Durvalk’s frustration boiled over. His aura flared again, brighter and hotter, his massive fists slamming into the ground as he tried to crush the infuriating human. But Elysian danced just out of range, every dodge fluid and deliberate.

  ‘Keep him angry and stupid.’

  Elysian darted forward again, ducking under a wild swing and sliding between Durvalk’s legs. He sprang to his feet behind the half-troll, delivering a sharp elbow strike to the back of his knee. Durvalk staggered, his balance faltering as his injured leg buckled slightly.

  The crowd howled with delight as Elysian pressed his advantage. He darted around Durvalk in tight, unpredictable arcs, his movements too quick and erratic for the half-troll to follow. Every strike was a stinging reminder of his failure to land a single blow.

  Elysian leaped again, his foot connecting with Durvalk’s temple in a spinning kick. The impact sent the half-troll stumbling back, his bloodied face twisting in fury and humiliation.

  By now, Durvalk’s breaths came in ragged gasps, each one rattling with effort. His movements, once relentless, now dragged with the weight of exhaustion. The fiery aura that had once cloaked him like a living inferno now sputtered, uneven and dim. He wasn’t just losing the fight—he was losing face.

  Elysian’s grin sharpened as he prowled in a slow circle, a predator savoring the moment before the pounce. “What’s wrong, Durvalk? All that muscle, and you can’t keep up with one little human?”

  Kaerthlyn’s laughter cut through the growing din of the crowd, her voice a gleeful melody as she translated the taunt. The onlookers roared in response, their jeers crashing over Durvalk like waves. Laughter stung sharper than any blade, and it showed in the half-troll’s darkening glare.

  Durvalk bellowed, the sound ripping from his chest like a wounded beast’s final cry. But behind the fury blazing in his eyes was something new—something colder—fear. He wasn’t chasing an opponent anymore. He was fighting a ghost, an untouchable shadow that mocked him at every turn.

  Then the shift came. Elysian felt it before he saw it, a subtle change in the rhythm of the fight. Durvalk’s wild, rage-fueled strikes grew measured, controlled, and precise. He wasn’t lashing out in blind anger anymore. He was studying, calculating, and adjusting.

  ‘Sh*t, this just got harder.’

  Elysian’s next jab, aimed squarely at Durvalk’s jaw, stopped dead against the half-troll’s massive forearm. The impact reverberated up Elysian’s arm, a sharp reminder of Durvalk’s strength. He pivoted, aiming a kick to the half-troll’s side, but Durvalk sidestepped with an agility that belied his size.

  The tide had turned. Durvalk’s attacks came in deliberate waves, each one narrowly missing Elysian but forcing him to abandon his previous rhythm. He couldn’t dismiss the strikes as reckless anymore. They were calculated, designed to trap him into a mistake.

  His grin faded as he backpedaled, Durvalk suddenly launched an offensive. As Elysian was about to block a heavy strike aimed at his ribs, he quickly redirected his aura to absorb the worst of it, but the force still sent a jolt of pain down his arm. His muscles burned, and his fingers tingle. Unlike before, he hadn’t emerged unscathed from this exchange.

  ‘This f*cking bastard’s good!’

  Elysian leapt back, widening the distance between them. Durvalk’s smirk twisted with satisfaction, his confidence rekindling now that Elysian’s dominance had faltered. But unlike before, there was a newfound vigilance there, mingled with a grudging respect for his opponent.

  Elysian rolled his shoulders, hiding the wince as his arm throbbed. He was still standing, but he couldn’t rely on the same tricks anymore. The game had changed, and it was going to take more than taunts and quick footwork to get out of this victorious.

  The fight dragged on, the air between them charged with the sharp crack of strikes and the dull thud of impacts. Elysian danced and darted, landing blow after blow, his strikes sharp and precise, finding seams in Durvalk’s defense. But each time, the half-troll’s retaliations came heavier, bone-shaking in their force. What Elysian lacked in power, he made up for in speed and experience, but it wasn’t enough to tip the scales.

