It was supposed to be a routine delivery mission.

  Just a walk through the forest. A picnic basket of homemade jams. A note for an elderly herbalist who lived three hills and one mild existential crisis away. I had almost allowed myself to relax—yes....an error I will never repeat—when we heard it, the ground rumbled beneath us.

  Birds fled. Branches snapped. We knew something massive was approaching. Something that snarled like indigestion given sentience and pounded the dirt like it had just found out its favorite rock had been repossessed.

  Ren, naturally, paused in the middle of tying a ribbon on a thank-you jar and looked up, concerned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “That,” I replied grimly, “is either a troll or a tax collector. Either way, brace yourself.”

  Then it appeared.

  Ten feet tall. Covered in moss, scars, and what I can only assume were tactical mushrooms. It had one good eye, two bad attitudes, and an iron club the size of our front porch. The troll let out a roar that shook the birds out of the sky.

  Ren stepped forward at its sight.

  I immediately vibrated with rage. “Are you planning to it into submission? This isn’t the school bake sale, Ren. That is a carnivorous horror with impulse control issues and a protein deficiency.”

  “I think it’s hurt,” Ren said gently, his eyes scanning the creature’s twisted ankle and bruised shoulder.

  “It’s about to ” I snapped.

  But Ren wasn’t listening.

  He reached into the satchel, pulled out the emergency bread loaf—ugh.... it was honey-glazed, spiced, and still warm—and held it aloft like a peace offering.

  The troll snarled at his offer but Ren stepped closer.

  I screamed mentally. “THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR CARBOHYDRATE DIPLOMACY.”

  And then the troll charged.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The ground quaked. Trees groaned and I braced myself for blood and trauma and possible digestion but still Ren didn’t move.

  A golden shimmer flared around him and my system chimed.

  [New Skill Activated: Shield of Kindness]

  [Effect: Absorbs hostile intent within a 6-meter radius. Converts aggression into empathy. Warning: May cause temporary emotional breakthroughs in enemies.]

  I watched in horror as the troll skidded to a stop.

  Just... stopped.

  Its massive feet dug trenches into the earth. It wobbled. It stared and Then, slowly, it dropped its club. And knelt.

  KNEELED.

  “I—” the troll rasped, eyes leaking actual tears, “—I just wanted someone to listen. No one ever asks how doing. I stub my toe on a boulder and everyone screams. I try to recite poetry and someone sets me on fire.”

  It sniffled, big fat tears rolling down its mossy cheeks like a waterfall of unresolved trauma. “Do you know what it’s like to be called ‘ugly’ by a squirrel? A squirrel, man. And he had the to flex his tail at me afterward.”

  And Ren placed the bread gently into its hands.

  The troll stared at it like it had never been given a gift before. Then it took a bite and promptly burst into a full sob, clutching the loaf like a long-lost friend. “It’s warm,” it wailed. “It’s got cinnamon. I haven’t felt love like this since the swamp otters adopted my pet rock.”

  The troll wept openly. Birds returned to the branches and watched his breakdown with teary eyes, wiping their eyes occasionally as they hugged each other looking at the troll sympathetically. Oh God - Oh God!! Just take me with you!!!. Somewhere, very faintly, a choir of woodland mice struck up a harmony and I howled.

  Not a growl. Not a hum. A full-blown, ancient, world-cracking of disbelief.

  The system pinged again.

  [Battle Resolved Peacefully]

  [Reputation Increased: Compassion Knight – +5 Public Perception (Forest Folk)]

  [Artifact Bonus Unlocked: Aura of Disarming Comfort – Enemies within range experience mild inner peace and spontaneous life reevaluation.]

  The troll thanked us and promised to redirect its energy into interpretive dance and community mural projects and my sweet Ren promised to visit with more bread.

  We walked home under a sky dusted with stars. I did not speak - I was still under shock from the previous incidents...

  Ren smiled. “That was a real battle, huh?”

  I was quiet for a long time.

  Then I said, “One day, you’re going to walk into an actual war zone and give someone a scone. And I’m going to explode.”

  He laughed and patted my hilt. “You did great too.”

  And behind us, unnoticed, the goat stepped from the underbrush. Covered in twigs. Wearing a makeshift helmet. Carrying what appeared to be a hand-drawn tactical map.

  She was taking notes.

  [Next Time: The Goat Joins the Front Lines – and Mister Glimmers Has a Meltdown]