When the plot-skips players into the game world

Chapter 707: Chapter 95 Loki and The Holy Maiden Chapter 707 -95 Loki and The Holy Maiden After breakfast, Aiwass took 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.

By the time Aiwass arrived, he was wolfing down the unlimited breakfast supply of the inn.

There were guests of various races around, with humans being the majority.

Aiwass also spotted the rare Lizardfolk among them.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Though the atmosphere was quite harmonious and everyone’s conversation was quiet and polite, no one mocked or attacked the Troll hunter.

However, everyone unanimously chose to ignore him and left a large space around him.

...

The Troll hunter, unconcerned, was very happy to occupy a large space by himself—he had grabbed a huge pile of meat and spread it out across the table in front of him, eating with sauce dripping.

When he looked up and saw Aiwass, he almost choked to death in fright.

The carefree expression on his face instantly shrank away, and he stuttered to his feet like a child who had done something wrong, gesticulating something to Aiwass.

Aiwass said nothing, only smiled and patted his shoulder, signaling him to sit down and continue eating.

Perhaps Aiwass’s presence had shrunken his stomach, or he didn’t dare to let Aiwass stand by waiting.

The hunter barely took a few more bites before he hurriedly stood up.

He didn’t forget to take seven or eight loaves of bread when he left, stuffing them into his arms.

The hunter walked ahead, leading the way, all the while turning back to say something to Aiwass in an unintelligible mutter.

As they neared the room, they could hear the thunderous snoring sound coming and going inside.

Aiwass and his two companions just stood outside the room waiting, while the hunter bent over and squeezed in.

Soon after, he was heard shouting something, and the snoring quickly stopped.

Soon after, with a flurry of hasty, house-demolishing packing noises, the Ritualist who had come to find his grandfather emerged with great disarray.

“I am very sorry, respected Archbishop.

to have kept you waiting…”

He said in some difficult Avalonian, still chewing on the bread the hunter had just brought back for them.

Following that, he and the other two joined Aiwass and his group and headed to the elevator.

While waiting for the elevator, Aiwass studied the Troll who had just swallowed the bread, pondering.

…Speaking of which, he still didn’t know the name of this…

oh, this young hero.

Thinking this, Aiwass glanced at the Troll lad whose body was more than half his size and slightly revised his own thought.

—Or should he be called a great hero?

So Aiwass began to chat with him, “Come to think of it, I still don’t know your names.

My name is Aiwass…

How should I address you?”

“Rabih.”

The brown-skinned Troll pointed to himself and said, “It means ‘Wizard.'”

Without waiting for Aiwass to inquire further, he pointed respectively to the Cursing Sorcerer and the Hunter, “They are Zumaidi, Babru.

Meaning ‘Bone Paste,’ ‘Horse Hunter.'”

Aiwass immediately held them in respect.

—The hunter lad’s name has a high level of aggressiveness.

“Bone Paste?”

Sherlock, a little puzzled, asked, “What is that?”

“It’s the bone marrow.”

Aiwass answered, “He might not say that word.”

“Oh,” Sherlock suddenly realized, “Indeed, it’s a Cursing Sorcerer’s name.”

Wizard.

Bone Marrow.

Horse Hunter.

The logic behind Troll naming is quite easy to understand…

all are very tangible and image-based words.

“And your grandfather?

What’s his name?”

Aiwass inquired.

“Rabih.”

Rabih answered without hesitation, “My name is Rabih.

My father is named Rabih, and so is my grandfather.”

“So, is this your family name?”

Sherlock asked.

Rabih looked at Sherlock, confused and not understanding the meaning.

“Trolls don’t have family names, only tribes.

Because their concept of family is not clear, it’s hard to discern the father of a certain child,”

Aiwass explained, “They are simply called ‘someone of such and such tribe.’ Some important heirs all use the same name to make it easier for people to address them, while others will take different names.

Some names are decided by the High Priest, and others by the parents.”

Sherlock caught on, “So that means he’s the heir of that tribe?

Like a…

Troll Prince?”

“If he weren’t a prince, he probably wouldn’t have so many languages at his command.

He looks to be at most…

twenty years old?”

“We are of the Beast Song Tribe.

Eighteen years old.”

Rabih hurriedly said, “I am Rabih of the Beast Song.

Other tribes, they have their Rabih too.”

Sherlock glanced at Aiwass, “You seem to know a lot.”

“Read a lot of books,”

Aiwass said somewhat irritably, “If the food is uncooked, practice more!

If you don’t understand, read more!”

After exchanging names, the atmosphere visibly relaxed.

Aiwass chatted with Rabih, and Sherlock also leaned toward the Cursing Sorcerer and whispered something.

Although the other didn’t understand Avalonian, Sherlock was smart enough to get the gist across just with gestures.

They soon arrived at the eleventh Ring.

Apart from the twenty-second Ring where the Eternal Pope resided, this was coincidentally the central position of Holy Nation.

With Cardinal Matilda’s introduction letter and map, they easily entered the Central Observatory.

The people coming and going here were much more numerous than in the thirteenth Ring.

Almost all of them were Elves, and the remaining were mostly Half-Elves.

They were all uniformly dressed in white lab coats, and many wore colored monocular glasses, giving off the appearance of a sci-fi style research facility.