Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 013
Chapter Title: Never Look Up
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“No trolls!”
Povab’s words drew an immediate objection from Roden.
“Shan may be more talented than anyone as a warrior, but he still doesn’t know how to wield aura. And his gear is sorely lacking.”
His exceptional reflexes and body control were invaluable for becoming a knight, but they were a poor match for monster hunting—especially against large beasts like these.
What such creatures demanded were solid weapons, raw strength, and a surging aura.
Unfortunately, Shan lacked all three right now.
Shan placed a hand on Roden’s shoulder to silence his further protests and replied to Povab.
“I’ve heard the stories in passing. They’re common prey in the old knights’ tales...”
“There’s always a reason they show up so often. Trolls kill as many knights as knights kill them—and green knights are especially vulnerable.”
Trolls varied in size, but even the smallest topped a hundred and fifty centimeters.
With their towering height wrapped in thick slabs of muscle and fat, plus coarse, wiry fur, their power and durability were beyond human comparison.
And even if you managed to wound one, minor injuries healed with just a few breaths—thanks to their magical super-regeneration. Truly formidable foes.
Shan listened quietly to Povab’s explanation before asking calmly,
“If we hunt one, would it just be me?”
“Of course not. We already have fifteen men lined up—proven fighters, including two actual knights.”
Monster hunting was one of the prime ways knights proved their mettle.
When there was no war and no game in their lord’s domain, many wandered other regions in search of prey.
Both knights joining this hunt fell into that category.
“So you’re saying you’ll slot me in?”
“Yes. Departure’s in two days. With a little pull, I can squeeze in one more.”
In other words, Roden wouldn’t be coming along.
Shan turned to his companion for his take.
“What do you think, Roden?”
“Well...”
Roden stroked his beard thoughtfully, letting out a groan.
“Honestly, I’m still worried... but if you’re not going alone, it might not be so bad.”
The lineup Povab described seemed more than sufficient for a troll.
Hunting in a group wouldn’t derail their original goals much.
Trolls were rarely soloed even by knights, and a fourteen-year-old pulling his weight would prove his talent handily.
Of course, slacking off in the back would be a problem—but Roden didn’t even consider that possibility.
His concerns had simply shifted elsewhere.
“But Uncle—even you can’t just shove Shan into that, right? They won’t take a kid under fifteen on something like this.”
Why didn’t armies of hundreds swarm every troll hunt?
The costs were prohibitive, and large groups scared the beasts into hiding.
Thus, squeezing in a boy who didn’t measure up meant finding a solid excuse.
“Simple. I hear young Shan can see in the pitch dark like it’s day. Make him a scout.”
“Aha!”
Trolls roamed day and night, holing up in deep caves—night vision was a perfect fit.
Now that Roden thought about it, any Altoin with that gift would be welcome, even if he couldn’t fight.
No knight survived a troll’s club in total darkness.
“Then it’s worth a shot for the experience. Just signing up for a troll hunt builds your resume... though I hate not going with you.”
“Can I be honest?”
“Shoot.”
“Anything but the troll hunt. You tagging along would worry me more.”
Roden was strong for a human, but only human-strong.
He couldn’t infuse a shield with aura like a seasoned knight, so one wrong move and a troll’s club would turn him to paste.
His reflexes and agility were merely average, at best.
Roden groaned but couldn’t argue.
“Fair enough... Alright, let’s do it!”
With talks wrapped up, Povab left the two guests in the mansion and stepped out.
Adding to an expedition just two days away meant consulting the city’s power players ASAP.
In the meantime, Shan got a crash course on trolls from Roden.
The man had trained for knighthood once, so he knew plenty—and the mansion staff fetched books on the topic from Povab’s study at their request.
Naturally, Roden read them aloud since Shan was illiterate.
“Troll weakness... Their fur’s oily, catches fire easy. Burns stop regen cold.”
“Fire’s a win, then.”
“One book, yeah. Another says no fires or torches—strict taboo.”
“Why?”
“They bolt and start chucking rocks.”
Trolls were slingshot masters, accurate up to a hundred meters.
And their boulders were head-sized, given their strength.
A hit meant maiming at best, death at worst.
