"No!" Varokal watched as Drek'maz was about to strike Galen, his face filled with shock and anger.
His heart was filled with regret. If he had seen through Drek'maz's bluff earlier and hadn't retreated that half-step, the prince wouldn't have been in such danger.
On the other side, Omar relentlessly pressed the witch doctor, who could only parry with the staff in his hand. At this moment, Omar also noticed Galen's danger and turned to abandon the battered witch doctor, wanting to rush back and help Galen.
They were members of the guard personally selected by the prince. If the prince were killed by trolls before their eyes, they would not only fail the prince's trust in them, but also have no face to return to Stromgarde.
Just at this critical moment, the battle-axe arrived. Prince Frog widened his beady green frog eyes, looking intently focused. If they didn't know that the frog was their own prince transformed, Varokal and Omar would not have dared to believe that a frog could make such a serious expression.
They saw the frog hop to the side, avoiding the attack of the battle-axe, which slammed into the ground, splashing a large amount of mud and pebbles.
Varokal and Omar felt their hearts, which had been hanging in their throats, drop slightly. And Prince Frog, from his earlier squatting position, jumped up into the air, assuming a bouncing posture. Those long, cyan legs left an indelible impression in the minds of the two guard captains.
But the shocking thing for Varokal and Omar hadn't ended yet. The moment Prince Frog landed, there was a soft 'poof' sound, and a burst of smoke rose from the spot, just enough to envelop the frog and Drek'maz beside him.
Just as they were wondering what was happening, the smoke slowly dissipated, revealing two figures in the arena.
In the smoke, Drek'maz was still in the posture of slamming the ground with his giant axe. He hadn't expected that someone under the influence of magic could break free from the strangeness of the reshaped body so quickly. Moreover, the frog jumped away so fast that he didn't have time to retract his move and could only release his attack onto the ground.
The other person was Galen, who had already broken free from the witch doctor's transformation spell. At this moment, he held a greatsword, which was now plunged into Drek'maz's heart.
The greatsword was inserted diagonally from the right chest and pierced out from the left back. Drek'maz had an expression of disbelief, slowly lowering his head to look at the blade in his chest. Even a great troll warrior, even with his strong vitality, could not heal a heart that had been cut open by a greatsword.
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Drek'maz was filled with regret, and with an unwilling expression, he breathed his last breath.
He had thought it was a simple hunting mission. This master existence, a warrior who had entered the ruling class in the tribe, was being wasted by coming to collect supplies for the sacrifice. Moreover, it was far away from human territory, and he thought that only beasts would not threaten the safety of the camp. Due to negligence, he lost his life.
On the other side, the troll witch doctor watched as Drek'maz was about to kill Galen, who was controlled by the spell, and he was about to turn the tide of the battle. But all of this happened so fast that his sneer had just begun to rise when he saw Drek'maz die, abruptly stopping his laughter.
He didn't understand how a person who had been hit by his transformation spell could break the magic effect in such a short few seconds.
But the situation before him no longer allowed him to think carefully. Suppressing the doubts in his mind, only he, a surviving troll, was left in the field, while there were still three powerful warriors on the human side, and those human soldiers were only knocked away and had not died.
It was already impossible to turn the tide. While the humans hadn't reacted, he had to escape quickly.
Clutching the wound on his abdomen, he didn't have time to cast a healing spell on himself. Using the tents in the camp to block their view, he quickly rushed out of the camp, about to disappear into the night.
Omar and Varokal were momentarily careless, their attention was all on the prince who was out of danger, and they neglected the last troll, really letting him run away.
But Galen wouldn't. He secretly hated this spellcaster who had turned him into a frog. He even had some aftereffects now. Besides the soreness in his body, his mind was still a little confused. He even remembered those few seconds when he turned into a frog, wanting to stick out his tongue to catch bugs to eat.
Suppressing the discomfort in his heart, Galen grabbed his greatsword and chased after him.
At the corner of a tent, Galen saw a spear that had been thrown, stuck diagonally in the ground. He immediately reached out and pulled it out, holding it in his hand.
Chasing to the edge of the camp, Galen saw the troll witch doctor staggering, having already run nearly thirty meters. Gripping the spear in reverse, he locked onto the target, unleashed the power of his whole body, and threw the spear.
The spear flew out, hitting the troll squarely in the right shoulder. The tremendous force carried him two steps, the spear piercing through his body, the tip embedded in the earth.
Seeing that he had hit the target, Galen ran up with his greatsword. Varokal chased after him, following behind Galen. Although the trolls were all dead, he didn't dare to let the prince go forward alone again.
Omar went to check on the condition of the several soldiers who had been knocked away by Drek'maz earlier.
Quickly running to the place where the troll was hit, he saw the troll kneeling half-faced to the ground, his upper body leaning forward, the spear piercing through his shoulder supporting him from falling to the ground.
At this time, the troll witch doctor's blood flowed all over the ground. Omar's battle-axe had cut a wound on his abdomen, and then Galen's spear had pierced through his right shoulder.
Seeing that Galen and Varokal had approached, walking in front of him, he looked at the two with a resentful expression, coughed out a mouthful of old blood, and then roared unwillingly.
Galen didn't waste words with him, perfectly interpreting the meaning of being ruthless. He swung his sword and chopped off the witch doctor's head.
Galen's charge at the camp gate, all the way to the final spear throw, killed a total of eight trolls, successfully achieving a godlike streak.
Bringing the troll witch doctor's body back to the camp, Omar had already gathered the five soldiers together.
Galen looked at the condition of the five people. Two soldiers had fractured their arms while trying to block Drek'maz head-on with their shields, while the other three had only suffered minor scrapes and bruises, which generally did not affect their actions.
Galen breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, no one had died. The members of the guard were all personally selected by Galen, and they had developed feelings for each other over the years. Galen didn't want them to be lost here.
Instructing Omar to lead the three soldiers with lighter injuries to clean up the battlefield and collect the spoils of war.
Galen added some wood to the bonfire and sat down beside it. Varokal helped the two soldiers with fractures treat their injuries.
Sitting by the bonfire, the orange-yellow flames flickered in the night wind, illuminating Galen's face with alternating light and shadow. Varokal, the rough fellow, was clumsy when he bandaged the soldiers with simple splints to fix their broken bones, causing the two men to grimace in pain.
Galen propped his chin with one hand, and unconsciously stroked the hilt of his sword with the other, already lost in his own thoughts.