  Each passing moment shifted the balance. Durvalk’s fists came like hammers, his movements deceptively quick for his size. Though he connected less often, every hit the half-troll landed felt like it could shatter bone.

  Elysian managed to keep pace, but the telltale ache in his ribs and the sting along his shoulder reminded him that it had become a war of attrition he couldn’t afford to fight.

  It wasn’t just the pain—it was the unfairness of it all. At first, Elysian thought he had the upper hand. Durvalk’s nose bled from a solid elbow strike, his jaw bruised from a follow-up kick. Yet as Elysian darted back to avoid another devastating punch, his gaze caught something that made his stomach twist. The bruises were slowly fading. The bleeding had stopped.

  Durvalk smirked, flexing his arms as he wiped the traces of blood from his mouth. Elysian’s heart sank.

  ‘Of course. Sigh. I really hate these freaks. Why does b*stards like these get the good stuff.’

  While Elysian’s injuries clung to him like stubborn shadows, Durvalk’s wounds were vanishing, his body mending itself with frightening speed. The gap between them wasn’t just size or strength—it was nature itself. The troll’s cursed heritage turned every hit Elysian landed into a fleeting victory.

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  Elysian’s realization hit like a cold slap.

  ‘This isn’t a fight I could win. Damn it.’

  The crowd’s cheers were distant now, muffled by the pounding of his heart. He pivoted to avoid a low sweep, his foot skidding on the dusty ground, and narrowly dodged an overhand punch that would’ve split his skull. His own strikes were slowing, his aura thinned, and his limbs felt leaden.

  Durvalk advanced, his breathing heavy but steady. Each movement was deliberate now, not reckless. His blows aimed not just to hurt, but to finish him.

  Elysian darted in, feinted left, and aimed a desperate kick for Durvalk’s side. It connected with a dull thud, but Durvalk barely flinched. Instead, his counter came in a blur—a brutal backhand that Elysian barely deflected with both arms. Even so, the force sent him stumbling.

  ‘If this was to the death…’

  Elysian’s thoughts spiraled as he rolled away from another earth-shaking stomp. With a blade in hand, with his usual arsenal of tricks, he could’ve ended it by now. A precise slash to Durvalk’s neck, a single well-placed thrust—BloodShade. But this wasn’t that kind of fight. Here, under the watchful eyes of the trolls and half-trolls, stripped of everything but his wits and endurance, Elysian felt the brutal, grinding truth. He could hurt Durvalk. He could outthink him, outmaneuver him. But he couldn’t outlast him.

  Durvalk’s smirk widened as he closed the gap again. His confidence had returned, buoyed by the truth of his heritage. He rumbled something, his voice low and mocking.

  Elysian couldn't understand what was said, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. His chest burned with every breath, and his legs screamed for reprieve.

  The crowd’s jeers and cheers melted into a cacophony of noise that Elysian barely registered. His body ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his mind raced, weighing options that ranged from terrible to outright catastrophic.

  “I hate being put in this kind of situation,” Elysian muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he backpedaled to avoid Durvalk’s slow, looming advance. The half-troll was grinning now, throwing insults that Elysian didn’t need translated to understand—they dripped with mockery.

  Elysian’s gaze flicked to Kaerthlyn. For once, her confident smile was gone, replaced by a rare look of concern. She called out something to Durvalk, her words quick and pointed, but the half-troll merely laughed, replying with a booming retort that sent the crowd into a fit of riotous laughter.

  ‘Great. She’s negotiating for me, and it’s only making things worse.’

  Kaerthlyn shot him a glance, and the unspoken message was clear—figure this out yourself. Elysian sighed, the sound almost lost in the noise.

  ‘Fine. If this is how it’s going to be…’

  Without warning, Elysian dropped to his knees before Durvalk, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the ground.

  “Oh, great Durvalk! Mighty warrior! Unstoppable force of Grimwold! I surrender!” His voice rang out loud and clear, exaggerated and dripping with mock reverence. “Please, forgive this lowly and foolish human for daring to cross your path! I see now that you are not merely a fighter but a benevolent hero that everyone should aspire to! Spare me, O Merciful One!”

