With the third troll finally dead, Adrian stood in silence for a few moments, letting the rain cool his adrenaline. The bodies were motionless—massive, grotesque piles of muscle and bone. The clearing was quiet again, save for the sound of water pattering against leaves and soil.
He got to work.
Blood had pooled around each corpse, thick and dark, some of it already soaking into the earth. Adrian moved quickly, crouching beside the bodies and channeling his mana. The crimson liquid began to ripple, drawn together and compressed. He formed it into tight, solid spheres on the ground—each about three centimeters wide, like his whiskey orbs. Despite their small size, each one held two liters of blood thanks to compression.
One by one, the blood orbs settled into the mud, glistening unnaturally under the gray sky.
Fifteen orbs in total.
Thirty liters of troll blood.
Adrian bent down and started picking them up, slipping them carefully into the pouches and inner pockets of his coat. The glassy orbs were heavy for their size, but manageable—he'd carried worse.
He glanced at the mangled corpses one last time, then turned from the clearing.
Time to move on.
Just as Adrian turned to leave, a sound caught his ear—soft, barely audible over the rain.
A whimper.
He froze.
There it was again. Quiet crying, muffled like someone was trying not to be heard.
Adrian slowly turned his head, eyes narrowing as he scanned the trees behind him. His mana sense pulsed out in a shallow wave, brushing past bark and branches—then stopped.
There.
Behind a moss-covered tree, half-hidden by hanging vines, a small shape trembled. Big, dull eyes peeked out, filled with fear and confusion. It was a troll, but small—barely up to Adrian's chest if it stood upright. A child. Its skin was lighter, its frame lean and underdeveloped. It looked no older than six or seven in human years.
Adrian's grip on his coat tightened.
It wasn't making a sound now. Just staring at him. Its whimpering had stopped the moment their eyes met, as if instinct warned it not to move.
Probably the offspring of one of the three I killed, Adrian realized.
He felt a strange twist in his chest—not guilt exactly, but something close. Pity.
The kid hadn't attacked. It hadn't even moved.
It had just... watched. Hidden. Waiting for the right moment to run or cry.
Adrian didn't speak. He just stood there in the rain, blood-orbs tucked into his coat, sword still in hand, staring back at something too young to understand the war it had just witnessed.
Adrian took one slow step back, then another, turning his body away from the tree.
He made a show of it—adjusting his coat, wiping the blood off his sword, and muttering curses under his breath loud enough for the little troll to hear. Then, deliberately, he walked off, footsteps crunching against the wet forest floor.
But after a few dozen meters, he slipped behind a thick tree trunk and crouched low, quieting his breath.
His mana flared subtly, expanding outward like a net, barely noticeable to anything not trained to sense it.
From behind the cover of the tree, Adrian watched.
The little troll remained hidden for a while, unmoving. It peeked once, then twice, then finally stepped out from behind its cover—slow, cautious, trembling.
It padded forward on unsure feet toward the pit. Toward the corpses.
Adrian narrowed his eyes, watching closely. Not just what it did… but how it did it.
Was it angry?
Scared?
Was it mourning?
The child troll reached the edge of the trap and let out a soft, high-pitched sound—a whine? A sob?
It sat down next to the body of one of the trolls—maybe its mother or father—resting its small hand on the bloodied, lifeless chest. It didn't cry loudly, but tears fell down its wide cheeks. It leaned forward, pressing its forehead gently against the still-warm skin.
It stayed like that, unmoving.
Adrian didn't move either.
He just watched.
And thought.
Adrian watched the child for some time.
The little troll hadn't moved much—just sat there beside the body, eyes red and swollen, breath shaking. Adrian leaned against the tree, arms folded, one hand absently resting on the hilt of his sword, waiting.
Then he felt it.
Heavy footfalls. Multiple. From the west.
He narrowed his eyes, focusing his mana sense—there were more of them. Bigger ones.
Within moments, another group of trolls emerged from the woods.
Three.
Two males, and one female.
The female rushed forward immediately, her body broader at the hips and chest than the others. She dropped to her knees, scooping the child up into her arms. The little troll buried his face into her shoulder, clinging to her, silent tears still running down his cheeks.
A low sound escaped the female—something between a sob and a growl.
The two males walked to the edge of the pit.
They crouched, sniffed the air, examined the bodies.
Their claws twitched, muscles tense, but their faces didn't twist into rage—just grief.
All three trolls stood together after a while, the child held tightly in the mother's arms, and the four of them mourned in silence. A slow, guttural sound came from their throats—deep and rhythmic. A ritual of sorts. Not language, not quite… but something ancient. Shared.
Adrian's grip on his sword relaxed.
He didn't step out. He didn't move.
He just stood there behind the tree, watching.
He'd seen beasts mourn before—packs of wolves howling over a fallen alpha, wyverns circling the bones of their kin. But this… this was the first time there'd been a child involved. The way it clung to her. The way they cried together.
He could've killed them. Should've, maybe.
But he didn't.
He just stayed still.
And quiet.