A Fool's Hunt Needs a Porter

The request that Esen Taiga had taken on was to hunt a Mountain Troll in Cheseni, the tourist city in Silvania. There were three keywords I needed to keep in mind from that sentence: the person, the location, and the target.

First, the person. Esen Taiga was a Tigress. A race that knew no compromise or groveling, viewing the world as something to fight against. Tigress warriors believed their dignity grew the more fiercely they lived. They were born so sturdy that such habits hadn't wiped them out yet.

"So you'll just chase the Mountain Troll around the request area the whole time. You were planning to wander the mountains aimlessly, camp out, hunt mountain beasts for a rough meal, spot a decent-looking troll, beat it down, and head back. That's what you thought, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"Judging by the weight, your pack only has a change of clothes. No mention of booking a room. You really planning to just rampage through the mountains? What if you don't find it in a day?"

"Sleep on the ground. I'm not gonna die of a cold like some regular person."

Esen said it like it was the most obvious thing. It was jarring hearing a fluffy twenty-year-old talk like a wild animal. Her tone made it clear she'd been roaming without porter support all this time. I shook my head. No, my fighter couldn't be rolling around on rocky ground to sleep. I'd brought an A-rank porter on this expedition, after all.

Next, the location. Cheseni was famous for its hot springs and vast pastures. Mineral-rich waters infused with mana gushed from six hundred sources. When Silvania's brutal winters bore down, people flocked to this border town to melt away the fatigue from their chilled bodies. Local folklore said 'Mother Volcano' had pierced the fertile ash-covered land she'd shaped for Silvania with hot springs to sow life. The incredible healing effects probably backed up that myth. I'd tried them once by chance, and the stamina recovery was killer. They even carted water off to save hopeless incurables sometimes.

"A place like that naturally has killer tourism. Shall we look into a nice inn with a hot spring?"

"Cut the crap. We here to play?"

"Not playing, but it'd be a waste not to rest up properly."

And so, we'd arrived deep in some mountain in Cheseni. A stunning night view glittered in the distance, but Esen showed zero interest. No social graces or appreciation for scenery, that one. As I donned the pharmacist's gas mask and busily mixed things, Esen narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Her doubts and wariness toward me had grown since the train—probably because I'd vanished into the city without permission earlier and rejoined her.

What could I do? Not exactly something I could handle in front of Esen.

"What's that? Smells nice. Perfume? Or some aphrodisiac porters use?"

I pictured Esen dosed with an aphrodisiac. The cliché in smutty novels where vengeful jerks—stunning beauties with rotten personalities—get their virginity stolen as payback. That crap wouldn't fly in my reality. Aphrodisiac, my ass. Yeah, I wished it was. I'd sell it to middle-aged noble couples and get rich.

"If I could turn your horrific prejudices about porters into reality, at least I'd feel better—"

"You'd die by my hand first."

Fair point.

"Obviously not an aphrodisiac. It's a substance to spread another scent farther. They call it 'odor amplifier.' Plug your nose."

"Plug my nose? It smells so good—"

I pulled out the stuff I'd just bought from the sealed container, and Esen paled, turning away to dry-heave.

"You crazy bastard! Why'd you buy that!"

"I warned you."

Even wrapped to contain the smell, it still stung a Tigress's nose.

"Stay back. Gonna unwrap it."

"Hell no, punk. Told you I'd stick to you and watch."

"Suit yourself."

I unfolded the packaging, and Esen let out a pitiful mrrrow before leaping into a tree. She had her cute side after all. I smiled contentedly. Finally felt like I'd won one.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The item I'd secretly bought fearing she'd pass out from the smell? Cow dung. And sulfur, Cheseni's hot spring specialty.

Esen, far off and half-whining, asked with her once-neat orange bob now a frizzy mess—like a cat hit with water.

"What're you gonna use that stench for? Just messing with me, right?"

"Mess with someone who can jump straight to the treetop? What'd I do to deserve that?"

I tossed the unpleasantly fragrant ingredients into a pot with a special compound—along with a twinge of guilt for the lie. A bit of payback too.

"It's bait to lure the troll. No need to camp for days."

And the last keyword: the target. Mountain Trolls were territorial. They'd hide from hunters, but a new kin threatening their turf? They'd come running.

"No way... you're mimicking Mountain Troll shit?"

"Quick on the uptake. No need to chase it. Amplified by alchemy potion, the scent'll draw it right to us. It'll come kill the fake rival invading its turf."

"For real? If that works, why doesn't anyone use it?"

"Hard to mix the ingredients just right to fool a troll."

A niche trick even pros struggled with. Snobby noble alchemists wouldn't touch a request to mimic troll crap anyway. Which left it to porters. That's what we did—shoulder the loads party members with their childish sides wouldn't touch.

Before entering its territory, we changed clothes and rubbed ash to mask our scents. Couldn't fight in suits. Esen swapped to baggy sweatpants and a crop top. Her figure, already impressive before, was now violently alluring. How was a human built that perfectly? I'd have to work hard not to stare at her navel and abs. Tried not to recall I was the guy fiddling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with cow shit in front of her. Life sucks...