  The crowd went silent. Utterly, shockingly silent.

  Half-trolls, hobgoblins and wildermen stared, mouths agape, as if the great tree itself had uprooted and started dancing. Even Kaerthlyn was frozen, her lips parted in an expression that hovered between disbelief and embarrassment.

  Durvalk blinked down at Elysian, his massive frame motionless, his brain visibly trying to process what had just happened.

  Elysian pressed his face into the dirt, hiding a sly grin as he stole a glance upward.

  ‘Got you. You’ve no idea what to do, do you?’

  Durvalk’s massive frame loomed over him, fists clenched in a posture of dominance, but his confusion was palpable. His lips twisted into an unintelligible growl as he barked something at Kaerthlyn. The girl folded her arms and responded, their exchange growing heated.

  ‘Good. Let them argue. Maybe they'll forget I’m here. I shouldn’t make this worse.’

  But as usual, Elysian’s mouth betrayed him. He tilted his head just enough to be heard. “O Magnanimous One! I am but a worm, humbled by your greatness!” His tone was syrupy, dripping with mock reverence. Then, leaning in as though sharing a conspiratorial secret, he added loudly enough for the crowd to hear, “I mean, just look at those muscles—those arms alone could crush boulders! How could a mere, fragile human like me—a poor, defenseless child—ever hope to contend with such overwhelming power? Honestly, it’s shameful of me to have even stood before you.”

  Elysian paused for effect, his grin sharpening ever so slightly. “Or perhaps… shameful of you, to stoop so low as to fight someone so weak?”

  The ripple of snorts and chuckles from the crowd quickly turned into roaring laughter. Those who understood Elysian’s words eagerly translated for others, spreading the mirth like wildfire. Soon, everyone was clutching their sides, howling at the spectacle.

  Durvalk’s face turned stormy, though not entirely with rage. Confusion mixed with humiliation as he tried to decipher whether he was being praised, mocked, or both.

  Kaerthlyn slapped a hand to her forehead, her shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, her voice lost in the noise.

  Elysian gave her a wink.

  ‘Don’t blame me for this. You set the stage for this circus.’

  Durvalk’s patience snapped. He raised a hand to silence the crowd, his booming voice growling something guttural, but it only made the laughter louder. The jeers were no longer directed solely at Elysian; many were clearly aimed at him now, mocking his inability to handle the human’s antics. So with a roar, Durvalk lunged.

  “Yup, you’ve only got yourself to blame,” Elysian muttered to himself, scrambling to his feet as Durvalk’s fist crashed into the ground where he’d been kneeling. Dust and debris flew as Elysian darted away, his grin widening despite the chaos.

  He didn’t counterattack. That would’ve been foolish. Instead, he focused on dodging, weaving through the gathered crowds with unrestrained shamelessness, using them as obstacles and shields. “Excuse me!” he called out, sliding behind a burly onlooker. “Coming through! Don’t mind me!”

  Durvalk roared again, his frustration mounting as he struggled to keep up. The half-troll’s size made him powerful but a curse in this situation, and Elysian’s erratic movements kept him just out of reach.

  The crowd’s roars grew louder, a mix of amusement and disbelief at the absurd chase unfolding before them. Even Kaerthlyn burst into laughter. “He’s treating it like a game of tag,” she choked out, shaking her head.

  Elysian wasn’t laughing, though his grin betrayed his mischief.

  ‘You and your big mouth!’

  Suddenly, a booming shout rang out, cutting through the noise.

  The crowd froze. Laughter turned to silence as all eyes turned to the source of the voice. Even Durvalk paled mid-charge, his momentum stalling as he looked past his prey.

  Elysian turned slowly, his own breath catching as he took in the figures approaching. He swallowed hard, his face going pale as realization struck.

  ‘Yup. I’m absolutely f*cked.’

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