Crimson Overlord-Chapter 307: Toying with the Enemy

Hellion, a man of action, mirrored Lily’s frustration. His growl echoed Lily’s click, a sound that resonated with barely contained aggression. His eyes, usually warm and inviting, blazed with a fiery intensity as he gripped his massive broadsword.

"Lily," he rumbled, his voice tinged with worry, "are we really letting him waltz in there alone? What if..."

His question hung unfinished in the air, a testament to the unspoken trust, and perhaps even a hint of fear, they held for Orpheus.

Lily met his gaze head-on. Her expression hardened, the playful glint in her eyes replaced by a steely resolve.

"There’s no turning back now," she stated, her voice firm despite the tremor that ran through her.

They were hopelessly outnumbered, facing a horde of hulking brutes fueled by primal rage. Their strength, both physical and magical, paled in comparison to the raw power the trolls possessed.

Taking a deep breath, Lily raised her arms. Magic, raw and potent, pulsed around her origin core, shimmering like a miniature blue sun. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she focused the energy, directing it outwards.

The air crackled with power as a shimmering barrier, reminiscent of a giant soap bubble, erupted from her staff, encasing the makeshift mountain of roots.

Bang!

The impact was immediate. The first wave of trolls, a mass of green muscle and fury, charged towards them, their guttural roars echoing like thunder. Their massive clubs, studded with bone and jagged stones, slammed into the barrier, sending tremors that rattled the platform beneath their feet.

The blue barrier shimmered, holding strong against the assault, a testament to Lily’s impressive magical prowess.

Lily, her brow furrowed in concentration, maintained the barrier. It wouldn’t last forever, but it would buy them precious time.

’’Haaaaah!"

Hellion, with a war cry that rivaled the troll’s roars, ripped his bastard sword from its scabbard. The massive blade, honed to razor sharpness, glinted wickedly in the dappled sunlight.

’’Die!"

He charged towards the edge of the platform, his every muscle taut with anticipation.

Ilya, the silent observer, didn’t waste time with theatrics. Her slender sword, a whisper of steel compared to the warriors’ weapons, flashed in her hand. Her movements were swift and precise, a deadly dancer in a barbaric ballet.

The battle for the forgotten village had begun. The trolls, frustrated by the invisible wall, began to clamber onto the wooden fence, their roars transforming into frustrated bellows. The melody from Ilya’s sword, now a melancholic dirge, seemed lost in the cacophony of violence.

High above the fray, a blur of crimson darted through the village. Orpheus, a phantom amidst the cacophony, moved with an unnatural grace that defied the trollish architecture. He danced between ramshackle huts, his black sword an extension of his arm, a silent reaper in the dappled sunlight filtering through the massive leaves.

Two hulking trolls, alerted by the faint sounds of his approach, lumbered towards him. Their roars were cut short as Orpheus materialized before them, impossibly fast. Before they could react, his black sword sang a deadly song, a whisper of steel that left clean, crimson gashes across their thick hides. The trolls crumpled to the ground, lifeless husks before their comrades even realized they were under attack.

Unfazed, Orpheus continued his silent ballet, leaving a trail of fallen trolls in his wake. He wasn’t aiming for a display of power, not yet. Each kill was swift, precise, and most importantly, devoid of the blood-sucking frenzy one might expect of a vampire. This was a chess game, and he was a calculated player, making his moves carefully, ensuring his true strength remained a shadowed secret.

His crimson eyes, however, glinted with a spark of amusement that bordered on cruelty. There was a morbid fascination with the way the trolls reacted, their roars turning into confused bellows as their comrades fell before them. Was it a test of their loyalty to their leader? Or a twisted enjoyment of the chaos he was orchestrating?

Finally, he reached his destination – the largest hut in the center of the village. A hulking figure emerged from within, the troll chieftain. He was every bit the imposing leader, a head taller and broader than even the largest of his warriors. His thick neck adorned with gruesome trophies – necklaces of bone and teeth – confirmed his status as a formidable foe.

The chieftain roared a challenge, his voice shaking the very foundation of the village. He charged at Orpheus, his massive club raised high, a weapon capable of crushing a man in a single blow.

But Orpheus, the phantom turned predator, simply sidestepped the attack with an effortless grace that belied his unnatural speed. He countered with a single, precise strike of his black sword. The weapon, imbued with a hidden power, ripped through the chieftain’s club as if it were rotten wood.

Bang!

The splintered remains clattered to the ground, a testament to the true power hidden within the unassuming blade. freewёbnoνel.com

The chieftain, eyes wide with shock and disbelief, momentarily faltered. But rage quickly replaced surprise, fueling a primal scream that echoed through the village. Here, in front of his people, he was challenged, his status threatened.

Roarrrr!

The chieftain’s roar shook the very huts around them, but Orpheus remained unfazed. With a casual flick of his wrist, he deflected the massive club that came crashing down, the wood splintering harmlessly against his black sword. The troll chieftain, a mountain of rage and confusion, bellowed again, a sound that vibrated through the chieftain’s chest.

But Orpheus simply continued his deadly dance, toying with the creature. He moved with an inhuman grace, a crimson blur against the backdrop of the crude hut. Each swing of his blade was measured, precise, and utterly devastating. It wasn’t a display of raw power, but a calculated dismantling of the chieftain’s defenses.

The chieftain roared in frustration, his club a useless hunk of wood in the face of Orpheus’s swift movements. He swung wildly, his attacks predictable and easily dodged. Orpheus weaved in and out, his own strikes mere pinpricks compared to the chieftain’s brutal swings. But each pinprick left a wound, a crimson stain blooming on the troll’s thick hide.

The other trolls, witnessing their leader’s humiliation, let out frustrated bellows.

’’!!"

Some even started to back away, fear flickering in their small, beady eyes. The tide was turning, not through brute force, but through Orpheus’s chilling display of controlled savagery.

Below, on the makeshift mountain of roots, the battle raged on. Lily’s magic barrier shimmered faintly, the constant barrage taking its toll. Hellion and Ilya fought with the desperation of cornered wolves, their movements a whirlwind of steel. But the trolls, though losing heart, were relentless.

’’Graaaaaa!"

Suddenly, a powerful roar ripped through the air, different from the others. It was a primal challenge, a call to dominance. One of the remaining larger trolls, emboldened by the chieftain’s struggle, charged towards Orpheus, its massive club held high.

Orpheus, in the midst of his dance with the chieftain, glanced at the newcomer with a flicker of amusement in his crimson eyes. This might be the opportunity he’d been waiting for. With a lightning-fast movement, he delivered a final, precise blow to the chieftain, severing a thick tendon in the troll’s leg. The creature crumpled to the ground with a bellow of pain and rage.

Turning his attention to the new challenger, Orpheus let out a low growl, a sound that sent shivers down the spines of the remaining trolls. The playful facade vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory glint in his eyes.