Flying through the forest after Mother toward the village, amidst new claps of explosions and flashes of elemental magic, I suddenly realized that I had no idea who Mother was before she became a baker. I hadn't even thought about the possibility that she could have been someone else. There had been no reason to.
Of course, it's not practiced very often, but potentially an Elf with our lifespan can master several professions. Different, radically distinct fields of activity. And master them over centuries at a level almost unattainable for other sentient species. I'm trying to become a broad-profile generalist myself, yet I hadn't considered that others might have walked this path. That's what human narrow-mindedness is; not good. On the other hand, Elves don't do this that often either; you need a reason. Our lot generally doesn't like to rush, so if a decision is made, it's thorough.
In the case of a girl, that argument could be, expectedly, marriage. Develop your magical potential, but then change your sphere of activity to something more domestic. The magical potential is there, the education too. The skills are there, possibly achievements as well. Makes for an enviable bride.
I can assume that the magical aristocracy (its younger generation) lives roughly like that. But I'm not strong in that area; the internal politics of the Silvermoon nobility never particularly interested me. It's such a hellish swamp with mosquitoes and midges that it's not in my plans to go there at all. Jokes aside, it would be easier for me right now to fly to Stormwind, punch the King in the face, and then explain the future. Considering that would be a radical change to the future, the probability of success would likely be on the same level as trying to push through our nobility.
Yes, I spent time studying etiquette. And in short, our beloved nobility is very much nobility. If I had, say, two hundred years, I could go through them. Grow up, develop my magical potential, and fight my way through intrigue, the bedroom, and other methods used by base-born prodigies. But there are two problems: I didn't grow up this beautiful just to become the umpteenth concubine for some rich long-eared daddy who has a line of others just like me. And we simply don't have the time.
"DaVi, focus."
I sighed, returning to reality. This shift into analysis mode is useful in the lab, but it gets in the way in combat.
"I'm here. Ready to continue."
We flew on. Anyway, it seems there's a story behind my mother. Given the signs, she has the skills of a War Mage. When we're done here, I'll have to find out more; she can probably tell and show me a lot.
Supporting this is the fact that Mother is flying and sparking using methods very characteristic of a Mage who has undergone training. And in the Mana flows, I see standard magical formations: shield, levitation, distortion on the hands, a ready combat spell. I'm almost certain she completed training rather than not. Perhaps partially. Perhaps she met Father and decided to join a new society, which is why she mastered a peaceful trade. Maybe something else. In my mind, Mother was always a domestic Elf-baker who could make great pastries or throw things into our equivalent of a washing machine, but that was it. In this case, I'm pleased to think I was wrong, that I underestimated her.
A mine went off in the background. Far away, at the edge of perception. Should check it out.
"Troll over there. A mine went off."
Mother nodded, and we flew there. I also focused, tensing the strings in my hands, creating a sort of funnel for the cold. A portal to a domain, or just a desire, I don't know. But it works quite well. Magic generally cares little for logic and rules.
What I don't like is how timely the attack began; I didn't even get a word in. Exactly at the moment I was going to tell Mother about the future. I have no idea if she would have taken my words seriously or dismissed them as childhood nonsense, but trying was the right thing to do. And just as I started talking…
It's probably paranoia. Or maybe the lizards are preventing the future from being changed. Not that I know much about the capabilities of the Bronze Dragonflight, but they don't seem to just come and erase sentients from time just because they can. And one could assume that such a sudden attack would be a good way to distract attention.
But who knows how they act during paradoxes, when reality has already been altered, the rules rewritten, and all that. Or maybe, I thought, the norm of this reality is exactly what I'm doing. It's possible.
Or I'm having a fit of paranoia. As an option. And there's no psych ward here—we're in the Middle Ages, comrades! Would someone please explain if my meta-knowledge is even relevant or not? Maybe this isn't that "Warcraft" at all. Although the Entity said otherwise… But who knows how much this reality differs. Anyway, I don't know; I'll think about it later. Right now, we have trolls.
