Chapter 22: Plunderer Troll (2)
A bit out of the blue, but let's talk about this race from Let's Explore the Reversed World Labyrinth! They divide the races of this world into three main categories: the humanoid races, the non-humanoid races, and monsters. To give some representative examples, the humanoid races include elves and dwarves, the non-humanoid races are things like goblins and orcs, and I'll explain monsters a bit later. The difference between the first two is whether they've created civilizations or not. Or, to put it bluntly, if they've ever formed a nation, they're humanoid; if not, they're non-humanoid. Sure, there are occasional Orc Kings or Goblin Kings, but those are exceptions—created for destruction, not civilizational progress.
Anyway, because non-humanoid races like goblins and orcs aren't fundamentally human, they face all sorts of disadvantages in humanoid civilized society. But that doesn't mean they're completely cut off from human society. They're intelligent lifeforms, even if they're treated like baggage. Still, plenty of places treat non-humanoids like goblins and orcs as half-human at best. But the orcs and goblins in the Labyrinth—no, the ones called monsters—are just treated as monsters, plain and simple. Why? Because they lack intelligence and look repulsive.
Sudden emphasis on looks? To understand that, you need to know one key trait of this world: most races here are attractive. Goblins, elves, dwarves, beastkin—even orcs. Even if you're not into that sort of thing, it makes you think, "Well, at that level?" In short, if you're ugly and lack intelligence, you're a monster. Of course, most races get treated as non-humanoid but not monsters. They have intelligence and looks similar enough to humans that it's just a mild uncanny valley effect—not outright repulsive.
But among these races, there was one notorious example that got classified as monsters: "Gaaah! My minions! My minions!! Hiyaaah! Die! Die!"
"Mr. Rike! I'll hold the aggro, so handle the rest!"
"Got it!"
It was these trolls. Trolls are a race with low intelligence but filthy strong power and savage brutality. In simple terms—
Bam!
"Gaaah!!"
—think of them as fragile glass cannons with truck-level strength. The troll swung what you'd call a massive club—or just a log—at Lilia, and she took the hit head-on. Normally, anyone else would've been sent flying or turned to mincemeat by that attack. But Lilia, who could block strikes from 5th-floor orcs like it was nothing, pulled out a round shield from who-knows-where and started tanking the troll's blows.
Bam!
Boom!!
Just their clashes produced whooshing air bursts and explosive cracks echoing around us. Honestly, from the positioning alone, Lilia had the edge. Trolls regenerate fast and hit hard, but their stamina sucks—or rather, their fuel efficiency is trash. So short-term or long-term, Lilia looked favored. But there was one problem:
Damn! They're gonna wake up!
The massive crashes from their fight were more than enough to rouse the sleeping bandits nearby. And this wasn't just a hunch.
"Ugh, what is it...?"
"Yaaawn... Hey, grunts, what's for breakfast today?!"
"Wake up! Battle stations!"
Sure enough, a bunch of the mercenaries were stirring, grasping the situation. I sized it up quick and reached a conclusion.
If this keeps up, they'll all wake up.
Time to break out the secret weapon I'd been saving. I pulled a green orb from my subspace pocket—the kind that screams "ninja tool."
Of course, I wasn't pulling it out for a game of ball.
To think I'd use this poison bomb here.
This was a poison smoke grenade. Why not use it sooner if it's so great? Prep time for this thing costs more than just drugging their booze and assassinating them. The setup's a hassle and takes forever. So I'd planned on stealth kills, but that troll captain was an unexpected wildcard. Plus, there were civilians, and I hadn't heard Lilia had poison resistance. And above all, the production cost on this poison was insane. Tons of rare toxins, but the real killer was the final processing—only doable at the Mage Tower, jacking up the price. Without a magical coating, it's fragile as a blowfish and leaks if you carry it raw; plenty have died that way.
I'll bill this separately later, Isabel.
I thought that as I popped the expensive smoke bomb and morphed my Black Hands into thin sheets like paper fans. Then—
Whoosh!
—I fanned it up-down, left-right. Six giant fans? That's some serious wind power.
"Cough, hack! What the—?!"
"Poison smoke! If you inhale it... grrrk."
"Kyaaah! Gurk."
Thanks to that, not just the sleepers but the ones scrambling for weapons dropped like flies. Worth every penny, this poison smoke.
Worried about me? Nah. To master alchemy, you gotta taste-test everything—including poisons. Poison resistance is a must. (Truth is, I'd built it up from nearly dying after botched brews, but whatever.)
I'd cleared most of the downed ones, but I couldn't relax yet.
"Ugh! Annoying!"
"You're the annoying one!"
The fierce attack-defense clash was still raging over there. And...
"......"
"......"
"......"
"......"
......Here, a few had survived by quickly soaking rags in water to cover their mouths and noses.
Four of 'em. Skills... hmm, one weakling, the rest veterans.
No panic in this mess—they grabbed weapons and glared at me like pros. The odds were stacked against me now. If they rushed, I'd be done.
But they were still sizing me up. Why? Simple.
They're scared.
Not of me, exactly. Well, kinda. What they feared were the Black Hands sprouting from my back.
Hell, I'd be scared too if some black-handed freak popped up behind me.
I got their fear, but sympathy wouldn't stop me from exploiting it. I maxed out the Black Hands' reach and lunged at the plunderers.
Not a plain jump—two arms pushed off the ground as I leaped, launching me farther. I landed right in their faces in a blink.
Even veterans faltered at the sudden drop-in; their eyes flickered. Seizing that split-second—
Slash!
—I drew my dagger and took one out fast. Not enough, so I stabbed the next one's throat too. Two down.
Wish I'd finished quicker, but the remaining pair recovered and swung at me. I wrapped my body in Black Hands to block, then backpedaled.
Damn, the longer this drags, the worse for me.
Looked like a pro move, but that was my whole arsenal. Call me out if you want—I'm a supporter, not a fighter. If I could brawl like this regularly, I'd be a warrior, not a support.
I handed the Black Hands something else and leaped again. The plunderers wised up, arms raised to block—but wrong call this time.
Splatter!
I splashed red sauce from a glass vial on them. They froze in confusion at the unseen pain, then—
"Ugh, gaaah!"
"It burns! It buuurns!!"
—started screaming. Obviously. It was my homemade capsaicin bomb.
Why carry that? For spicing up bland stew, duh. (Pre-possession me got hospitalized a few times from spicy food challenges.)
I finished the writhing plunderers, caught my breath, and glanced back.
"Phew, one left."
Behind me, the troll was still wildly swinging its massive log (formerly a tree?), clashing with Lilia. Time to end that fight.