Tackling Giants – A Hilarious Fairy Tale of Wit vs Strength

In a grand hall shimmering with gold and self-importance, King Alaric the Rotund tapped his jeweled fingers impatiently on his throne. Before him stood a lad—thin, scruffy, and underwhelming in every imaginable way.

“When can you leave? The job must be done quickly, lad,” the King said, eyebrows knitting together in royal irritation.

The boy—Jack—stopped his exaggerated bowing and straightened. His tunic was threadbare, his face pale, and his limbs spindly from undernourishment. Yet he stood tall—well, as tall as one could when you looked like a broomstick that had lost a fight with a goat.

“I’m ready, Sire,” Jack said earnestly. “The armoury staff showed me how to wear the equipment and gave me detailed instructions.”

“I should hope so. I pay those fools enough!” the King muttered, eyeing the boy with the same skepticism one might offer a talking mouse claiming to be a general.

The monarch sighed. He had hoped for a strapping warrior, a man whose biceps could strangle dragons. Instead, he got this… peasant. Still, the magical realm loved irony. And old Griselda, that arrogant witch with a gambling addiction, would never expect this lad to survive.

She’d wagered handsomely that Jack would fail—and if the King won, he’d be rolling in gold. If Jack perished? Well, peace would reign for a few months, and that was worth the cost of one expendable life.

“You’ve been told what to do?” the King asked, half in hope, half in despair.

“Yes, Sire. Kill the giant,” Jack replied with a gulp, recalling his mother’s words: Never think of a task as impossible. Break it into chunks. But how did one chunk a giant?

“Have you trained with weapons?”

Jack nodded. “Yes. The magic sword was the only one I could lift.”

“Good. Good luck to you,” said the King, already considering placing a side bet against the lad’s survival. The royal bookmakers wouldn’t object—who argued with a King?

Behind a thick velvet curtain, Griselda the Witch emerged, cloaked in dark humor and smug confidence.

“Easy money, Sire,” she purred. “That boy won’t last two minutes.”

Griselda and the King shared a few traits—arrogance, egos as tall as towers, and a shared passion for high-stakes gambling. Neither cared what people thought. Why should they? They ruled, and rules were for peasants.

“The giant eats less than you’d expect for one his size,” Griselda continued. “He says our flesh is more filling than protein.”

“Ugh,” the King muttered, patting his rotund belly. “He must’ve sampled quite a variety.”

Griselda chuckled, but for a brief moment, she wondered who had the colder heart—hers or the King’s. She considered Jack more than just meat. A doomed boy, yes, but not just fodder. The King, though? He likely couldn’t recall Jack’s name without prompting.

Still, she liked her odds.

“You’ll fight this giant for the Kingdom!” the King later declared to Jack. “Not for gold. Not for a princess—he ate the Queen, remember—but for duty! Consider yourself lucky!”

“‘Lucky’ wasn’t the word I had in mind,” Jack muttered.

But orders were orders. And so, with a head full of anxiety and a heart fueled by desperation (and the image of his lovely mother possibly attracting royal interest), Jack marched toward his fate.

The giant’s stench hit Jack first. A rancid perfume of ammonia, vomit, and perhaps old socks. He gagged.

Don’t throw up, he told himself. That’s probably how half the victims were defeated.

In the arena, Griselda barked odds to a strange man in a deer-stalker hat scribbling notes on a clipboard. Jack ignored them. His life depended on focus.

Then he saw it—his secret weapon, a simple homemade slingshot and a few smooth stones, gifted by the King just moments before battle.

This looks ancient, Jack thought. The initials “D.A.V.” were carved into the wood.

As the giant lumbered forward, each footfall quaking the earth, Jack’s courage faltered. But then his mother’s face flashed in his mind. And with that, Jack steadied himself, fitted a stone, and aimed for the giant’s forehead.

Thwack.

The stone flew with blinding speed. The giant froze, stumbled… and collapsed like a toppled mountain.

Jack cautiously approached the fallen brute. The heart had stopped. For show—and tradition—Jack drew his sword and cut off the giant’s head.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Griselda, meanwhile, looked as if someone had fed her a lemon soaked in defeat. She rushed to her fallen pet, and to Jack’s surprise, gently cradled the giant’s massive brow.

Then she glared. Not just glared, but glared. The kind of stare that could curdle milk and rearrange bone structures.

The King swiftly stepped between them.

“Well done, lad!” he exclaimed. “I trust you’ll enjoy your reward.”

“I intend to,” Jack said, bowing again.

Griselda screamed, “He cheated! He didn’t use the magic sword or any enchanted item! That was Earth technology!”

“Correct,” said the King smoothly. “I found the tale in a human book—written by someone named Samuel. Humans have their own methods. I decided to test one.”

“You’ll ruin us all!” Griselda spat. “Magic fades if not renewed. You know that! If people start using stones over spells, our realm will die slowly!”

“You’re upset because you lost,” the King replied, grinning. “Nobody likes a sore loser.”

Jack remained quiet, but inside he worried. Would Griselda pursue him once this royal shield of protection was lifted?

“Griselda, I command you not to harm Jack or anyone close to him,” the King said with uncharacteristic firmness. “Fair is fair.”

The witch’s lips curled in displeasure. “Very well, Sire. But one day, relying on humans may cost more than you can afford.”

With that, she vanished in a puff of lilac smoke.

Jack sighed in relief.

Later, in the royal tent set up for nobles and gawkers alike, the King caught Jack’s eye.

“You were going to introduce me to your mother, weren’t you?” he asked.

Jack nodded. The lad understood opportunity when it knocked—with a jeweled scepter.

After all, a hero must know how to capitalize on his victories.

Moral of the Story:

Sometimes the best tools are the simplest. Bravery comes in many forms, and even the smallest weapon can topple giants when wielded with intelligence.