I checked my gear. The gauntlet is on me, so the shield is up if anything happens. I have the staff, a student's wooden stick. I haven't grown enough to craft artifacts yet. Mana Shield is up, my body hidden by a magical cloud.
By the way, it's my most powerful spell. Essentially, by pouring in a large amount of magic, I force reality to believe that there is an impenetrable transparent wall around me. As long as there is Mana, it's almost impossible to kill someone under such a shield. For an ordinary Mage, this is Magister level, but I just have A LOT of Mana. I can afford to compensate for mistakes with raw potential.
My thoughts drifted back to the probabilities of events. I thought about it. I did tell the Master about Arthas and the Undead. But he didn't get hit by any cosmic backlash. Is it because he's not important, he didn't believe it, he's dead, or he won't tell? Or am I just starting to get paranoid, thinking about things that aren't there? I clicked my tongue and whispered:
"Paranoid nonsense is creeping into my head. Not the time."
To distract myself, I tuned into the sensation of the mines. Only a dozen, not that many. Unfortunately, my supply of herbs for creating poison is limited, which means my ammunition is limited too. Assembly was completed in just a few hours; there was simply nowhere else to get more resources. I'll have to fight with what I have.
Generally, clay golems aren't particularly sturdy, but they are quite durable. It might seem that a doll made of unfired clay would fall apart under stress, but no—thanks to magic, it holds its shape well. Unless you crush it on purpose, of course. That's why stone or metal is needed for combat golems. A clay one can easily have its arms chopped off, for example, without breaking the golem itself. Without limbs, the doll will start to glitch out violently, and that's the end of its authority.
The first sounds of battle reached us. The clank of metal, shouted commands. The trolls might have attacked, but the village isn't going to give up so easily. A burning figure darted out from behind a house; an Elf Guard attacked it, then ran back. Yeah, buildings and fences interfere with aiming. Mom smiled wickedly; a couple of ice logs—sorry, spears—formed around her.
"Looks like it really is trolls. DaVi, stay close. Cover me with freezes."
I nodded.
"Understood."
I'm all for it. My freezes can be used as weapons of mass humiliation. Magic, comrades! Someone like Jaina would cover a hundred-meter radius with Blizzard without breaking a sweat, and her Cone of Cold wouldn't be worse than mine. I won't even mention what a full-fledged Archmage can do—that's a weapon of mass destruction. And humiliation too.
"Enemy—" I aimed at a figure that peeked out, but he fired an arrow and vanished, "—gone, the rascal."
The arrow went wide. The Troll himself didn't have time to aim while dodging. A good sign. Meanwhile, we descended the hill toward the settlement. Well, it doesn't look too bad, actually. A few burning houses on the outskirts, noise and shouting. Purple magical flashes; at the southern end of the village, everything was covered by heavy low clouds, and there's clearly a snowstorm there. The sounds of battle, not a deathly silence. I think those are good sounds during an attack. My shield flared.
"Careful! DaVi, you okay?"
I flinched as a spear bounced off my Magic Shield. Or rather, a dart. Quite long, about a meter and a half, with a bone tip. It flew at my side from somewhere on the left, out of the bushes. The shield absorbed the impulse completely, but I still shuddered reflexively, preparing a fan of icicles. Beside me, lightning crackled softly in my mother's hands. And yet, neither of us had even noticed that Troll.
As a preventative measure, I stuffed the bushes with icicles, firing the ones hovering around me and adding four more volleys just to be sure. Not particularly accurate, just "roughly over there." Let's see how you appreciate ice buckshot.
Um, wait a minute. Is lightning Elemental damage or Nature? It seems Shamans dabble in that. On the other hand, Fire domains definitely exist, and Mages still hurl Fireballs. In short, it's complicated. And the fact that I'm thinking about it doesn't stop me from firing icicles into the bushes. Especially since the bushes are moving; someone is clearly crashing through them.
