Chapter Twenty: The Troll Outpost

With the return of the last group of scout rangers and the confirmation of the surrounding terrain, advancing deeper into the Forest of Life became possible.

The rangers marked the locations they explored, paying special attention to traces of troll activity within the forest, careful not to alert the trolls and give them time to prepare. The scholars hastily constructed a sand table of the Forest of Life, and everyone gathered in the grand hall of the sanctuary to deliberate: this operation to penetrate the forest was now inevitable.

In the hall, Aurelia, Baron Sanguinal, Lanaya, Varela, Idonis, and Candiris convened once more to discuss the battle plan. The sand table was marked with the route of their advance, the rangers’ indications of troll activity, records of potential ambush points, and the difficulties they might face on the march.

“Ever since the last battle in the Forest of Life, our defenses within the forest have been fully withdrawn. Only a few trolls linger around the perimeter. After this period of recuperation, those grotesque troll priests, so hideous they make elves retch, have quieted down for now. It’s the perfect time to strike, while their guard is lowered, and deal them a fatal blow.” Hawkspire, holding his command baton, pointed at the route on the sand table and explained in detail to the others.

Hawkspire had fought against trolls for many years, responsible for the defense of the Farstrider Camp, the Eastern Sanctuary, and training the rangers as well as coordinating the troops. His expertise was unmatched. This future Ranger King’s ability to command and train the rangers was the best in all of Silvermoon City.

Aurelia remained silent, turning to Baron Sanguinal, her gaze inviting his counsel.

“After these days of joint drills, the coordination between our units has improved greatly. But once we venture deep into the forest, we must act swiftly—strike hard and fast at Sebwasa’s garrison.” Baron Sanguinal proposed a lightning assault, a sound and logical suggestion.

Aurelia continued her silence, looking to Patrick.

Patrick quietly stroked his chin, pondering for a moment before replying, “No issues remain—when do we depart?” With the wealth of experience possessed by Baron Sanguinal and Hawkspire, there was no need for Patrick to add anything to their tactical details.

Though the rangers had their weaknesses—they were best suited for defensive battles, holding positions, or assisting melee troops in attacks—and the elven army was woefully short on melee fighters, elven forces were small in number but highly skilled. Each soldier wielded considerable combat prowess and was well-equipped; they could fight and win.

“Conduct another thorough inventory of supplies, equipment, and troop allocations. Gather and organize all intelligence for my review. The army will depart the day after tomorrow,” Aurelia addressed the assembled elves.

The arrow was nocked and drawn—there was no turning back.

Word of the campaign spread, and the rangers below were all filled with excitement—another chance to earn glory. The Sanguinal troops had already brought out their council war banners, while Aurelia prepared the Windrunner family’s battle flag as well.

Though both units had undergone joint training and exercises for combined operations, they marched with impeccable order—even if other details were left unspoken. Truly, councils in any world were the same: rival factions contending openly and covertly. The old saying from a former life, “If you don’t know martial arts, you’d hardly dare call yourself a council member,” still rang true.

The army set out, leaving only a small defensive force and a few low-circle mages to guard the Eastern Sanctuary. Aurelia’s contingent included only the two mages, Idonis and Candiris, plus herself—just three in total. Sanguinal’s troops had two mages as well, unfamiliar to Patrick.

The force crossed the barrier. Two hours later, they entered the depths of the Forest of Life. Hawkspire, map in hand, carefully checked their route.

As the army pressed on, the stench of witchcraft grew stronger, the soil underfoot grew richer and darker, and the air became thick with the pungent odor. Witchcraft and voodoo dominated here. Patrick was drawing close to Sebwasa.

Moving forward, the rangers discovered scattered troll tracks. The army became wary, but not a single troll was encountered. Patrick found this strange—trolls weren’t a farming people, relying instead on nomadic habits and wild fruits for subsistence. To march an entire day without meeting a single troll was highly unusual.

On the second day, the army finally spotted a troll encampment—small, with few inhabitants, perched atop a low hill. Likely an outpost for Sebwasa. The rangers’ eagle vision spell revealed trolls setting up defenses, spears in hand and ready.

Patrick unfolded his mind’s eye, scanning the trolls—about a hundred, with only two spellcasters. Clearly, just a warning post.

The rangers readied their attack, awaiting Aurelia’s command to unleash the first volley of arrows and inflict heavy casualties.

“Loose!” Aurelia’s voice rang out softly.

Arrows flew like a swarm of locusts toward the troll outpost. Some trolls were struck before they could dodge, but most merely pulled out the arrows and suffered no serious harm. Only a handful were killed outright, pierced through head or spine. Ordinary arrows, without lethal enchantments, could not overcome the trolls’ formidable regeneration.

Magic gathered in Patrick’s palm, powerful arcane energies coalescing. A fierce flame appeared in his hand as he compressed the spell further, until a bright orange fireball shot toward the troll outpost.

A thunderous explosion!

A shrill wail erupted from the outpost. Trolls, faces twisted in agony, were hurled outwards like fragments from the blast. The shattered buildings inflicted a second round of injuries upon the troll soldiers. The great wooden structures splintered, bearing witness to the force of the strike.

Another deafening roar! A second compressed spell, another orange fireball, struck the outpost directly. The gates were engulfed in a wave of searing heat, flames igniting wooden houses and walls. The outpost gate collapsed slowly.

The army advanced, intent on wiping out the outpost. The accompanying mages began their incantations—arcane agility, armor enhancement, acceleration—all layered on. Cloaked in magical power, the whole army shimmered with radiant colors.

The trolls began hurling javelins downward. Even primitive missiles posed a great threat to elves, especially when cast from a height, gravity adding to their lethal force. The troll priests danced strange rituals, sending waves of green light into their wounded comrades, healing their injuries as troll muscles swelled and bulged. The trolls’ blood-red eyes gleamed, and each licked their bloodthirsty fangs.