Flames rose everywhere, lighting up the wilderness.
More than twenty savage furbolgs charged at Talanji and Dak'uru like ravenous tigers pouncing on prey.
Dak'uru had just finished his roast meat. His palms were greasy and slippery, and in his agitation, he nearly lost his grip on his sword.
Talanji called down a searing fire, temporarily blocking the furbolgs' path.
These furbolgs looked mindless, but unlike the undead, they at least feared pain.
Dak'uru grabbed a handful of ash and rubbed it onto his palms, quickly readying himself for battle.
"There's no spiritual energy in these furbolgs. They're just ordinary furbolgs. Don't be afraid," Talanji reassured Dak'uru.
Dak'uru grumbled inwardly. How could I not be afraid? They're ordinary furbolgs, but aren't I an ordinary troll too?
"It's fine. I'm not scared at all." Dak'uru clenched his teeth and stared fixedly at the furbolgs roaring in the flames.
Here they come!
Three furbolgs burst through the wall of fire, swinging their half-meter-wide paws at Talanji's head.
"Hir'eek, grant me your divine power!" Talanji cried, and shadows descended.
Black wings appeared behind Talanji in illusory form. Then those spectral wings transformed into sharp energy daggers and shot forward.
Squelch! Blood splattered as the shadow blades pierced the furbolgs' chests. Black blood gushed from their wounds.
Shifting shadows? An eerie aura lingered around the furbolg corpses, refusing to disperse.
What was this?
Talanji's exceptional perception told her that the power flowing from the furbolgs' bodies was not pure life force.
The deaths of the three furbolgs did nothing to halt those charging behind them.
After the campfire went out, pairs of violet-red eyes stood out in the darkness.
Talanji had encountered the Snow Spring clan of furbolgs before. They had not seemed particularly intelligent, but they had their own way of life and cultural