"What, don't like the icicles? A pity."
My thoughts were interrupted by the sharp crack of an electrical discharge, which traced a path of branching lightning from my mother to the bushes on the right with a purple flash and a hum. A twitching Troll with a spear in his hands tumbled out. Aha, end of the line for him. Oh wait, still alive, moving. And then I was asked a question.
"Mana Shield held. I have... twelve mines. Ready to go. And yeah, great hit, Mom."
Mother nodded with a slight smile, floated over to the Troll, and finished him off with an icicle. The Troll went silent. Moreover, before delivering the final blow, she hovered, deliberately slowly forming the projectile. Showing off. I won't argue; an Elf Mage in a form-fitting dress with a good figure, long shoulder-length hair, and eyes glowing with gold looks stylish, even majestic. I'm a bit jealous; I want to look like that too. Apparently pleased with the reaction, Maman waved her hand.
"Let's continue."
The thought occurred to me that we are, technically, heading into the Center of Battle. But there was no time to dwell on it. Ahead, there was a significant flare of purple light, and then it began to darken rapidly. It grew cold. An icy wind blew, making us both shiver. The wind brought snowflakes that quickly grew into long sharp icicles, and the wind became gusty, strong, and howling. Fortunately, the Mana Shield protects against this too, though it glows brighter and "eats" a bit more Mana. It seems one of the elders has come out. Maybe the Teacher, or maybe the Magister himself.
"That is some very strong Biotics. So that's what you look like, Blizzard."
The differences from any game are striking. The weather in a piece of space literally changed into an icy storm. And in a significant piece of space—it covered half the town. Visibility is about twenty meters, freezing cold, snow in the face, long sharp icicles flying around (but not hitting us). But then you take two steps to the side, and it's spring again, the grass is green, the sun is out, and so on. What can I say—Magic! As long as I've lived here, I'm still amazed.
"Just keep the shield up. You need it in the combat zone anyway."
I smiled and nodded. I have no desire to argue at all; I'm thrilled. It's for moments like these that it's worth living here. Golems, flying things, a Treant, and now a Mage decided that from here to here, it's winter. Because he can. Cool, I want to do that too. Unfortunately, so far I've only been taught the cone—just taking and releasing an icy wave in that direction. But it's fine; in moments like these, I see what to strive for.
"Understood, Mom. Shall we fly on?"
A certain fear was replaced by curiosity, even interest. The howl of the wind drowns out almost everything, but I can see the flashes of fire spells. And that's it. Looking through the strings of magic isn't working; we're inside a spell, and the background noise here is overwhelming. Without proper ski goggles, I wouldn't risk going into such a storm.
Mom… okay, right now she's the Commander, otherwise it feels unprofessional, hovered, looking around through the storm.
"No, not yet, let's look around. We need to decide where to move. How many mines do you have?"
I thought about it. Despite all the magical background, I feel my mines clearly. Like other "my" spells, they stand out amidst the general chaos; I know exactly where and what has been cast. An interesting effect. So I can see the mines. But as for where to put them…
"Twelve, no, fourteen. I placed several in spots that seemed convenient for observation. A couple are now within range. But I don't see where to put them. The spell is interfering; visibility is almost zero."
Suddenly I was turned around, and Mother pointed to her eyes. She has an interesting expression on her face. Confident, focused. And she's smiling. Thanks, I believe in myself, hehe. In you too, though I've never seen you so… ready? Yes, ready. I've seen you serious, but here it's more like confidence and support. She knows what's coming and what needs to be done. And I have no doubt about that.
"See, on the eyes and face. Copy this form. I know you're good at it. Don't rush, do it right."
And she moved closer, allowing me to see the spell more clearly. Thanks, because this Blizzard is interfering quite a bit.
"Why wasn't I taught this? Looks useful."
