"Are you sure being curt with the nobility was a good idea? Weren't you the one that warned me even the unseated ones shouldn't be insulted?"

Elin chuckled, artificial joy, avoiding Walter's patient stare, "Well, that was before." Her delicate fingers shredded the dried meat. "Can you light the brazier for me?"

Walter clicked a flint-and-steel. Once the charcoal in the brazier burned, he slid it to Elin, and she balanced a ceramic bowl of stew on top.

She stirred the bubbling food.

The silence dragged on in their tent.

"What's the matter?" Walter asked.

"Nothing is wrong, beloved," Elin replied, without looking up, "Everything is perfect."

"Elin..."

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "I denounced Gaia, and I fear I'm falling prey to the Qualms of Heroism."

"Qualms of Heroism?"

The stew bubbled.

Elin said, "It's a sermon detailing the long shadow of sin cast by the heroes: recklessness, despotism, and lustfulness. I told you there were three Crusades in the Age of Heroes, right? The Four Heroes Crusade, the Dragon Crusade, and the Bloody Crusade, and the last is marked by violent infighting, radical factions, and unwilling harems."

"Is that why you're being assigned a, what's it called, deponent?"

Elin shook her head, and then, after a moment, reconsidered and nodded. "That's a complicated situation. Minvera founded the Order of the Witness to immortalize the achievements of her husband, Idrun, and it's a long-standing religious tradition. Now, it's used to evaluate a hero's behavior. When I was younger, I couldn't understand why a hero would behave villainously, but now, with this power, it is all too clear. Knowing I can easily change things makes me impatient."

Walter asked, "Is that why you stopped acting like a paladin?"

Elin opened her mouth to respond, but she failed to gather her words. To stall long enough to recover her wits, she lifted the bowl from the brazier and positioned it between the two of them. "I feel like I have to choose between you and my goddess. I prayed for her to save you, and she failed to act, and I was so angry with her."

"Well," Walter rubbed his chin, "If she'll abandon you over something that trivial, then she's not worthy of you."

For the first time since the conversation started, Elin met his eyes. "How can you say such things? She's a goddess! What are mortals without their moral example?"

"I think everyone is born able to feel what is right and wrong," he said.

"Feel?" Elin blinked, and then she rubbed her forehead. "How can you know for sure if you don't meditate on it, or if a diety doesn't show you an example?" She searched his face. "What god do you worship?"

He shrugged, "I don't, I guess."

"Walter!" Elin grabbed his hand. "What about your soul? Don't you want to be rewarded in the afterlife?"

"I never thought about it."

The shocked expression on her face made Walter flush with guilt.

He stammered, "Sorry, it's just, where I come from--"

"Lady Elin? Sir Walter?" Sister Lora's whisper outside their tent made both of them glance away. "The scouts have located the Pale Troll."

A warhorse was issued to Elin and Walter.

"That's a huge animal," Walter commented, staring at the steed.

Surely you jest, Elin thought. You once commanded lightning. How can any animal astonish you?

They mounted, as per usual, with her in front and him behind her, and rode to the gathering crowd. Their numbers increased. All of the officers crawled out of the safety of the log keep and gathered with unseated noblemen.

"She holds the reigns?" someone whispered, "Does he have no pride?"

Elin's first instinct was to whip the horse around and ram the offender. Instead, she buried her irritation. After all, Walter might be injured if she acted rashly.

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The remark carried no weight. Though uncommon for women to ride to the horn of the saddle, her heroic level should erase all detraction. Elin secretly bridled. Their whispering was a bald-faced attempt to oust Walter, and replace him with someone favorable.

If only you knew, Elin thought, he is the reason I reached Level 100. He must be, there is no other explanation. You should be bowing and scraping for his favor, no, you should build him a new temple, an entire order to catalog his knowledge. His magic did the lion's share of damage to the nosferatu. If he still possed it, then all your lot could accomplish is stare in awe and pray.

By Gaia, Venus, and Hera, I nearly fell to prayer.

Or, worse, as Priestess Evelyn warned, they'd attempt to manipulate or eliminate him as a potential threat, which is why she took the credit.

Her fist tightened on the reigns, and her glove creaked.

When his hands lighted on her waist, her hands eased.

How can you be so calm about this? Aren't you furious with me because the Scales siphoned your rightful might? How can you naturally act out the visage of a man, after Aratron, the very god of magic himself, surrendered his Grimoire to you, and then stole it back?