"Sprinkled it down there, so we just wait."

"Won't even need to. Damn, it's fast."

Sensing something, a feral grin spread across Esen's captivating face. I pressed my ear to the ground. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. It was coming. The sound was deep.

"Must ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weigh a ton."

"Yeah? So what?"

Esen cracked her knuckles, body itching for action. She trusted her skills. I didn't doubt her either. Few monsters outmatched a Tigress. But.

"Esen, hold up. Mountain Trolls are cunning. They rarely roam without insurance. This feels off—"

Ignoring my outstretched hand, Esen stood and leaped into the valley below with a battle cry.

"You're dead today, you son of a—!"

"Ah, shit."

Veteran porter instincts screamed it. Esen was insanely strong. Maybe even beyond A-rank. So she'd be impatient. Mountain Trolls were rare, tough, and smart—dangerous. Hunting solo meant hogging the glory. Craving recognition or that special-rank promotion. But damn it. That drive sometimes trapped its owner.

"Esen—! There's a person—in its hand—!"

The moment the troll burst from the brush, I spotted it before Esen landed. A village woman, bruised and unconscious in its massive, filthy grip. Snack? Gift to kin for peace?

Esen froze mid-pounce. The troll, spooked by her beastly aura, shoved the woman forward like a shield. To a lifelong-growing troll, size meant age and cunning. This old, massive brute hurled the captive at the stunned Esen.

She got it—the intent. But no counter. Esen caught the civilian, cradling her and turning to shield with her back. The troll swung its house-sized club mercilessly.

"Kyaaagh—!"

"Esseeen—!"

Innocent saved. But Esen tumbled across the ground. Even Tigress toughness couldn't stand easy. Legs shook. Brutal concussion aftereffects. The grotesque troll face twisted in mockery—viewing humans as toys. Plenty of experience hunting them. Under its ragged hide skirt, a massive cock swung. Male. Males were vicious. Worst-case scenery.

Did Esen regret going solo for the solo kill? 'If I'd brought one more fighter, I could've escaped this mess'? No. Not necessarily.

"Le...go...of...her...!"

The club rose sky-high. Esen clawed at the fingers yanking her hair.

"Damn it... to some shit-eating bastard like...!"

Wrong again. My party member hadn't lost yet. A fighter backed by an A-rank porter wouldn't fold to some old troll.

"I hate NTR stories."

The troll couldn't swing its wooden club or unleash its meat one. Something exploded vigorously in its face. Boom. It yelped, flinching from the sudden pain. A good porter always prepared for ifs. Leftover sulfur from the bait mix, blended with pitch and whale oil, made a nastier compound. Real alchemist 'eternal fire'? Would've torched the troll and forest. My hasty bomb just melted its left cheek. But porter support? That sufficed.

Weapon dropped, the troll flailed wildly in the wrong direction, freaking out.

"The hallmark of those nasty tastes in novels is that the NTR plot works even if the victim isn't close to the heroine. Just sours the reader's mood for success. Lazy hacks who can't even develop relationships properly."

I jumped down into the basin and hauled Esen and the nameless woman straight.

"So even if she's not my heroine, I won't let a filthy loser like you steal her."

"You crazy punk... what the hell you babbling while flat on your ass...!"

"...You heard that? Thought you passed out since you weren't moving."

I babble nonsense when tense. Habit to forget fear. As if I wasn't scared. Throwing a bomb at a muscle-bound troll mid-jump.

"How...'d you get down?"

A Tigress like Esen could land from a six-meter cliff fine. Not me. Same drop? Both ankles snapped like chicken legs. So I had my trick.

"You...got a way ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back up?"

Of course. I showed the Grappling Hook handle.

"Artifact. Hooks solid into trees or whatever, magic cable extends and retracts to cross terrain. Handles two people's weight."

But three were here. Esen staggered up.

"Leave me."

"Quick decision."

"You're non-combat, she's a kidnapped civilian. My screw-up. Who sacrifices?"

At twenty, owning her mistake with resolve. Recklessness a flaw, mindset solid. I revised my view of her slightly. Miles from punk-hero Adamanthon. She could've snatched the artifact, climbed with the woman. I pocketed the hidden pepper spray.

"If it goes south, get back to the party. Tell 'em to send revenge squad. And... don't come alone like an idiot."

"No one."

"Huh?"

"No one needs to sacrifice."

I hoisted the civilian onto my back, strapped secure. Reached for wobbly Esen.

"Huh?"

Yanked her up like a princess. She flailed in shock; I hugged tighter.

"Kinda hurt. 'Alone'? Got support right here. Quit squirming or you'll fall."

"What're you doing! Two people max!"

"Yep."

Hero Aptitude. Innate combat sense, tenacious luck. Chosen by gods for great deeds.

Fighter Aptitude. Fists and feet shatter stone and steel.

Mage Aptitude. Weaves complex mana formulas in the mind to mock nature's laws.

And us, treated like trash for 'what aptitude is that?': the goddess's blessing...

The troll, regaining senses, slammed down its club—eye lost, rage-filled. But we were gone. The Grappling Hook shot up swift. As if only one or two hung from it.