"Because it's too early," Mom informed me sternly, "if it weren't for the situation, I wouldn't have shown you."
No one mentioned that she had generally changed her mind about teaching me combat skills. Or rather, I remembered, but the very fact that Mother was teaching me allowed me to keep my mouth shut and not be snarky. I was being taken seriously; I didn't want to spoil the moment.
Copying the position of the magic strings isn't that easy, actually. It's not built on mathematics or logic at all. Each element has its own structure of "strings"; the Blizzard interferes not just by its existence, but by the embedded magic—it has its own strings and its own formation. Like a thicket where you need to pick specific blades of grass and touch nothing else. And in the end, you get a chaotic picture from which you need to extract specific elements and arrange them correctly. We could leave the storm, but it's dangerous; the two of us are a large and quite noticeable target.
Eventually, on the fifth try, I managed to copy the spell correctly. Visibility improved immediately; the silhouettes of buildings, trees, everything appeared. Like a pencil drawing over the storm, but it's workable. I was patted on the shoulder, forced to turn again, seeing the satisfaction on her face.
"Not a perfect execution, but good for field conditions. Place the mines. On that road, the path to the forest, and at the exit to the north. Yeah, like that. And let's go into the town."
Now we can work. It's actually interesting how many useful spells I don't know. Obviously, a lot. No, it's clear that in their eyes I'm still a nobody to be given serious knowledge, but still. The mines, obeying the command, went to their places.
And yet, it's curious. I don't quite understand why my magical effects don't interfere with others'. Here are my mines; I made them, I used magic on them, and I can use them even in the middle of a storm. My magic and the other magic don't interfere with each other. Is it because different wills act on different things, and we aren't trying to change the same thing? Or is the Magister just too good to not dominate weaker Mages. It's interesting!
The storm is quite precise, by the way. It doesn't cover the houses; it sweeps through the streets, knocking down everything in its path. It hinders the fighting trolls; one was trudging down the street, covering his face with his hand, and I hit him with a "Cone of Cold." He couldn't even dodge properly, as if slowed down. Or maybe not "as if"—ice literally formed on his body. How interesting…
Wait, is it just me, or did that Hunter dodge the blow? Mom stopped, surveying the battlefield and giving me time to prepare. Or rather, to find a new target. I decided to clarify; it might be useful:
"Do the trolls have protection against the icy wind too?"
My Commander (yes, that sounds more solid) nodded.
"Masks. They look like crude pieces of wood with holes, but they are actually magical. Their spirits can grant these masks special vision or whisper to the owner when they need to dodge. 'Faithfully execute the will of the Loa, and they will reward you,' something like that."
I looked closer. It's hard to estimate the number of combatants among the buildings, but I see that not everyone has masks. Even on the trolls who aren't fighting, wounds and cuts are visible. It seems the storm is wounding them, cutting them. It slows their regeneration, putting the defenders and attackers on the same level in that regard.
An ice spear whistled past. Not an icicle like mine (many small ones), but a straight-up ice log. The Hunter it was intended for wasn't looking, but unexpectedly dodged quite quickly. He turned to us, cursed (I think), and snatched a spear from his back. He has a whole bundle of them there, throwing spears. Probably with stone or bone tips; they use them constantly.
My turn to strike, hm?
"Stay back!" Mom demanded, blasting the Troll with lightning.
He unexpectedly caught the lightning on the spear tip, making it spark. And he thrust the tip into the ground. And on his face, of course, was a wooden mask. Just a piece of board with a drawing, eye holes, and decorated with feathers.
"My turn!"
Oh, come on! I'm strong! And I easily took the thrown spear on the shield in my gauntlet. It flickered slightly but didn't go out; it's fine. A little Mana and it's as good as new. Now take these icicles. A hail of ice bits rained down on the Hunter; he tried to dodge, but several hit. The Troll jerked, toppled over, but scrambled back to his feet with a roll, snatching a new spear right in the process. Fast.