They just preferred clubbing or ripping folks apart up close.
“Fire’s a weakness, but useless.”
“Yep. They won’t close if you’ve got flames, but no time to light up point-blank either. Books aren’t gospel—judge on the fly.”
Other options like anti-regen magic weapons or alchemical poisons existed, but they were out of reach.
Those required the capital or a major city.
“This is the best bet, though. Here.”
Roden tapped his temple with a finger.
“Other spots regen with time and food, but smash the brain and it’s done. True for most critters, but critical for trolls.”
Povab returned from city hall around dinnertime, fatigue etched on his face despite the short time away.
“It’s settled. We leave the east gate in two days, at dawn.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I’m sorry—we can’t offer you a proper share of the spoils.”
Unlike the other warriors, Shan got no big cut of the troll corpse.
His role was just spotting nocturnal visits or cave lurkers.
Even that pittance would stun common folk.
“Don’t push too hard. This hunt’s about experience.”
Even as a side player, hunting a massive monster set you worlds apart.
Rookies often froze under the sheer intimidation of something so huge.
That label—“troll hunter”—jacked up your value instantly.
“Stay here comfortably until then. Make yourselves at home.”
Far from humble, the mansion felt like a goddess’s palace to Shan: marble baths, sheepskin mattresses stuffed with wool, goose-down duvets and pillows, a study crammed with pricey books.
Merchants all this rich? Nobles even grander? Roden shook his head.
“Jewelers are the elite here—magic stones are Pendia’s lifeblood.”
Magic stones were the kingdom’s boon, bordering the Demon Realm.
No coincidence Roden’s dad, top jeweler, headed the capital guild.
Even he couldn’t topple nobles and knights, though.
The next day, they toured shops with Povab, buying troll-hunt gear: barbed harpoons tough to yank free, decent leather armor, steel spears and arrows.
Last, a solid black horse.
Not knight-grade, but mercenary-cavalry level.
Roden’s funds tapped out; they borrowed from Povab.
“Raised around monsters from birth—gutsy beast, doesn’t spook easy.”
True or sales talk, it dwarfed Shan’s old nag: bigger frame, more muscle.
Less endurance, maybe, but stronger and faster.
Better warhorse traits than a traveler’s mount.
Roden haggled fiercely, finally selling the gray mare for the black steed.
Shan learned much trailing him, but bargaining? Hopeless.
As the deal closed, Povab beamed from the sidelines.
“Young master, commerce is your calling.”
“Hate to admit it.”
Roden grinned wryly.
Povab and the guild brass had long groomed him for the trade.
Post-purchase, they hit the east gate for open-road practice.
Bonding the horse to rider—and vice versa.
Marching was combat; no room for freelancing in formation.
“How’s she handle?”
“Not bad. Good, actually.”
Shan nodded approval.
Less finesse than the old girl, but power and speed won out.
“No name again?”
“Don’t get attached. Might not come back.”
Horses were prime targets in battle.
Fresh off the mercenary skirmish, Shan wanted no emotional ties.
Loss hurt worse that way.
Soon, he galloped like old forest days, swinging weapons mid-stride.
His form adjusted seamlessly to the new speed and height.
Finale: mounted archery, arrows pinning a line on a tree sixty meters off.
That evening, Povab chuckled over dinner recounting it.
“Spun and hurled that harpoon—shocked me silly! Here’s to troll-hunt glory. Merchants prize cool heads, but a boy-hero’s rise? Unsettling.”
“Boy-hero?”
“Watching one bloom before your eyes.”
Povab’s eyes sparkled.
He’d bought Roden’s pitch, funded gear—but today’s drill sealed Shan’s potential.
Flushed from wine, the middle-aged merchant slurred on.
“Can’t believe no training till now. Baron the Great reborn? Too much?”
Baron the Great: Arman Empire founder, first holy knight of the Goddess Faith—a legend.
Comparing Altoin Shan to him? Old Faith zealots would’ve stormed in, blades drawn.
‘Roden compared me to him once too.’
History-ignorant Shan knew only: greatest, strongest knight ever.
A lone warrior forging an empire spanning the west? Had to be mighty.
