Lord of Caldera

Chapter 144

"Are you the chieftain here?"

"Who are you?"

"Bjorn Veldyne."

"The viscount's nephew!?" Erikson gasped, his face pale. He'd heard of Bjorn's experience in battle but hadn't expected him to be this powerful. "They said he was the type to avoid putting his men at risk!" But here he was, a warrior charging into the fray alongside his people. Had someone fed him false information?

"You're different from the ones who came before you," Bjorn remarked. Erikson's heart leapt with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Bjorn would spare him if he showed humility?

"Yes, that's right! We—"

"Enough." Bjorn cut him off coldly. "You can be the first to go to the afterlife. I'll send the others who attacked with you soon enough."

"W-wait a moment! This isn't—"

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"Seems like you talk too much for a warrior."

Bjorn's axe swung down, and Erikson hastily raised his sword to block. But Bjorn's strength and intensity were overwhelming, and after less than ten exchanges, Bjorn's axe found his neck.

Thunk!

"Urgh!"

"Ch-chieftain!"

"The chieftain is down!"

With a victorious shout, Bjorn lifted Erikson's severed head for all to see, roaring his triumph. From a distance, Sylas watched the scene and chuckled. Not a single barbarian left Falun alive that day

After the battle, the village of Falun was in a festive mood. The townsfolk cheered enthusiastically for Bjorn and the soldiers who had brought back the victory. On the spot, they organized a small celebration feast. Despite the village's limited resources, they scraped together enough for a single night of celebration.

"For our young lord!"

—"To our lord!"

The resounding cheers filled the air as tankards clinked together. Soldiers embraced one another, singing songs of victory. Sylas and his two knights were also pulled into the festivities. One soldier grinned as he presented Sylas with a tray of food and a drink.

"Here, sir! Try some of this! My wife made it herself!"

"What is?"

"Just a few days ago, I was terrified someone might die, but now... seeing my fallen comrades, I don't feel sad."

Sylas stayed silent, allowing the quiet to settle between them. Eventually, Bjorn broke the silence.

"Why do you think that is?"

"How should I know what's in your heart?"

"Just... say something. Anything."

Sylas glanced at the soldiers nearby, laughing and talking freely. Though they had won, this wasn't the end; Greve's barony and Viscount Veldyne would surely look for another excuse to provoke them. Yet, none of the soldiers' faces showed even a hint of fear.

"Maybe it's because you've finally come to understand what's in their hearts," Sylas replied.

"Perhaps," Bjorn murmured. And with that, the conversation trailed off, leaving them to simply share their drinks until one of them eventually slumped over, too drunk to stay awake.

The following morning, Sylas awoke with a pounding headache.

"Damn, it's like a bell ringing in my skull," he groaned. He'd always been able to hold his liquor well, but northern spirits were something else entirely, and his younger body seemed less resilient. As he made his way downstairs, one of the older villagers approached with a respectful bow.

"Good morning, my lord. You're awake."

"Yes. Got any honey water?"

"Right away, sir." The man disappeared into the kitchen. Honey was expensive and especially rare here, yet the man didn't hesitate for a moment. Soon, a cup of warm honey water was brought out, which Sylas gratefully drank. Just as he finished, Toby and Ray joined him.

"Did you sleep well, my lord?"

"Well enough." Sylas eyed the two of them. Despite drinking heavily the previous night, Toby and Ray looked completely refreshed.

"And you two? Not even a bit hungover?"

"Southern men don't go down that easy, sir!" Toby chuckled.

"I'm alright as well, thanks to Sir Toby's advice," Ray added.

"What advice?"

"He said a bit of hair of the dog helps. I had a drink this morning, and it worked wonders," Ray replied, grinning.