"I said stay back!"
I ignored the demand. He's alone here, there's a layer of snow around, the storm isn't stopping. And there are two of us; we can handle it. The Troll clearly realizes this but didn't retreat. Moreover, he threw another spear, which I again took on the shield.
"Shall we keep bickering or finish him off, Mom? I can take him on raw power. Like this!"
The Cone of Cold in my execution is, as always, lethal. The Troll clearly didn't expect such a dirty trick; he ended up half (the lower half) frozen into the ice, while his upper part was immediately swept away by an ice spear. Now a real ice slide leads from our position to the village; you could go sledding. Granted, with some trash at the base, and a bit red. But the redness is quickly covered by snow.
"Did the Magister decide to freeze us all? I'm curious!"
Mom looked at me sternly and sighed.
"A good result. You can keep freezing them with the cone. I'll finish them off. Questions?"
"None."
Indeed, none. It's clear she doesn't want me starting my frag counter. I'm not striving for it; there's time for that later. On the other hand, my mines have already helped kill. And now too… strange logic, but whatever. She's a good… Elf, she cares for me, values me, praises me. And since I can cover her, I will. Such a small thing.
We descended into the village and found a couple of dead Guards at the checkpoint. Judging by the number of spears in their bodies, they practice radical acupuncture. And a Troll's head a bit further on, by a burning house. Judging by the blast marks, magic was involved. And there's the rest of the Troll, sticking out of a window. And over there… we won't go there. And we won't look. I flinched, sensing movement, and slid back. Found you!
"Cone!"
Two trolls with axes jumped at us from a roof. Primitive, bone weapons, wooden masks, painted bodies. Large, strong, and flexible. In that moment, looking at a Troll from five meters away with my shield up, I realized that the illusion created by my brother and the others didn't reflect a real Troll at all. A Troll isn't just a massive bulk; it's also a very characteristic movement—arms down to the knees, yet with a fluidity. He doesn't move in jerks, but smoothly, as if flowing from position to position.
Except this fluid one tried to bring an axe down on my head while falling. The gauntlet shield shattered under the mighty blow; the base is still too weak. I'll need to find a stronger stone. Maybe they'll give me one as a reward after today?
"Davilinia!"
I'm fine, why are you screaming? The Mana Shield is carrying. The blue haze took the hit, and the young Troll, panting furiously, covered in blood from numerous cuts (and possibly killed Elves), brought his face right up to the shield, breathing spitefully right at me. How gross, brush your teeth! And he's snarling, trying to press through the defense. Or maybe trying to make me panic and weaken the shield. Yeah, right. Man, you stink, kid!
"Orbit—fresh breath, you bastard!"
The cone at point-blank range, right in the face, didn't kill the Troll. It knocked him back about five meters and froze his head to the wall, but his arms are twitching, trying to break free. I turned to see that the second one had taken an ice spear and flown inside the burning house. Mom just polished it off with a Fireball, causing an explosion in the window. Against the backdrop of the Blizzard and the crunching ice underfoot (thanks to magic for the ability to stay warm), that fire actually looks pleasant, like Christmas.
Unfortunately, the view is spoiled by the Troll I froze to the wall, whom Maman met with Fireballs, breaking through the ice crust and adding more until he stopped twitching.
"Remember, DaVi, always finish them off. They have no problem stabbing you in the back. Age, gender—none of it matters to them. They know no compassion."
"I understand."
At that moment, a couple of Guards ran up to the noise. Also dusted with snow, exhausted, in dented armor. But alive and quite spirited. They looked us over and asked my mother:
"Are you unharmed?"
Mom nodded, glancing at me, and judging by the twitching strings, cast something scanning. I think I know who I'll be pestering for magic after today; it turns out this humble baker can cast quite well and knows spells. Well, it explains where a child with such potential comes from. The parents aren't simple either. I wonder if Dad, who's a baker, is also not a simple baker? A curious question…
"Yes, we are unharmed. Where else is the enemy?"
