After two grueling days of travel, Rukar finally reached the base of the snowy mountain. The biting cold wrapped around him like an unseen predator, but he barely felt its sting. His hardened body, accustomed to hardship, shielded him from the worst of the elements. As he ascended, the path led him to a forest ravaged by destruction. Broken trees lay scattered like discarded toys, their splintered trunks and snapped branches a testament to some violent force. The air felt heavy, desolate, as if even the wind dared not linger too long.
Rukar's steps crunched through the snow, the sound eerily loud in the oppressive silence. He paused, catching the faintest growls carried on the cold wind. These were not sounds he recognized—deep, guttural, and alien. His hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his greatsword as he crept forward, staying low behind a massive, jagged rock.
Peering around its edge, he spotted the source of the growls. Two towering figures with thick, white fur covering their hulking forms were hunched over something. They tore at it with clawed hands, their growls punctuated by the wet sound of flesh being ripped apart. Rukar's heart sank as his mind jumped to the worst conclusion: The elf. The thought that the prey he had been pursuing for days might have met such a gruesome end filled him with a cold fury. Without hesitation, he charged.
The trolls barely had time to turn their heads before Rukar's greatsword sang through the air. The first head rolled free with a spray of crimson, its body collapsing in a lifeless heap. The second troll roared in alarm, but its cry was cut short as Rukar's blade cleaved through its neck. The second body hit the ground with a resounding thud, silence returning to the forest.
Breathing heavily, Rukar crouched to inspect the remains the trolls had been feasting on. Relief flooded him when he realized it wasn't the elf. Instead, it was a humanoid figure with reptilian features—a lizardman. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but the moment was short-lived. He cursed himself for his impulsiveness. The trolls' deaths had stirred the forest, and Rukar's sharp senses picked up the rustling of movement all around him.
Emerging from the shadows of the destroyed forest came more trolls, their pale forms stark against the snow. They moved cautiously at first, surrounding him in a loose circle. Though none were much larger than Rukar, their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm him. His grip on the sword tightened, but before he could act, a larger figure stepped forward from the group.
This troll dwarfed the others, standing one and a half times Rukar's height. Most of its fur was gone, revealing mottled, stone-like skin. Two jagged horns jutted from its head, and in its massive hands, it wielded a gnarled tree trunk as a club. The other trolls fell back, growling in guttural cheers. Their leader had arrived.
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The giant troll pointed its club at Rukar, issuing a guttural challenge. Rukar understood instantly: it wanted a duel. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, meeting the troll's gaze with a cold, unflinching stare. The other trolls backed away, forming an impromptu arena. The giant troll began to advance, its pace quickening, and Rukar matched it, his greatsword raised high.
When their weapons clashed, the sound echoed through the forest like a thunderclap. The troll's strength was immense, each swing of its club enough to crack the frozen ground beneath them. But Rukar held firm, his muscles straining as he parried blow after blow. He fought not just with brute force but with precision, striking at the troll's exposed joints and unarmored flesh.
The battle raged on, their weapons meeting in a symphony of destruction. Slowly, cracks began to spiderweb across the troll's club. With a final, earth-shaking blow, Rukar shattered the weapon, splinters flying as the troll's eye was pierced by the shards. It howled in agony, dropping the remains of its weapon to clutch at its face.
Rukar's chest heaved as he stood over the wounded troll. He thought the duel was over, that he had emerged victorious. But the troll's next act filled him with disgust. It fell onto its back and motioned frantically to its comrades. The other trolls hesitated, then began to approach, their numbers emboldened by their leader's cowardice.
"vile creature," Rukar snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. His rage boiled over as one young troll, foolish and eager, rushed toward him. With a roar, Rukar swung his greatsword, the blade cutting clean through the troll and splitting it in two. The sight sent a wave of fear through the others. They halted, then turned and fled, their growls of aggression replaced by panicked cries.
The giant troll watched its comrades abandon the battlefield. Its defiance crumbled, and it began to crawl backward, one hand still clutching its bleeding eye. But Rukar was already upon it. He drove his greatsword through the troll's leg, pinning it to the ground. The troll screamed, its cries echoing across the snowy expanse.
Rukar climbed onto its chest and unleashed a flurry of punches. His fists slammed into the troll's face again and again, each blow fueled by a storm of anger and disgust. Blood spattered across the snow, his knuckles raw and trembling by the time the troll finally went still. Breathing heavily, Rukar wiped his hands on the snow, barely cleaning off the blood before retrieving his sword.
He left the clearing without a word, his footsteps crunching through the snow toward the mountain's peak. Passing a frozen lake, he felt an unshakable sense of unease, as if unseen eyes were watching him from the icy depths. He didn't stop to investigate, his mind consumed by thoughts of the cowardly troll leader and the dishonor it embodied.
As he descended the other side of the mountain, the memory of the fight lingered. His resolve burned brighter than ever. The elf was still out there, and Rukar would not rest until his brother's death was avenged.