"What do you want! You barbarians sure don’t know your place. Are you here to litter this place again?" One of the guards sneered down at them, his wings shifting behind him in agitation.
The guards on the wall, and even those flying in the air above the castle, were all in the lower stages of essence using, and yet they didn’t bat an eye at the two masters before them, even though one of them was Karathra Bloodthorn, who everyone in the Revolutionary Base had heard about more or less.
Karathra had indeed co before the castle more than a few tis to demand that she speak to their leader, and they’d always turned her away every ti with jeers.
Galthor could feel the rage building in Karathra and the irritation in Brakthar. They both wanted to smash things, preferably the pretty faces of the Winged people.
But they wouldn’t have reached the ranks of Masters if they let their emotions get the better of them.
Galthor mused aloud, "This trap is to catch you. Once you attack, their own masters, no doubt nearby, would swing into action to attack."
Karathra’s lips twisted. "Yes, they’ve been egging on since. They needed a reason to take down and wipe out the very last resistance in the Stronghide banner."
Brakthar looked at Galthor. "What are you going to do, Chief?"
Galthor shrugged. "Announce ."
Brakthar nodded and took a step forward. He raised his hands, and red light outlined his body. Then he clapped. It ca out like the rumbling of thunder and made every one of the guards flinch; even those flying dived down in surprise.
"You are here before Galthor Stronghide, the Chief of the Stronghide tribe!"
Galthor had told them not to start announcing that he was an apostle of the barbarian god. Of course, the news would spread, but there’s a difference between announcing it publicly and letting it remain a rumor.
The guards quickly overca their surprise and scowled.
"The barbarians of Stronghide have a new chief? That’s new. Has Skolvar Dustfang heard about this?"
"This is the chief? Wait, I’ve heard that na before. Isn’t he the useless barbarian of the Stronghide? The one that’s so useless he can’t even lift a sword?"
"Really? I heard that his strength only appears when he’s carrying won!"
"Then how many tis do you think he’s carried the so-called strongest master of the Strongh—"
"Enough!"
A calm, powerful voice cut through the whispering of the guards, and a new person appeared on the wall. It was a barbarian, his black hair braided around his head and his eyes carrying hints of savagery.
Skolvar Dustfang, the self-proclaid chief of the Stronghide.
He looked down at Karathra, completely ignoring Galthor. "Well, if it isn’t the strongest blade of Stronghide. Have you finally swallowed your bloated pride and co to bow your head before ?"
Galthor was used to people ignoring him, and he was also getting used to putting people in their place.
But instead of the anger he expected Karathra to show, she actually smiled with amusent. "Skolvar Dustfang, why should I bow my head to soone who can’t kill a cursed monster?"
Skolvar stiffened, and a new round of whispering began among the guards. Then he finally looked at Galthor, his eyes filled with contempt. "You really should have died. I don’t want to stain the forr chief’s mories with your wretched blood.
"If it were your brothers or even your sister, then I would have gladly bowed my head. But you? You? We barbarians follow the strong, and there is no strength left in the Stronghide family."
Galthor could feel the hatred Skolvar had for him, and he quickly searched his host’s mories to see if he had done sothing to him in the past, but no such thing. They had never even interacted before.
It seed Skolvar just hated him.
"Do you actually co here and expect that I will bow to you because you are what? The son of Stronghide? Do you know why our people chose to follow ? Because I was strong!"
Galthor narrowed his eyes. "You said you follow the strong, and yet you fail to bow your head to Karathra. Are you so much of a coward that you are afraid to even na your ambition? A sha."
Skolvar gritted his teeth, his hand tightening on the wall and crumbling part of the stone to dust. "You dare to ntion anything about strength? You?"
Galthor sighed and waved him away. "I get tired of your yapping. I am here to see the Winged people’s leader. I will deal with you later."
His words only made Skolvar angrier, as if he couldn’t understand the gall of Galthor to dismiss him like that. But before he could do anything, a new Winged person dived down from the sky and spread his wings.
He was the master Galthor saw on the first day he arrived, and he gave Skolvar an amused look before he turned around. "My leader has agreed to see you."
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