The enraged jealous Troll lunged at Magg, but the Ogre didn't lose his nerve. Possessing comparable strength but much greater intelligence, he set up a block in advance, raising his club above him with both hands.
The Troll's blow was strong, but terribly predictable. Moreover, the jealous fiend, blinded by rage, struck the ceiling beams with his bone cudgel. This significantly weakened the attack. Magg easily took the blow on the shaft of his club and knocked the enemy's weapon aside. Then the Ogre used his race's signature wrestling move—a push with his armored gut. Jumping forward with his belly, Magg threw the Troll back and shook the entire tavern building. The humans rushed in different directions to avoid getting caught up in the brawl between the giants. Even the wounded Goblins crawled away.
Magg was about to bring his club down on the head of the stunned enemy, but the female Troll noticed that her beloved was being pummeled. Forgetting her sudden infatuation with Magg, she rushed to her love's defense. The Trolless grabbed the club, preventing the blow, and then sank her teeth into the unarmored part of the Ogre's shoulder. Magg was infuriated by such insolence.
— I'm the one who eats, not the one who gets eaten! — he roared and pushed forward, forcing the male Troll out of the tavern.
— We need to start a fire! — Erik worried. — We can't kill these things otherwise.
The mercenaries wanted to help the Halfling, but then the remaining Goblins decided to counterattack. It seemed that even without a leader and a Shaman, the combined brainpower of the Greenskins was enough to realize that the Trolls were their last chance. Dozens of small wretches in black cloaks surged out of the other tavern rooms. Some Goblins, lifting tabletops and barrel lids like large shields, formed a semblance of a battle line. Others attacked scattered, brandishing curved cleavers. The ferocity of these small creatures surprised everyone.
A Goblin in a long cloak charged at me, spinning around its axis and spitting foam. It held a scimitar in each hand. I barely managed to stumble back from this battle-dancer. I thrust my left hand forward, stabbing the Gob with my spear. It accepted my lunge with the indifference of a berserker, continuing to spin.
— It's the mushrooms! — Eri shouted. — Retreat to the sun. They'll tire out soon.
I was always surprised how Goblins managed to survive and win in a world where even humans surpass them in physiology, especially without Orcs. However, now much became clearer. Just moments ago, we were easily routing the greenies, but now they suddenly posed a serious danger.
I failed to retreat in time. The spinning and screaming Goblin crashed into me. Luckily, its movements were predictable. I blocked with my cleaver, but the enemy scimitar punched through it, embedding itself in my right biceps. The arm seemed to still be moving. So, nothing particularly terrible, but the pain scorched my shoulder with fire.
The Goblin slowed down, leaning into me. It intended to strike me with full force with the second scimitar. Gritting my teeth and holding the spear with my left hand by the middle of the shaft, I jabbed the wretch in the neck. Even magic mushrooms didn't help against this thrust. The Goblin wheezed, choking, and I pulled back, dodging the weakened blow. My shoulder ached, but adrenaline allowed me to act and think.
The image of the bloody bowl flashed in my consciousness again. It was filling up again.
The men were fighting their way out of the tavern they had just captured. I was fending off Goblins attacking from several sides. I was sure that without the sun, they would have finished us off in ten seconds. However, the rays blinded them. Under the mushrooms, the Greenskins no longer feared the sun, but it still hindered their ability to see properly.
I managed to leave the tavern. Pieck and Erik were the last to retreat, covering our withdrawal. However, not everyone managed to escape. The mercenary with the wounded leg fell under a hail of Gob blows. He was no longer resisting or even screaming. I only saw the Goblins rage around the bloodied body, literally chopping it piece by piece. A horrible sight. I turned away and witnessed the battle of the giants.
The Troll and its girlfriend were locked onto Magg. All three were already unarmed, relying on fists and teeth. The Ogre fought fiercely, but he had two opponents. No sooner had Magg punched the male, than the female was hanging onto him. Moreover, the Trolls' wounds were healing before our eyes, but the Ogre was gradually tiring, bleeding from scratches and bites.