The Guard pointed into the town:
"There, looting farmers, prowling through houses. They have a strong Shaman with them and a Hunter, a guide for the lizards. The storm is hindering them, but there are just many of them. They came from three sides, pushed back the Guards and the defense. But we managed to react. Those who can't fight went to the Magister's tower; it's safe there."
He's hinting at me. Но, what's nice is that Mother didn't try to persuade me to leave. On the contrary, she smiled encouragingly. I did the same.
In general, it's not surprising they started with cautious but area-of-effect spells. While we were talking, I sent an icicle into an alley and added ten more. I don't know if it was enough, but the movement stopped.
"We'll clear those on the streets," Maman decided, "secure the residents. We can rebuild everything if they are okay. One Mage, two Guards. DaVi, you go with them, cover them. Don't rush ahead; remember your position in the unit."
"Yes, Mom. Oh, the blacksmith."
Everyone turned at a loud "Clang!" A Troll flew out of the smithy, followed by the blacksmith with a hammer raised. A regular hammer, not a Paladin block on a stick weighing half a ton. The Troll tried to get up with a roll, but the approaching Guards poked the enemy with sharp iron until the Troll went quiet. The blood quickly began to hide under the snow, as if on purpose. What's good is that this section is more or less safe now—three warriors, two Mages. I lie, the blacksmith's wife is also holding a sword confidently. Four warriors. They remembered me too.
"DaVi, go with the Guards and help with the Cone of Cold. If anything happens, scream; I'll come."
I nodded. Of course, I'm not going to scream. I'm just going to hit with raw power in areas if needed. If I want it enough, it should be plenty, I think.
"Understood."
We had to split into two groups of three to check all the alleys and houses on both sides of the street. But it's fine; we'll handle the task.
First house, second. In the second, there was a Troll eating something. An ice spear relieved him of his hunger and his life. A second one jumped on a Guard from a ladder above, but I with icicles and the second Guard with a spear settled the matter.
"Clear. Let's move on; it's too quiet at the Master's house,"—yep, our teacher isn't that weak as a Mage, but it's too quiet at his place. Did he go to the tower or is he somewhere in town? Regardless, we need to check; you never know who's hiding there.
The Guards and I entered the courtyard occupied by the Master's house. A tall but beautiful ornate fence, a garden, training grounds, magic study areas, and tables for conducting lessons in the open air, in the shade of trees. Now the leaves are stripped by the wind, everything covered in snow. Almost a real winter.
"Well, damn…" the Guard exhaled with a puff of frost.
I agree, this is grim. The Master is being eaten by a huge two-legged reptile, suspiciously resembling a velociraptor. I think I understand why telling him the story had no consequences. He just didn't tell it; he didn't have time.
And then everything happened very fast. One Guard suddenly started convulsing under the strikes of yellowish lightning from a crude totem stuck in the ground. Just a piece of wood on a stick, painted and covered with drawings of a scary face. The second was knocked down by a second raptor. And from under the eaves of the building stepped a Troll with a bloody axe. Large, muscular, bloody (like everyone else, apparently due to the storm's effect), limping. And fully painted. He's smirking. He saw me and tossed a hatchet in his hand.
"Puny little Mage. The spirits said your soul escaped them. Soon it will return to them."
For some reason, I felt like being witty. Maybe because of the lisp. Or something else.
"They should have tried harder. I'm not impressed. And this is my soul, and mine alone. Looks like your spirits are quite the losers."
The Troll snorted. He didn't seem very impressed.
"If we sacrifice you, the Loa will reward us. And now—resist! Doba quzhu ta tawbo! Metah bo chu!"
While the Guards are busy with the raptors, which are literally trying to maul them, and of which there are already four here, the Troll rushed at me, swinging hatchets in both hands (and where did he get the second one?). Well, well, you think I'm going to play by the rules? Watch. Cone of Cold!
