I didn't respond.
Just let the moment stretch.
The bonfires crackled in the distance, their flames casting jagged shadows on the ground.
The scent of roasted meat and sweat mixed in the air, thick and heavy.
The crowd surrounding the ring cheer loudly, their eyes gleaming with hunger—hunger for blood, for spectacle, for weakness.
And right now, Bruz thought he had found it in me.
I was at the edge of the ring.
Bruz thought he had me cornered.
His broad chest heaved, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull.
His lips curled into a sneer, a cruel promise of pain.
His fingers flexed, thick as tree branches, eager to crush me.
He didn't just want to win—he wanted to make an example out of me, to remind everyone of my place.
Too bad for him.
He reeled back, coiling all his power into a devastating right hook.
Then, with a thunderous roar—
He swung.
"YOU'RE DONE!"
His eyes gleamed with savage satisfaction, the kind that came from certainty—the certainty of victory, of dominance.
But...
His fist cut through empty air. He missed.
For a split second, his expression froze, confusion flickering in his eyes.
And before his brain could even register the mistake, before the shock could fully settle into his brutish features—
I struck.
A precise, brutal hit to the throat.
BAM!
"Gaah."
Bruz choked his roar dying in his throat as his windpipe seized.
He stumbled backward, his massive hands flying up to clutch at his neck, his face contorting in pain as he gasped for air
The crowd froze.
Stunned silence. Wide eyes. Disbelief.
No one had expected me to land the first real hit.
And Bruz? He looked just as shocked as they did.
His thick fingers trembled as they gripped his bruised throat.
He wheezed, his massive chest expanding and contracting erratically.
Then his shock turned to rage.
His face twisted into something monstrous as he let out a guttural growl, his muscles bunching.
His nostrils flared. His veins bulged.
The he lunged at me.
Big mistake.
As the moment his fist twitched, I unleashed a deafening bellow using my new skill—Thunderous Roar.
"BROOOOAAARRGH!!"
The sound erupted from deep within my chest, raw and primal. It wasn't just noise—it was force. A wave of crushing pressure exploded outward.
The air shook. The ground trembled.
The sound slammed into Bruz like a wrecking ball.
His ears rang. His body reeled.
Even the trolls outside the ring staggered, some nearly collapsing from the sheer force of my voice.
The bonfires flickered violently, the flames struggling against the invisible shockwave.
Bruz wobbled, his stance shaky.
I grinned.
Then I moved.
Fast. Precise. Relentless.
My claws flashed in the firelight, cutting through the air as I struck like a relentless tide, each hit landing with brutal efficiency.
WHUMP!
A brutal uppercut to his gut.
The impact lifted him an inch off the ground.
His breath hitching in surprise.
Then...
SHRRK!
A sharp slash across his arm.
His thick skin split, dark blood welling up.
Then—
CRACK!
A spinning elbow to his jaw.
His head snapped sideways, his eyes rolling for a fraction of a second before he forced them back into focus.
Bruz stumbled, his massive frame swaying. The daze from Thunderous Roar still clung to him, slowing his reactions, dulling his reflexes.
But that wasn't the real problem.
The real problem was that he couldn't keep up.
His brute strength meant nothing if he couldn't land a hit.
His frustration boiled over, his pride refusing to accept what was happening.
With a furious roar, he charged, his rage fueling him, his massive arms swinging wildly.
But rage made him sloppy.
And I took full advantage.
I darted in, closing the distance in a blink.
My fingers clamped around his throat, my grip like an iron vice.
Raw power surged through me, my muscles burning with exertion—and then—
I lifted him off his feet.
A full-grown troll, my size.
The crowd's roars of excitement died into stunned silence.
I spotted Gunther watching.
His frown had deepened, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the veins bulging in his neck.
This wasn't a battle anymore.
It was a one-sided beatdown.
Bruz's eyes bulged, his hands clawing at my grip.
His legs kicked wildly, searching for the ground that was no longer there.
But I held firm.
Unshaken. Unstoppable.
The seconds stretched endlessly, the weight of the moment pressing down on every single onlooker.
Then, for the grand finale—I pivoted, twisting my body—
And then...
Slammed him into the ground.
BOOM!
The impact shook the clearing. Dust and debris exploded upward as a crater formed beneath Bruz's body.
The earth shuddered.
Bruz's body jerked once—then went limp.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but that was all.
For a moment, everything was still.
Silence.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then, a single troll muttered, "Wow."
And just like that—The crowd erupted.
The sheer brutality of my victory sent them into a frenzy.
Some trolls cheered, pounding their fists against their chests like war drums. Their voices boomed, excitement surging through them.
Others? Not so happy.
They glared, their expressions twisted with fury and disbelief.
I had humiliated one of their own.
Zephra was grinning, her eyes gleaming with something that looked close to admiration.
Gunther?
Yeah, he looked like he wanted to rip my head off.
His gaze was like a frozen blade—sharp, cold, and deadly. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white.
I had just humiliated his brother in front of the entire clan.
And I could see it in his eyes.
He was never going to let that slide.
But I wasn't bothered.
I exhaled, dusting off my hands as if I'd just finished a light workout. Then, just for the sake of rubbing it in—
I crouched down beside Bruz's unconscious body, patted his cheek, and smirked.
"Thanks for the warm-up, big guy."
Another round of cheers and laughter exploded from the crowd. Some trolls stomped their feet, others slapped each other's backs, enjoying the spectacle.
But I could still feel the weight of hostile glares, like daggers aimed at my back.
Not all of them were happy. Some would never accept me.
But most looked at me differently now.
Not with hate. Not with disgust.
But with acknowledgment.
They might not have liked me, but they couldn't ignore me anymore.
There was no mistaking that my status had shifted.
Bruz had challenged me to put me in my place.
Instead, I had carved out a place of my own.
Now would I actually stay here? Live among my kind?
I wasn't sure.
But... the idea was starting to grow on me.
I rolled my shoulders, stretching as I walked toward Zephra.
My back cracked, tension melting away.
Then I asked.
"So, what's next?"
Zephra chuckled, arms crossed as she glanced at the still-crackling bonfires, the spread of roasted meat, the heavy scent of spice and smoke in the air.
"Next?" She smirked, motioning toward the food and drink. "The feast continues."
I grinned, my stomach growling in agreement.
"Good. I worked up an appetite."
Elsewhere, deep in the forest, a line of figures moved in eerie silence, their lanterns casting flickering light through the dense foliage.
The glow illuminated steel-plated boots, fur-lined cloaks, and the glint of drawn weapons.
These were no ordinary travelers. They were adventurers.
They came to an halt, and at the front of the group, a squat yet powerfully built figure stomped forward, his every step deliberate.
The dwarf's thick beard was streaked with gray, but his eyes burned with a cold, unwavering purpose. Draped over his shoulders was a ragged cloak—stitched from the hide of a troll, its coarse fur matted with old blood.
His bearded face twisted into a grimace as he surveyed the seemingly endless expanse of trees and dense foliage before them.
He exhaled, nostrils flaring.
He raised a thick, calloused hand, tracing the air with his fingers as if feeling for something unseen.
Then he muttered, voice gravelly as stone grinding against steel.
"Here,"
The humans stiffened behind him tightened their grips on their weapons.
The entrance to the troll village lay ahead, concealed behind nature itself.
The dwarf grinned, sharp and wolfish.
"Mages do your thing."
He couldn't wait to murder some trolls.