The Troll blinked in confusion at first, its sluggish mind not quite registering what had happened. Then it roared, "Who? Who's there?"
But Sylas was still hidden under the effects of a Disillusionment Charm, completely invisible to the Troll's wild, darting eyes.
"Petrificus Totalus!" A beam of pale white light shot through the shadows and struck the Troll square in the chest.
For a brief moment, the creature's entire body froze, locked in place. But then, with a guttural growl, the Troll shook off the enchantment, shattering the magical bind as if it were cobwebs.
"Come out, you sneaky little maggot!" the beast snarled, sniffing the air. "I can smell you!"
Sylas frowned from the shadows.
'Its resistance to magic is stronger than the others,' he realized, fingers tightening around his wand. The Shrinking Potion had made short work of the previous five, and he'd started to think Trolls were just big, dumb targets. Clearly, that had been a mistake.
He fired off another flurry of spells, Stupefy, Impedimenta, Incarcerous, but none held for more than a few seconds before the creature shrugged them off, growing more enraged by the second.
Shifting tactics, Sylas slipped a hand to his belt and summoned his enchanted dagger with a burst of magical energy. It shot forward like a silver blur, burying itself deep in the Troll's hide, just beneath its thick layer of scales.
The Troll roared in pain and rage. "ARGH! You cowardly insect! I'll chew your bones!"
It began hurling massive boulders in every direction, and one crashed into the magical barrier shielding Sylas. The impact shimmered with blue light for an instant, enough for the Troll to spot him.
A sinister grin split the Troll's face. It lunged forward, swinging a colossal fist at the glimmering spot where it had seen the flash.
The blow came down like thunder. It shattered Sylas's Shield Charm in a single strike, but when the dust cleared, there was nothing there.
The Troll froze, confused.
That's when two daggers whistled through the air and plunged straight into its eyes.
The monster let out a bloodcurdling shriek, its blood spraying across the cavern walls. Blinded, it staggered, flailing in every direction.
Sylas was already moving. He flicked his wand and shouted, "Locomotor Mortis!" The Troll's knees locked up, and it toppled forward like a felled tree, crashing to the floor with a quake that rattled loose stones from the ceiling.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Sylas channeled his energy and levitated the Troll's discarded wooden club.
He swung the club down hard on the back of the Troll's head.
CRACK.
It groaned.
CRACK.
The second blow knocked it completely unconscious. The beast slumped with a final sigh, out cold.
Breathing heavily, Sylas brushed a streak of blood from his cheek and glanced at the motionless hulk.
Evidently, when dealing with creatures with high magic resistance like Trolls, physical attacks are most effective.
Just as Sylas finished dealing with his Troll, Gandalf made his own move.
With a flash of golden fire, the Flame Sword carved straight through both of the Troll's Achilles tendons. The massive brute collapsed, roaring in agony. Before it could recover, Gandalf leapt onto its chest, driving the blazing blade deep into its chest The Troll gave shudder as golden flames erupted from its body.
Gandalf withdrew the blade and, with a practiced flick, tossed it through the air.
Sylas turned just in time to see the flaming sword arcing toward him. He caught it neatly, spun on his heel, and leapt atop the unconscious Troll. With both hands gripping the hilt, he drove the blade through its chest and into the beast's heart.
The Troll's body convulsed for a brief moment, reacting even in its unconscious state. Then the fire spread. The muscles tensed, the chest heaved, and then it stilled. Dead.
When the fire dimmed, the cavern was silent.
After dispatching the two Trolls, Sylas and Gandalf gave the cave a quick inspection. Aside from a tangled heap of cracked bones, human, animal, and otherwise, there was nothing of value. No treasure, no tools, not even a decent pot.
"Some Trolls are just more industrious than others," Sylas muttered, wrinkling his nose.
Gandalf, frowning at the carnage, raised his staff. With a few firm incantations, the walls began to tremble. Rocks loosened, the ceiling cracked, and moments later, the entire cave collapsed inward, burying the dead Trolls and the bone pile in stone.
They moved on without another word.
The next cave held just one solitary Troll, perhaps a castaway or a lazy recluse. It had even fewer possessions than the last. The Troll didn't even own a cauldron. It was a pitiful den, and the battle was brief.