It's my fault you lost your power, Walter. Why won't you rebuke me?

"Relax," Walter whispered in her ear, and goosebumps prickled across her skin, "You got this. It's nowhere near as strong as the vampire."

Elin chuckled under her breath. "I'm not worried about the troll. Do not worry, I shall defeat it as you explained, and make an example of it without demonstrating all my strength."

Their unheard exchange did not go unseen. Lord Remont stared, or rather, obviously struggled not to, as did the others. This prompted another bout of whispers.

The Pale Troll's territory circled the periphery of the Necropolis. It was, in crude terms, a carrion-feeder, and it feasted on the victims of the undead. Over time, eating cursed and diseased flesh, its skin molted and bleached. The gluttonous accumulation of corruption and death empowered it. The military officially designated it as a boss-monster. The soldiers at Camp Wolf performed regular campaigns to lure it away, unable to defeat the creature because of its regenerative capabilities.

The albino creature munched on a rotting stag in the middle of an open field, unafraid of any threat. It was the apex predator. Even the undead avoided it, for the most part; others were squished by its oversized club.

The party of noblemen and military set up a camp out of sight, and they hid their presence on the far side of a hill.

When Elin and Walter dismounted, he opened the saddlebags. "I prepared a kit for you."

"A kit?" Elin asked.

"To fight the troll, of course, my lady." He grinned when she subtly rolled her eyes at the honorific. "A squire must prepare his knight for combat." He pulled out a belt, with several glass flasks attached, and buckled it around her hip. The oversized belt hooked on one of her hips and slid over the other.

"Why oil?" she asked.

Walter adjusted the utility belt on her hips. "To burn the troll. It stops the regeneration. Acid, too, but there isn't exactly a lot of that available. Did you guys not know that?"

She shook her head.

"Also, be careful if you sever its limbs or the head. They might work independently of the body, depending on the variation of the troll. I can't say for sure because I don't know how the game rules--" Walter cleared his throat, "I don't know how my research will play out."

"Gruesome. I'll be wary, then. Thank you, Sir Walter."

"You're welcome, Lady Elin."

She snorted at the title.

"Is all that true?" Lord Remont remarked as he approached the two, "No wonder the two of you are so confident."

Walter bowed to Lord Remont's arrival, then scratched his head a moment, "Well, knowledge is power, right? A squire provides their knight with arms and armor before a battle, and this is no different."

"Yes, yes," Lord Remont idly studied Walter. "As you say. Will you be joining your lady in combat? Wearing only a gambeson? Do you need no weapon?"

Walter nodded.

"Remember to keep your distance," Elin said, "Trolls are fleet of foot."

"Of course. No need to worry," Walter said.

Thus, Elin and Walter commenced their assault on the creature.

Everyone stared from their hiding spots as the pair strolled, casually, towards the troll. No one in their right minds would allow themselves to be seen, let alone feel no fear.

A half-a-dozen undead, lingering in the area, detected the scent of life. Like iron dust to a magnet, they hobbled to attack.

Walter stopped, and Elin continued her walk.

"I knew he was a coward," a soldier muttered, "A true squire would clear the way!"

Walter raised his hand, and, from his palm, projected a slowly spinning magic circle. His mana-infused echoed like a voice underwater.

,,¡ǝlᴉssᴉW ɔᴉƃɐW,,

Six independently glowing orbs, the size of baseballs, streaked from the magic circle, quickly enough to leave behind trails of light. The mere annoyances of animated skeletons and teetering undead cracked and collapsed with loud pops, with bones and dust spinning in the air. Unperturbed, Elin continued her march.

She stopped when the troll, finally irritated enough to look up from its meal, glanced at her.

"I recognize you," she hissed. She raised her voice until she screamed, "You're that troll. You crushed a good man and ate him. I'll see you fucking dead! Right now! Die!"

She yanked her sword free of its sheath and held it over her head.

,,¡ʇuǝɯǝƃpnſ snoǝʇɥƃᴉɹ,,

"Uh oh," Walter said.

A column of light spiraled from her weapon, twisting like a thorned stem. She screamed, she slashed. Like an unbalanced pillar, it crashed down upon the troll with an explosion rivaling artillery, and it tossed up dirt and viscera into the air. Walter covered his face to protect from the shockwave and dislodged rocks.

The oil was unnecessary.

There wasn't enough of the troll to regenerate.