Having slayed the Towering Troll, Sigurd ignored the notifications he was getting regarding leveling up and shook some of the goop off his body. He then slid down its arm until his feet touched the ground. He turned to where the children from earlier had fled and approached the trees. As he did, Sigurd saw the kids peeking from behind them.
“It’s over now kids, you can come out,” he tried to reassure them, but they only watched him while hiding behind trees. Sigurd saw his arms and legs, and his torso as well, and how he was still drenched in the monster’s purple blood. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. I was just trying to keep you safe from it.”
He felt the blood also all over his face, and, combined with the messy hair, the entire look must’ve seemed like a scary sight to them, ‘This looks worse than it is, but surely they understand, right?’ he then tried to reassure himself.
Looking back at the felled beast, he further pondered, ‘Was that maybe too gory to show to a bunch of kids? Oh fuck, I hope I haven’t scarred them now...’
While he was lost in thought, shoulders slumped, the kids cautiously stepped out of the thicket. Sigurd heard them rustling the leaves and slowly turned to face them, like a wildlife photographer hoping to get the perfect shot before their target flees.
“That,” one of the kids stuttered as he spoke up. “That was so cool!”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
“Yeah, you were all,” one of the other boys said, imitating Sigurd’s movements with his arms and pretending to swing a sword. “How’d you do that?”
“Thanks for saving us, mister,” one of the girls then said, breaking into tears.
Still trying to reel in his breath from the battle, Sigurd knelt on the ground to meet the children’s gazes. It was then he was able to properly survey them and he saw there were about seventeen kids, all no older than Nia.
“Thanks, I’m just glad you all are safe,” he answered their praises. Overwhelmed by their compliments, Sigurd awkwardly chuckled, adding, “What were you all doing out here, though?”
One of the girls pointed at the destroyed hand baskets under the troll’s body, and the scattered leaves, “The orphanage sent us to forage for medicinal herbs and supper.”
‘Orphans again?’ Joyce thought. ‘What kind of sick joke is this?’
“Oh, that’s not good,” Sigurd replied, dejected as he stared at the mess left in the battle’s wake. Feeling responsible for the kids’ wasted find, he added, “Let me take you back home. We’ll figure something out.”
After their ordeal and graze with death, the kids all happily agreed to leave the forest. They all approached Sigurd but kept a distance of about two meters. He understood why.
“But first,” he spoke up, clearing his throat and pulling out his crude, hand-drawn map. He wiped off the excess goop, though a lot still remained, smudging the paper. Pointing at the next waypoint, Sigurd added, “Let me stop by this river to clean up.”
The children all nodded and started to walk ahead of Sigurd. Before he departed as well, he picked up the broken piece of his sword and paused at the Towering Troll. ‘Considering my reason for coming here, I should probably take some proof back,’ he realized and swiped the troll’s hideous necklace.