THE CROWN OF CROWS

OGRES BATTLE

The ogres had eaten the fat boar the night before. Now dawn had come, with a crispness in the air and a cold breeze blowing in his face.
Arthur had called all the ogres of the village. He counted forty-nine in all. Neither their numbers nor their lack of meat and muscles played in his favour. Against all odds, he decided to put together a plan, which was quite simple.

The ogres had ringed him and were  listening attentively to him. "Attacking isn't our forte. We need to defend if we are to survive," he began.
Even the children were present, they were sacks of bones with small golden eyes, and dry, mucky and stained hair...

"We have till noon," said the son of the chief. He had tricked him into helping his people, not that Arthur relished that he was played but he also wanted to help them. Mayhaps because he was a doctor in the other world, or mayhaps he had grown hubristic, overconfident of his newly acquired abilities. "The afternoon if we are lucky. The forest sometimes slows them down."

The hunters had tracked down a large deer of white fur and red eyes for the rival village ogres. A broken spear was shoved into the animal's neck and bathed its pure white fur to a soiled dark red. A few kids were wheeling about the beast, poking it with a stick and a few daring ones stroked its fur. Arthur did the numbers in his head, twelve kids in all...

He scratched an itch behind his ear, his silver threads in his eyes. "How many of you know how to fight with a sword, or a spear or even use a bow?"

"The hunters know how to wield a sword and shoot an arrow, as well as the art of spear..." said the old ogre. His hair was dry and grey. "I can swing my sword too..." He tapped it on the ground. Tap, tap, tap.

Arthur scanned his sword, sheathed with a brown skin and a red ruby that immediately caught the eyes of the people. "I don't doubt it," but you'll die if you do, "you are the chief of your small village. You are needed alive and well, rather than dead or wounded. You won't fight today."

A young and frail ogre came running to them, a glass bottle in his hands. "I found it! I found it! It was hidden deep under my bed."
The glass container held a luminescent green elixir inside. He handed it to the chief of the village. The old ogre passed it to Arthur, who didn't know what it was or what to do with it.

"What's this?"

"It's a healing potion. It works on wounds but not on illnesses," answered the eldest son of the chief. "When the plague hit, we tried to cure the people with the potion but it had no effect. After a while, the people died, so did the money and soon our supplies were reduced to a handful... Then the looters found our broken village and exploited us..."

Where have I heard of this scenario? He asked himself.

"Answer: Unknown"

Of course you wouldn't know. Then answer this, he told his inner voice in his head, how effective is this potion?

Art began to see lines, and numbers and words in his vision, as if he'd been playing a game all along. It was scanning the potion trapped in his hands.

"Answer: Potion was evaluated to be 97% effective. It is one of the most expensive healing potions on the market, second most expensive in some countries and the most accurate healing potion was evaluated to be 98.5%. Nobody has ever created a fully 100% healing potion."

97? I wonder if... Computer, will I be able to replicate this potion if I use 'Devourer'?

"Answer: Yes"

That was music to his ears. Without wasting another second, Art opened the bottle with a pop and swallowed a sip of green. The ogres winced and tried to talk him out of misusing the valuable item, though Arthur had enough to analyse and replicate it.