Chapter 48: The Ogre

The young people hidden in the woods were all petrified by the monster's frenzied actions. Only the old dwarf, Flint, remained unflinching as he suddenly let out a thunderous roar. His long beard billowed like blazing flames, and his stout frame seemed to swell a full size larger in an instant.

A surge of fighting spirit burst forth from him like a breached dam. Flint unleashed his full potential, his ferocious presence overwhelming the troll before him—a creature nearly twice his height. He strode forward, swinging his shield with all his might.

With a resounding crash, the steel shield etched with the Iron Anvil clan’s crest slammed into the troll's belly. The force was so immense that the troll doubled over, clutching its stomach and retching painfully, its already hunched body curling in on itself like a lobster.

Without hesitation, the old dwarf cast aside his shield, gripped his hammer in both hands, and charged. Using the momentum, he delivered four thunderous blows in quick succession.

One after another, the four heavy strikes landed almost simultaneously, caving in the troll's chest. With each blow, the beast staggered backward, and after the fourth, it finally collapsed onto its back on the grass, unable to hold itself upright.

Flint Iron Anvil’s ferocious assault had exhausted him utterly. After felling the troll, he could not help but cough, a sickly flush blooming on his face, though his eyes remained locked on the monster, which now lay sprawling and writhing on the ground.

The troll groaned and cursed from the grass. Its chest had been shattered and caved in by the warhammer, its innards reduced to pulp. Any other creature would have died instantly from such wounds, but not this one. Not only was the troll still alive, but its injuries were healing at a shocking rate. At this pace, in no more than a minute, the seemingly immortal monster would rise again, ready to rejoin the fight.

From his perch in the tree, Joan watched with a chill in his heart as the troll began its uncanny recovery. He immediately recalled a passage from a book, describing such creatures with extraordinary vitality—trolls, it was said, could not truly be killed, even if hacked to pieces. Only strong acid and fire could overcome their unnatural regeneration. He was about to share this knowledge when the well-traveled Flint beat him to it, barking out an order: “Bring a torch, children! Only flame can utterly destroy this abominable troll!”

“Let me handle it!” Conti called, leaping from a branch more than ten feet above the ground. With swift, practiced gestures, he began chanting a divine incantation, and a searing ball of fire blazed to life in his palm.

Cradling the magical flame conjured by his “Ignition Spell,” Conti strode to the old dwarf, then flipped his hand, hurling the fireball at the troll, which was struggling to rise.

The troll’s dark green skin, as dry as bark, ignited instantly. With a shriek of terror, the creature staggered toward the lake, desperately trying to plunge itself into the water to extinguish the growing flames.

“Stay down!” Flint bellowed, hurling his enchanted warhammer with all his strength. The whistling hammer struck the troll’s knee, breaking its right leg and sending it sprawling. This time, the monster could not rise again. Surrounded by fire, it crackled and popped like burning twigs, the air filling with the nauseating stench of charred flesh.

Joan climbed down and ran to Flint’s side. The young mage and the old dwarf stood together, watching the troll convulse and moan in the fire, a cold dread welling up inside them.

Conti, Tom, and the Dindal brothers soon gathered as well, silently watching the pyre that now used troll flesh as fuel until the flames finally died out.

Conti prodded the charred corpse with his oak staff. A soft “poof” sounded; the blackened shell crumbled, turning to ash.

“That’s it. There’s no way this thing will come back now,” Conti said with relief, and the others let out a collective breath.

Flint adjusted his horned helmet and instructed everyone to split into pairs and circle the lake, scouting for water ghouls or other monsters. If any group found a large gathering, they were to sound the alarm, and the others would rush to their aid.

The Dindal brothers formed one team, with Sissy as their lookout. Flint and his nephew Tom formed another, guided by Jerry. Joan and Conti paired up, with sharp-nosed Jamie leading the way. All three groups set out simultaneously, patrolling the mist-shrouded “Unfrozen Lake.” They found nothing amiss along the shore—the water ghouls had apparently all been slain in the recent battle, and there were no signs of a second troll or lurking will-o’-the-wisps.

Joan and Conti were the first to return to the meeting point. Conti went to the water’s edge, scooped up a handful, and exclaimed, “So warm! I’d love to bathe in this hot spring.”

Joan said nothing. Knowing the lake had recently been the haunt of foul-smelling water ghouls, he thought it best Conti abandon the idea.

Jamie, unconcerned, leapt into the hot spring, splashing about happily. He even caught a large fish and enjoyed a delicious midnight snack. Joan couldn’t help but admire the fish’s resilience.

Soon the other groups returned as well. The Dindal brothers had found no foes, while Flint and Tom had caught an injured water ghoul by the lake, dispatching it with two hammer blows before it could escape to the water—thus ending the water ghouls’ brief rule over the Unfrozen Lake.

Noticing that the Nixie siblings were missing, Conti asked Tom where they had gone.

“Sissy took her brother back into the lake,” Tom replied eagerly. “She said they’re retrieving treasures they once hid at the bottom, to give us as thanks.”

“Will they really come back?” Roger muttered. “If they dive down and never return, there’s nothing we can do.”

Dick shot his brother a contemptuous glare. “You’re too suspicious! Jerry and Sissy aren’t the kind to forget a favor.”

Roger shrugged and said nothing more.

The group lit a campfire by the lake and ate a simple, belated supper of water and dry rations. It was nearly midnight. Flint directed the youths to set up tents and organized the watch schedule. He and Jamie took the first watch, so the exhausted youngsters could rest.

Just as everyone was preparing for sleep, the sound of splashing water drifted from the lake. Sissy and Jerry surfaced, their wet green hair shining in the silver moonlight.

The siblings laughed and chased each other to shore, joining the group and sitting around the fire. In Sissy’s hands were two boxes crafted from red coral. She opened the larger one, and everyone was dazzled by the sparkling treasures within—six perfectly round, lustrous pearls, each the size of a pigeon’s egg.

Sissy took out the pearls and presented them to Joan, Conti, the Dindal brothers, Flint, and Tom, one by one.