— Bash 'em! Bash 'em! Waaagh! — the Night Goblins howled, advancing from the tavern right into the open space.
The mushrooms had stripped them of fear. Though almost blind, the Goblins continued the fight. The battle was now joined in the square in front of the tavern.
Staggering and bumping into each other, the Goblins furiously swung their weapons. I dodged, stabbing one, then another. Wielding the cleaver was risky. I didn't want to get too close to these psychos. They were screeching in crazy voices or muttering some nonsense. Their more sensible kinsmen were aiming at us with bows, staying in the tavern's shadow.
A stab, a step back, another stab, two steps to the side. I tried to maintain distance, letting greenish blood flow from the Goblins. A flame seemed to burn in my own blood. My hand was steady, despite the hunger. I felt no fatigue at all. It seemed I had turned into an anti-Goblin violence automaton. I enjoyed this feeling. Sex, alcohol, rock and roll? All that is nonsense compared to the opportunity to smash Gobs for fun!
The image of the sacrificial bowl appeared before my eyes. It was full to the brim, glowing with a crimson light. The contents bubbled, spilling down onto the gray stones of the ancient ziggurat.
— Enough, warm-blood, — the Slann suddenly commanded me.
— Enough?! — I smirked. — There are still plenty of Goblins here who need to be made dead Goblins.
— Control this rage, human. It is a means, not an end. Analyze. Seek meaning in the battle.
The damned dead toad was right. Taking a few steps back, I turned, assessing the situation. An arrow lodged itself in the ground not far from me. The sun was hindering the Goblins' aim. We could virtually ignore the archers. The real problem was the Trolls.
Things were going badly for Magg. The Ogre's fury, strength, and combat experience were beginning to yield to the incredible regeneration of the loving couple. Magg would have torn either of them apart one-on-one. Literally torn. But while the Ogre was hitting one Troll, the other was healing its wounds.
The Goblins were just buying time. Sooner or later, the Trolls would finish off Magg and then come for us. We needed to urgently help the big guy.
With all the accumulated fury, I rushed to the attack. Magg was just punching the male Troll in the face again. The female, having regenerated her wounds, was returning to the fight. I tried to make the most of the element of surprise. Running up, I plunged the cleaver into the Trolless's side. The Goblin weapon was dull, but the force from my run was enough. The cleaver, however, only penetrated the tough hide about twenty centimeters. Not up to the hilt. Why didn't I use the spear? I was afraid it would simply break. Besides, the cleaver could leave a wider wound.
The Trolless flinched. The wound, fatal for an ordinary person, only caused her a little discomfort. The monster turned toward me. Primeval malice was legible in the creature's dull eyes. The Trolless threw her grasping paws forward to grab me.
A leap backward.
Excellent. All I needed was to distract her attention for a few minutes so that Magg could properly beat up her suitor. The Ogre wasn't wasting time. Magg pushed the Troll with his belly again, and then grabbed him by the head. The Troll tried to bite, but the Ogre slammed his own head into him with all his might. And not just with his tough forehead, but with the spiked dome of his helmet. Magg hit again, and again, turning the Troll's face into a bloody pulp. Crooked yellow teeth scattered everywhere.
Erik was also contributing to the fight. Thick smoke rose above one of the barns near the tavern. The hay stored there was quickly catching fire. The Halfling intended to make a large bonfire for roasting Trolls.
I relatively easily dodged the female's attempts to grab me. Her grasping paws were not known for their dexterity. I twisted and retreated, teasing the creature with spear thrusts. I managed to lead her far enough away from both the Goblins and her suitor. We were approaching the palisade.
It seemed victory was in our pocket, but at that moment, the Trolless smelled the smoke. The scent instantly attracted her attention. The creature turned, forgetting about me. Seeing the barn catching fire, she let out a shriek of fear and rushed to rescue her suitor. Damn it!