Shan snorted at visions of matching him.
Big dreams were fine, but that? Unrealistic.
Nobody aspired to king or godhood, right?
Dawn of departure: Shan, with Roden’s aid, checked gear and rations, then headed east.
Early enough for only four warriors ahead.
One eyed Shan and scowled.
“What’s this? A brat? On a horse, no less...”
“That’s the Altoin kid they mentioned. Night vision from those freak eyes, huh?”
Word had spread; another gawked curiously.
Shan pulled his hood low, letting his eyes glow.
“Whoa...”
“Damn it, hide those creepy peepers!”
The first jerk just hated him on sight—Old Faith vibes, Altoin-hater.
Shan ignored him, no retort or slash.
Roden’s lessons: restraint built dreams; knee-jerk reactions killed them.
Someone else bristled instead.
“Hey, what’d you just say?”
“What?”
“One more peep like that, and you’re dead.”
A scarred middle-aged swordsman advanced, killer aura buckling the instigator.
Up close: one arm bulkier—Altoin traits.
The mood soured to silence.
Soon, more arrived; chatter built; knights showed at sunrise.
“Why so crowded?”
“Scouts’d suffice, but nooo...”
Full plate, warhorses, visors up: young faces, twenty to twenty-five.
Arrogant, proud—as befitted knee-only-to-god-and-lord types.
Shan frowned subtly.
Unlike Peonil, no veteran gravitas or intimidation.
Their squires? Even greener—Shan’s age, maybe.
Errand-boys, not fighters.
All assembled, city rep tallied headcount, declared the hunt.
“Let’s go!”
“Yeah!”
Moods varied: one-third pumped, one-third scared, one-third chill.
Knights hid it well, but leaned excited-nervous.
Not troll veterans, Shan figured.
Povab’s warning—green knights troll-fodder—nagged.
“I’ll lead to the sighting zone...”
The guide: local veteran hunter who spotted it first.
In Libert, hunters braved beasts and bandits—risky.
Pendia? Next to knights in respect—warriors deferred.
The party rolled north on the main road unmolested.
Even bold monsters shied from two plate-armored knights.
Riding rear, Shan noted the Altoin warrior approaching—the one who’d menaced earlier.
He glanced up first.
“Name’s Kob.”
“Shan.”
“Heard you got drafted for night eyes. But geared like a pro—nice horse too.”
“Word got around? Came on my own.”
Confidence earned a chuckle; Kob bowed his head, stifling laughs.
“Good. Stick by me if it gets hairy. Kin look out for kin.”
Shan nodded—circus memories lingered; he’d prioritize fellow Altoin too.
Morning start: lunch on the road, then west woods.
Troll zone nearby—contact imminent, or longer if it dodged.
In the woods, knights and squires dismounted.
“Walking from here.”
“No choice.”
Heavy cavalry risked laming on roots.
Other riders followed suit, leading reins.
An hour’s search: hunter signaled, pointed at the ground.
“Troll shit.”
“Stinks...”
“Pros read volumes from this. Intel?”
Hunter bowed politely.
“Common game, I’d know. But trolls? Rare—sorry.”
“Hm...”
“Yeah.”
Even monster haven Pendia rarely spawned trolls.
Demon Realm natives aside, western hunters lacked deep lore.
“Fresh, though. Unless it cools slow.”
“Right!”
“Eyes sharp, everyone!”
Knights barked; gazes swept.
Troll nearby? Even bravos tensed.
Shan breathed deep amid them, sharpening senses.
‘Where are you?’
Horse rein annoyed, but focus spread awareness.
Noise faded; pupils drank light, parsing visuals.
Scanning methodically, a oddity pinged.
‘What’s that?’
A spearman’s nearby tree looked wrong—bent sideways, like bearing huge weight. Unlike straights.
“Blond spear guy!”
“Huh?”
Shan kept calm, casual—like no threat above.
“Walk over slow.”
“Why?”
“Just... never look up.”
Shan didn’t know: bans trigger curiosity.
Blondie glanced up—met fist-sized pupil.
“Tr—”
Thud. Hairy behemoth landed, tree club pulping man to mush with a crunch.