After breakfast, Iver led Sherlock and the others to the inn where the trolls were staying.
Of the three trolls, only the hunter with grass-green skin had woken up early. When Iver arrived, he was wolfing down the inn's unlimited breakfast.
There were guests of various races around them, mostly humans. Iver even spotted a rare Lizardman among them.
Although the atmosphere was fairly harmonious, and everyone spoke in quiet, polite voices, no one mocked or attacked the troll hunter. However, they had all tacitly chosen to ignore him, leaving a large empty space around him.
The troll hunter did not seem to notice. Instead, he was quite happy to occupy such a large area by himself. He had taken a huge pile of meat, spread it across the table in front of him, and was eating until juice ran down his chin.
But when he looked up and saw Iver, he nearly choked to death.
His carefree expression instantly turned timid. He stood up stammering like a child who had done something wrong, gesturing at Iver as if trying to explain something.
Iver said nothing. He merely smiled, patted the hunter on the shoulder, and motioned for him to sit down and continue eating.
However, perhaps Iver's arrival had made his stomach shrink, or perhaps he did not dare make Iver wait beside him. The hunter only took a few more bites before hurriedly standing up. When he left, he did not forget to take seven or eight white bread rolls and stuff them into his clothes.
The hunter led the way while occasionally turning his head to babble something at Iver.
As they approached the room, they heard thunderous snores rising and falling inside. The three of them waited outside while the hunter bent over and crawled in.