He was almost finished. Magg was twisting his right arm, trying to tear it from the joint. Ten more seconds and the Ogre would turn the Troll into fresh cutlet, and then toss him to roast on the fire of the burning barn. But if the female interfered now…
I rushed after the Trolless again, my cleaver sticking out of her side. Where should I stab her to distract her? The idea came immediately. Running as fast as possible and relying on the firmness of my hands, I made a lunge. Already losing my balance, I felt triumph. The spear plunged neatly into the bend of her knee. Bingo!
The Trolless howled in pain, stumbling and favoring her other leg. I was triumphant, despite falling myself, bracing on my hands. However, my triumph was very short-lived. Spinning on her healthy leg, the Trolless backhanded me. The world went dark and spun before my eyes.
Darkness.
I couldn't breathe.
I vaguely felt myself lying on the dusty ground like a broken doll. A crushing pain pierced my chest. I couldn't inhale. Was this it? The chosen one of some higher powers was finished after an attempt to save the remnants of a ruined village?
— You are dying, warm-blood, — the Slann "delighted" me. — Absorb the accumulated power.
I wanted to ask what he meant, but then the image of the sacrificial bowl appeared before me. The blood was still bubbling in it and glowing crimson. I suddenly realized that I could reach for it with my consciousness. This reservoir of power was inside me.
— Give the command. Wish it, — the Slann demanded.
— Absorb! — I wished with all my heart and mind.
A wave of warmth immediately enveloped my damaged body. For a few moments, I saw myself from the side and even looked inside my suffering body. Red vital force fused torn muscles, returned blood to arteries, and even healed cracked bones. Magic saved my new life. A second later, my vision returned. I managed to take the first painful breath.
— The winds of magic bypass you, — the Slann explained. — However, there is a small loophole. The life force of perishing or suffering creatures is generously poured out during battles. I have erected a funnel within your essence to absorb it. This magical construct will allow your weak body to strengthen. By filling the reservoir, you acquire a rage worthy of a Waaagh. The energy circulates through the body, helping you fight better.
I see…
So, what I felt in battle was not simply a rush of adrenaline. Now it was clear why I was able to fight so well, despite the hunger and lack of normal sleep.
— By absorbing power from the reservoir, — my personal hypnotoad continued. — You heal wounds, and if there are none, the excess energy will go towards gradually strengthening the body.
— In what sense? I hope I won't start mutating?
— No. You will not grow scales, but your bones will become thicker and stronger. You will gradually reach the limits of your imperfect race's strength, and then slightly exceed them.
This sounded optimistic. However, for now, I was just a recently revived peasant boy who had been beaten up by a huge Trolless. Magic had healed my wounds, but without it, fatigue and hunger crashed down at once. Each limb felt as if it were weighed down with lead weights. Even keeping my eyes open was difficult. However, it seemed the battle was won.
Magg spun and tossed the twitching corpse of the Trolless, with her neck broken, into the fire. The barn was already blazing like a gigantic bonfire. The Goblins were retreating back into the tavern, and those who couldn't fell to the ground, trying to crawl into some shadow.
— Sleep, warm-blood. Important matters await us, but first, rest.
I listened to this advice with great pleasure.
A sea of white fog stretched before me. For a while, it was a peaceful vision. Silent slumber among the whitish clouds. Then a familiar silhouette began to emerge through them. I saw the translucent figure of a tall knight. The outlines slowly and painfully materialized from the fog. And just when I thought the dream would be interrupted again at the wrong time, the mysterious visitor spoke. A deep, well-toned voice sounded like a wondrous melody.
— You have been granted a second chance. Three lives merged into one.
— Who are you? — I asked mentally, but the knight continued, ignoring my words.
— The world is moving towards the edge of the abyss. Evil is undermining its foundations. The forces of destruction have penetrated the holy of holies.
— Please, wait. Let's…
He still paid no attention to my words. Perhaps he was unable to answer me at all. What if this wasn't a visit, but just a pre-recorded message? Very possible. And the stranger, still hidden by the veil of fog, continued.