But then they reached the fourth cave.
And everything changed.
Twelve Trolls.
An entire warband.
The Trolls inside were far more organized than any they'd encountered. There were distinct roles, guards, hunters, cooks, and in the center of it all sat a Troll chief, perched high atop a stone throne.
He was massive, nearly eight meters tall, swathed in cracked, rusted armor and wielding a warhammer.
The other Trolls moved with deference around him. He didn't need to bark orders, his presence alone commanded them.
Along the cave's inner wall were stone-hewn cells, barred with rough timber. Inside, hundreds of emaciated human captives lay huddled like livestock.
Their eyes were hollow. Their bodies gaunt. When one of the Trolls slopped a thick, foul gruel into a wooden trough, the prisoners rushed it mindlessly, scrambling like starving animals.
Sylas's stomach turned.
"They're raising them like cattle…" he whispered.
Gandalf's face darkened. "They've stopped hunting and started farming."
To ensure a continuous supply of food, they even kept human men and women together, forcing them to bear new human infants.
They had never seen such intelligent Trolls before. If given a chance, it might truly unify the entire Troll Forest in the future and become the King of Trolls.
This time, Sylas and Gandalf didn't rush into battle.
They were far more cautious than before.
Facing twelve Trolls and a potential Troll King was no small matter. After a hushed discussion behind a ridge of rocks, Sylas decided to try the same strategy that had worked before, Potions.
But there was a problem.
He'd already used up his stock of Shrinking Potion.
So instead, Sylas selected another concoction from his robes: a Hypnotic (sleeping) Draught. One bottle, potent enough to knock out a bear, or so he hoped.
Cloaking himself in a Disillusionment Charm, Sylas crept toward the steaming cauldron in the center of the chamber. After weaving between boulders, discarded bones, and snoring sentries, he finally reached the pot and carefully poured in the entire vial.
Then he slinked away and waited.
Moments later, to his astonishment, the entire contents of the cauldron were carried away and delivered to none other than the Troll chieftain.
The giant slurped it all down.
Every last drop.
Not even a mouthful remained for the other Trolls.
"Tsk," Sylas cursed under his breath from behind a stalagmite. "Eating it all yourself? Ever heard of sharing?"
"Though," he muttered with a smirk, "looks like karma just came early."
Sure enough, within minutes, the towering Troll leader started swaying on his makeshift stone throne. His eyelids drooped, his head lolled to one side, and then;
Snore!
The sound that followed was less like breathing and more like thunder in a tunnel. The chieftain collapsed sideways, snoring so loudly it shook loose dust from the ceiling.
The other Trolls barely blinked. Apparently, this was nothing new.
Unbothered by their leader's sudden nap, they began preparing another pot of food, this time filled with wriggling green worms, spices, and something that smelled suspiciously like swamp water.
That was their dinner.
As for the caged humans? Those were strictly the chief's livestock. Even though the prisoners looked on with hunger in their hollow eyes, none of the Trolls dared to approach the cages.
The leader had made it clear: his food was not to be touched.
Everyone who had ever challenged that decree had ended up as a smear on the cave floor, or worse, dinner themselves.
Hidden behind a boulder, Gandalf leaned in and whispered to Sylas, "Do you happen to have another one of those marvelous concoctions?"
Sylas let out a helpless sigh and shook his head.
"I brewed five kinds of Potions before we left," he explained to Gandalf. "Scabies Potion, Shrinking Potion, Forgetfulness Potion, Calming Potion, and Sleeping Potion. The Shrinking and Sleeping ones are already used up… and the rest aren't exactly helpful for dealing with a dozen ravenous Trolls."
He looked at the remaining vials with an exasperated expression.
'What am I supposed to do? Help them get over skin rashes with the Scabies Potion? Wipe their memories so they forget they're man-eating monsters? Calm their nerves with a Soothing draft? We're not running a Troll spa!'
Just as he was about to give up on the idea, Sylas suddenly paused, patting his robes and pulling out a bottle filled with a thick, mossy green liquid.
"Wait… I do still have one more Potion left," he muttered, eyes lighting up with a glimmer of mischief.
Sylas quickly pulled out a bottle of green Potion from his pocket.
...
Stones PLzzz