And with another sharp swing of his sword, he struck the man down where he stood.
The man’s body crumpled to the ground, bleeding from the large gush on his side.
Watching their fallen comrade sent a ripple of fear through the remaining rebels. One by one, they began to drop their weapons, the clatter of tal against stone echoing throughout the large campsite.
As the last sword fell, Ragnar stepped back, making sure to remain vigilant in case of any surprise attacks.
He couldn’t help but notice the quality of the weapons the rebels had wielded. The blades were skillfully crafted and well-balanced, and the hilts were adorned with intricate designs.
It was unusual for a ragtag group of rebels to possess such finely made weapons.
Ragnar’s mind raced with questions. Where had they acquired these weapons? Had they been supplied by a hidden benefactor, or had they raided a well-guarded armory?
The craftsmanship spoke of a skilled blacksmith.
He scanned the faces of the surrendering rebels, searching for any hint of the truth.
Ragnar stood amidst the carnage, still breathing heavily. He surveyed the aftermath, the bodies strewn across the ground, and the flickering flas casting eerie shadows.
He had followed the king’s orders to the letter, just as he had sworn to do when he took the vow to defend Lamora.
"Gather the survivors," Ragnar said and in that mont, he barely felt anything.
His troops moved to obey.
"Make sure to search them all for weapons," Ragnar ordered.
His n made quick work of pinning the rebels and binding them.
Ragnar walked the ruined campsite, inspecting the prisoners with a slow, careful air.
"Who is your leader?" he asked, voice low and nacing.
At first no one answered.
Ragnar issued another warning, ordering them to point out their leader or face the consequence. Still they remained silent.
"You can stay quiet as long as you like," he said, "but my patience won’t last. After that, I will start killing you one by one until soone tells who leads this group."
A few tense seconds passed. Ragnar’s gaze swept the line of bound n.
Without a word he inclined his head toward one of his troopers. In an instant a young rebel was dragged forward and forced to his knees. Barely a few years into adulthood, he struggled uselessly.
"This is the last warning I will give you. Show your leader and I will spare his life." Ragnar’s voice was cold. "It makes wonder what kind of leader you protect if he will watch one of his own die while he hides like a coward."
Ragnar turned to the soldier holding the kneeling prisoner. "Kill him."
The prisoner fought desperately, but he couldn’t break free. A trooper drew a knife and pressed the blade to the young man’s throat, the edge biting into skin.
Ragnar watched, his expression like a stone mask that made him feel more beast than man, even without his eyes darkening.
Just as the knife was about to slash across the man’s neck, a shout ca from among the bound n.
"It’s ! I’m the man you’re looking for!" The voice belonged to a mountain of a man, tightly restrained like the others.
The knife was pulled away and the prisoner was shoved back into the line.
Ragnar gave the slightest tilt of his head and his n moved instantly, yanking the man who claid to be the leader free from the others.
They dropped him at Ragnar’s feet. Ragnar regarded him with the sa cold detachnt.
"What is your na?" Ragnar asked.
The man sneered and spat on Ragnar’s boots. For a mont Ragnar didn’t respond at all and it almost looked like he wouldn’t do anything.
Then out of nowhere, he wound his arm back and struck the man hard across the face.
The man’s head snapped back from the force of the hit.
Not waiting for the man to recover, Ragnar leaned down, and gripped his jaw hard enough to bruise.
"Don’t make ask again," Ragnar snapped. "Tell your na. Say it now because where you are going, your na won’t matter and your status as leader will be just as worthless."
The man was forced to stare at Ragnar, eyes stinging. Blood trickled down from the cut on his lip, face throbbing from the hit that he was sure would leave a horrible bruise.
After a ragged breath, he rasped, " Gerard Morren."
From the corner of Gerard’s eyes, he glanced back at his comrades as they sat with their hands and feet bound, staring out with varying looks of anger and fear. But when he scanned their faces for a mont longer, he noticed that soone important was missing.
Remin. He wasn’t part of the bound prisoners.
Was Remin one of those people who were killed during the ambush? That had been Gerard’s first thought. The other thoughts that ca afterwards were simply inconceivable.
He returned his focus to Ragnar and held his gaze for a long beat.
"You just won yourself a special audience with the king. Be happy, not everyone can boast about ever accomplishing such a feat." Ragnar said. Then to his n, he said. " Prepare them for travel, we need to go back to the capital as soon as possible before they get the horrible sense to try sothing."
He wanted them to be back at the palace so that the rebels could be brought before the courtiers to stand trial for their cris against the kingdom.
But that wasn’t the only reason he was eager to get it over with. The faster he completed the task, the sooner he could return to his estate and to Circe, whose lips he hadn’t stopped envisioning since.
He told her the day before his departure that he wouldn’t be gone for long. Yet it had been over a week now, and each day he spent away from her seed to be taking its toll.
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