— The Old Ones' Ways are afflicted by the corruption of Chaos. The Great Vortex of Caledor is connected to them and is losing its strength. Without it, the world will be engulfed by destructive, unrestrained magic. Look…
The misty image before me was replaced by a cavalcade of changing scenes. I saw rings of stones under a torrential rain, some long marshes, above which mountain peaks rose, an ancient temple desecrated by the presence of Greenskins. Something resembling a throne had been set up on the colossal steps of a cyclopean staircase. A massive figure of an ugly giant sat on it, and at the foot of his throne, Orcs in feathers and war paint danced.
— Go there. Pass through the Old Ones' Gates into the heart of the Ways. Your soul is protected from corruption. You can delve into the tangle of routes where the Immaterium reigns. The Slann will show you the way and restore balance to the Ways system. There is time, but hurry. Evil approaches.
The last image showed me some dark room. Long shadows danced on the walls. Two Sorcerers were working some magic over a flickering circle of runes. Or was it one Sorcerer, magically reflected? I managed to notice the red eyes and the unholy symbol of Tzeentch before a tempting aroma forced me to wake up.
Hunger.
Terrible, as if devouring me from within. I abruptly jumped up in bed, making my head spin.
— Easy, lad, easy, — I heard a kind, even affectionate voice.
When the dizziness passed, the face of the Halfling Erik appeared before me. This plump face, framed by chestnut curls, might even have seemed pleasant, if not for the terrible cavity of his severed nose. Erik smiled at me with his scar-divided lips and asked:
— Will you eat?
In his hands was a large bowl of some hot soup. Without a word, I reached for it. I began to ladle the hot treat with an old wooden spoon. I had never eaten anything tastier in my life!
Vegetables, greens, chicken eggs, mushrooms—nothing special, it seemed, but so appetizing. As I devoured the soup, the Halfling spoke:
— You only woke up when you smelled the food. Magg will like that. He was telling me a story about how an Ogre mercenary ate ten sheep in Tilea, and as you can guess, the big guy didn't ask the owners for permission. And the next night, the Ogre woke up to the smell of raw meat. Someone had left him a severed horse's head. The Ogre, of course, was very happy with such a late-night snack and later told everyone how respectfully the skinnies of Tilea treated him. I tried to explain to Magg that the horse's head was a threat. Those are the traditions of the Tileans. But you know what that fat guy told me? — the Halfling made a face, mimicking the Ogre's puffed-out cheeks, and, imitating his bass, said. — A threat? How can you threaten someone with food?
I had just finished about half of the enormous portion. And then it hit me… The mushroom flavor!
— Erik, is there a chance that this soup doesn't have…
The Halfling laughed.
— No, mein Herr. It doesn't have a single piece of Goblin in it. Only the ingredients they didn't eat or foul. Mostly vegetables, a few mushrooms, crackers, chicken eggs, and vegetable oil from my supplies. I also added a pinch of allspice. A light broth with egg.
— Ah, right… Thank you very much.
— You earned it! — the Halfling clapped me on the shoulder. — Maybe not everyone understood it, but you risked yourself twice to save the others. No matter how much Herr Pieck puffs out his cheeks, Magg and you won that fight. Well, I helped a bit too, when I lit the little fire for the loving pair of Trolls.
— And the captured people?
— We managed to save some. You'll meet them soon, but first, eat up.
I ate a few more spoonfuls and asked another question.
— And the Goblins? Are they all dead?
— Not entirely… — Eri smiled strangely. — Yesterday, Magg had roasted Troll meat, and tomorrow will be the greenies' turn. I prefer to keep the food fresh. They're in the cellar. Don't worry, they can't get out of there.
I remembered the Slann's instruction. "By absorbing power from the reservoir, you heal wounds, and if there are none, the excess energy will go towards gradually strengthening the body."
All I needed was to fill my virtual sacrificial bowl with blood, then I could become, if only a little, stronger.
— Herr Erik… could I help you with the… cooking?