An icy wave a meter high froze the raptors, and the Guards too, for that matter. The attackers and defenders were suddenly deprived of any ability to move, only able to glare spitefully at each other, snap their teeth, and hiss. But the Troll jumped, twisted awkwardly, and landed on the ice with a roll.
"Weak! Useless!"
Fine, icicles! There will be many of them; some will hit regardless. Immobilize and finish with magical arrows. That's the plan. The Troll smashed a couple of icicles on the run, even twisted into a Z-shape so they'd fly past. He slid on the ice, got up, and kept running.
"Useless! Useless! Useless!"—he's even laughing.
The wooden mask over his eyes with the gruesome drawing makes him quite terrifying. Just a crude mask, not some masterpiece of carving. But looking into its eyes makes you feel uneasy, and it's already quite cold here, I might add. That feeling of danger, as if someone is watching you. Someone very unkind. Clearly a magical thing. Okay, don't twitch. Volley!
The Troll just plowed through the icicles. Several hit him in the legs, forcing him to a knee, but he just ripped the ice out and stood up; moreover, after two steps, he wasn't even limping much. What is he on? He feels no pain and is recovering even too quickly.
"Useless! Die!"
The axe struck the Mana Shield, but this opponent didn't try to press it; he dodged my point-blank volley with a roll. And delivered another blow to the side, trying to roll behind my back. Fast. What if I just release ice in all directions? I can do that too!
The Troll somehow realized what was happening and tried to jump away. He almost succeeded, but only almost. His arms ended up frozen, along with the axe. But for this, I had to cover the inner courtyard with another layer of ice; its level is now about two meters. To be sure, I sent more icicles at the target. A hit; he didn't dodge. He hissed, and not even loudly.
"What, think it hurts me? I know everything about pain, I am pain!"—the Troll roared and jerked, tearing himself out of the icy prison with a crunch.
I whistled, impressed. That really should be very painful, but he just charges and endures.
"Impressive."
The Troll snorted.
"What, think you can make me feel pity? I will bring your soul to the Loa!"—and he threw an axe, which struck the Mana Shield, throwing sparks, then bounced back into the Troll's hand. I responded with another wave of ice, this time vertical; there was simply nowhere to dodge. Yes, I'm hitting with area-of-effect precisely because he breaks the icicles with blows and dodges, bending in totally unreal poses. Flexible, unexpectedly flexible.
After three casts, the former mentor's house had turned into something thoroughly frozen and hard to describe. The ice waves deformed the fence, the first floor clearly lost a wall and partially collapsed, the Guards and beasts clearly buried somewhere down there. The three-story building was partially broken by the ice, which had clearly penetrated the interior.
But the Troll—that bastard tore himself out of the icy trap again, literally leaving pieces of skin behind, and hobbled toward me. More icicles! Seeing the forming ice bits, the enemy rushed forward, swinging. This time directly, not trying—and perhaps unable—to dodge properly. The hit caught him in the chest and threw him back.
The wind howls; on the ice field amidst the wailing storm lies the Troll. The storm torments his body, a puddle has formed under the carcass, and ten meters away, behind the bluish film of a shield, hangs a Mage. Me. Stylish—I wish someone would draw this.
"Who sent you, Troll? Why did you attack?"
He laughed, hoarsely.
"What, think you're so important? You're weak, but you escaped. We will bring generous sacrifices, and you too. The Loa wanted your pathetic little village. That's all."
I formed a couple more ice bits.
"Don't count on it."
The Troll wheezed.
"I don't fear pain; pain is my whole life. Pain is me, pain is my strength, pain is part of me!"
Suddenly the Troll jumped up, rolling back, away from me. Or rather, it was a surprise for him. I was prepared, even if I didn't show it.
"Klank."
