Chapter 9.1

 I liked the dwarves. Straightforward and honest in dealing with each other, although they like to grumble and complain that times are not the right ones anymore. I also like their stubbornness and persistence, they are not too lazy or will not do something at half effort. They do not mind to relax and have fun, but when it comes to the game and training they devote themselves to it completely and only when they feel that they have done enough or the coach said stop only then they with a sense of satisfaction from the completed work will go to rest. 

Dwarves piss me off. Even with my strength and skills it's not easy to knock a dwarf out. It's not easy to reach their belly or legs during a fight because of their height and build. And their head is already incredibly sturdy while also wearing a thick helmet. On the other hand, because of their height they can't reach my head so easily, which reduces the risk of a knockout for me. That's why bearded men try to hit with all their might to where their hands reach, a blow to the liver or groin from a strong dwarf despite wearing armor is far from a gentle stroke. 

But the most infuriating thing about dwarves is their methods of field medicine. Knockout? Bugman's pint. Blurred vision after a concussion? Bugman's pint. Bruises and cuts? Bugman's pint. Fatigue and muscle aches? You know what I mean... Bugman's pint. The annoying thing is, unlike me, dwarves, after a knockout, all they have to do is wave a Bugman's pint in front of their nose and they'll come right back to their senses. Or even if he's unconscious, he'll try to grab a beer and go back to sleep.

Kazran Scarlet Fist became my personal torturer. He realized right away that I was used to fighting enemies of normal height and higher, but I wasn't doing so well with shorter ones. So he made me fight dwarfs non-stop like a conveyor belt. The difference in strength was offset by my lack of experience, so for the first couple weeks I got beaten up pretty badly, especially when I started to run out of steam. But when I was getting more or less competent against the dwarfs and was thinking of taking it easy, he brought in Bron Toothbreaker, a Troll Slayer. 

I remembered that Troll Slayers have skills that allow them to minimize the difference in strength, plus they are like mad dogs that charge at an enemy and don't let them go until the enemy is on the ground or they get themselves knocked out. And now I've experienced firsthand what that feels like. 

Bron was a cheerful psycho, fighting was like a combination of a drug and a stimulant to him. And when he started to get frenzied, it was very hard for me. This madman attacked again and again and with such persistence that our fights lasted not moments but minutes. And I mean merciless exchanges of punches, kicks and even bites. I even felt as if I had caught rabies, like I had been bitten by a rabid dog, so that after our rigorous training sparring we had to call a healer. 

But this experience was very useful and after a month I was able to learn how to fight dwarves effectively. This was a good advantage when it came to practicing teamwork with dwarves. Knowing their strengths and weaknesses, or rather having felt everything with my fists and bruises, it was possible to carry out both tough defense and ruthless attack, and knowing when to switch from one to another. 

- That's it for today, guys! Good work! You can rest now. - Kazran blew his whistle and called an end to training. 

- Whew. Finally, today he was especially ruthless. - I take off my helmet and sit on the bench. 

I take out my flask with fruit water and start drinking, which caused a contemptuous snicker from Bron, who sat next to me holding a mug in one hand and a keg of dwarven beer in the other. 

- Baha, enough of this fruity crap. Be like me and drink beer! Or you'll soon be like those fucking tree huggers, thin and frail, dying on the field after a blow from a goblin. - Bron poured a mug of beer and waved it in front of me. 

- No, Bron. I've drunk enough beer that would be enough for a whole army thanks to your medical practices. - I answer him and pull out a new issue of Spike magazine. 

- Pfft. You don't know anything about real dwarven beer and ale. Thanks to it, we dwarves can safely make long marches without worrying about hunger and thirst. I've known guys who went into battle with only a couple beers in their stomachs and fought all day. So come on, have a mug, especially since today was a particularly intense training session. Even other dwarves, including our runner, are panting and humans are lying half-dead. - he got a horn from somewhere and poured beer into it. 

Drinking beer after training is kind of unhealthy, but on the other hand, real dwarven beer isn't the crap they used to sell in my old world. It's so nutritious and beneficial that it's partly considered a strategic good among dwarves, and a luxury among others. Yeah, well, it's been a tiring day, so why not drink dwarven beer. 

- Well, here's to you, Bronn! - I take the horn and empty it, feeling the hunger and thirst recede. 

- Well done, boy! - Bron laughs and empties his mug in a couple of gulps. 

- Listen, Bron. Why are you called Toothbreaker? - I ask him, taking the horn filled with beer to the brim. 

- I was almost eaten by a troll during a game in the amateur league. Damn bastard grabbed me when I tripped over the corpse of a dead orc and tried to shove me in his mouth. I only had enough time to grip a couple of his teeth to keep him from pushing myself into his stomach. His mouth stank so badly that it was only by sheer willpower that I didn't loosen my grip and kept holding on to his teeth. The damn troll put more effort into it, but if I could take it and keep my hands on him, his teeth didn't. - A wicked grin appeared on Bron's face. 

- When his teeth cracked the troll froze, and a couple moments later he spit me out and started rolling around on the ground roaring and crying. Heh, whatever they say about trolls' toughness and regeneration, but a toothache is a toothache. Not understanding why it hurts so much he started hitting the ground and then smashing everything in sight. Toward the end he started banging his head against a stone pillar. He kept banging even when his skull cracked and you could see his brains. This continued until his brains flew out of his head after a particularly hard blow. He managed to get rid of the toothache at the cost of his life. Serves him right for trying to eat proud Davi. - Bron laughed at the end of the story. 

- Wow. Really stupid and unlucky bastard. But now we have a special weapon to fight trolls. We just have to throw you right into their jaws and that's minus one enemy. - my answer made Bron laugh out loud, who seems to like the idea.