line means I want the spell to travel from its starting point to a distance of 20.

Thing is, I have no idea how far 20 is. There is a whole class of study dedicated to the units recognized by mana that I, of course, slept through every lesson of.

Hopefully, this works.

Keeping the spell firmly in mind, I call on my mana and channel it through my upraised hand. I can’t see it but I know my eyes flare brightly, a sure sign that someone is casting.

A large wave of fire bursts out through my palm with a loud whoosh, rushing over the kindling and setting it ablaze. I cough at the heavy smoke that rises as the leaves and branches crackle under the intense heat.

I step backward, watching the thin smoke as it pushes further into the den. Now, to wait.

-

I got the idea to use smoke against the trolls from a story sung by a scraggly bard passing through the town. Apparently, fire breathing dragons aren’t immune to smoke and devious knights.

Still, it’s surprising how effective it is. I thought for sure they would realize what was going on and come charging out of the den, angry and desperate. I’m waiting in my troll form, leaning against a heavy log as I wait for the first combatants to make it through.

No one does. When the fire gets low, I throw my log on top of it and it roars back to life, burning well through the night. After the final embers have gone out, I turn into an elemental that doesn’t have lungs and make my way into the den.

The large room where my den mates sleep is filled with so much smoke, I wouldn’t be able to see if I had eyes. No idea how I can see.

The trolls haven’t moved. They died in their sleep, completely unaware of the danger. Seeing them, I feel a small spike of guilt. Very small and easily ignored. Trolls aren’t very likable and my most prominent memories with them are the five of us beating each other into submission.

I cut heads and swallow bodies, getting four more templates. Then I go back to the tree where I stored the red troll’s head and dig, adding it to the collection. The morning sun is peeking through the trees, dawning on a new chapter in my life.

It’s time to go back to my elf.

-

I throw open the door to the tree, expecting to be grabbed by a tearful elf anxious for my return. “I’m back!”

Silence.

Hmm? Wait, that’s not right. She should be here. I purposely came in the middle of the day. Normally, she would be just returning from a hunt or already settling down for her midday nap.

A quick search of the tree reveals she is well and truly not here. I settle down on the first floor, setting my troll heads on the ground while I lounge on one of the mats. The minutes drag on as I anxiously wait for the door to be opened. Heh. Funny how this ends up the exact opposite of the way I imagined it.

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