The Troll turned around only to be blown up by a mine that jumped onto his chest. The explosion threw him back, the snow billowed, but then the storm continued, hiding the traces. And yet he's twitching; he's still alive. Even now, he's alive. I sighed, forming an ice spear. Need to finish this and unfreeze the Guards before they freeze to death under the ice. Or suffocate; that wouldn't be good either. The Troll realized what was about to happen and wheezed:
"They won't leave you alone…"
Those were the last words before a literal ice log swept the opponent away, finally settling the matter. I sighed. I feel nothing. He's an enemy; I don't perceive this creature as one of my own. Only I remained, the howl of the wind, and the ruined estate of the teacher. Yes, a pity. The teacher, his house—it's a pity. The Troll—no.
"DaVi, are you okay? You're okay."
There it is—they showed up right on schedule when everything was already over. And behind my mother ran the blacksmith and his wife. I exhaled. Now—I exhaled.
"It was that Hunter. I defeated him. We need to get the Guards out of the ice while they're still breathing. I had to use area-of-effect; the bastard was too slippery."
I was hugged very tightly; I'm too deep in my thoughts, trying to analyze what I heard. The Loa think my soul escaped them? Interesting. "They won't leave you alone"—thanks a lot for the prophecy, as if I didn't know.
After finally digging out the Guards (they had frostbite and almost suffocated), we left the heap of stone, wood, and ice that was previously the Master's home.
"DaVi, how are you?"
I listened to my sensations.
"Fine. Not tired, it's just a bit heavy."
And I didn't even try to remove the hand from my head.
"You did well, you did everything right, you protected these Elves. A true warrior. And… I think I can give you a few lessons."
I smiled, sincerely.
"Thank you. But it's not over yet, Mom. I feel…"
It wasn't over yet; I feel six, no, seven mines. Now six.
"The trolls are trying to flee, Mom. The mines are going off. Shall we stop them?"
She nodded understandingly. The blacksmith and his wife exchanged glances; besides them, Guards and a couple of farmers had already gathered here, with whatever they could find.
"Good, my dear. But you only freeze them, understood?"
She clearly doesn't want me finishing off the trolls. Oh well.
"Understood. Но we need to hurry."
At the exit of the village, I saw those same living armors. Well, the golems from the Magister's tower. And I realized I was jealous. These aren't my clumsy creations. I'm almost certain there's no one inside the armor, but the full plate with hand-and-a-half swords and shields move fast, smoothly, as if alive. One suit has a spear sticking out of its chest, another has an axe stuck in its helmet, but it doesn't bother them at a-a-all. The iron pieces continue to swing their weapons vigorously, though what's stuck in them clearly hinders their movement.
Another Troll darting out of the village tried to stab the running armor, but it took the hit on the shield, and its colleague, armed with a glaive, slashed the attacker. He dodged the blow, but then a Fireball hit him in the back, and the escapee's whole maneuver fell apart. The statues didn't wait, and the one with the glaive decapitated the Troll who had fallen to his knees.
"Klank! Boom!"
We turned at the sound where two trolls trying to crawl away ran into a mine. And now, having felt the effect of the instant poison, an ice spear became a mercy for them. I sighed; too many will escape. We have too few ready warriors, and too few mines as well. The magic turret at the exit was charred; it had clearly been damaged by something incendiary.
A few minutes later, the storm began to dissipate rapidly, revealing a view of burning buildings, bodies, and frozen blocks—mostly by me (in this sector). Judging by my sensations, the mines were gone; they had gathered their harvest. I just sat down on a bench next to my parents, looking at the winter landscape. I don't know what the trolls wanted to achieve, but the damage was done, and it was significant.
On the other hand, I'm now certain that a Mage as powerful as me has parents who aren't simple either. I'm proud. Mom flew around some more, helping to put out fires and clear up the situation a bit. Dad handles a blade quite well; the blood on his uniform mostly isn't his. And so I dozed off, content and held close. We won.
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