Chapter 233
Varkas raised his head and shouted in a voice that echoed across the battlefield.
"Lay down your weapons and surrender peacefully, and your lives will be spared!"
A heavy silence settled over the battlefield.
The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances.
Then, one after another, they lowered their weapons.
The dull clang of swords and spears striking the ground spread outward from him like ripples on water. Though screams and the shrill clash of steel still rang out beyond the fortress walls, the soldiers filling the courtyard no longer possessed the will to fight.
After scanning the surroundings with sharp eyes, Varkas finally pulled his sword from the man's shoulder. A low groan escaped between the captive's lips as he stubbornly endured the agony.
Resting the blood-soaked tip of his sword against the back of the man's neck, Varkas jerked his chin toward the soldiers.
"Bind him."
No sooner had the order left his mouth than Imperial soldiers rushed forward, roughly forcing the man to the ground before tightly wrapping ropes around his shattered wrist.
Once he had been secured, Varkas sheathed his sword and added in an icy tone,
"He will stand before the Imperial Tribunal and answer for treason. Make sure he stays alive."
He turned to assess the situation behind the front lines.
Then a coarse laugh, as though scraped up from the depths of someone's throat, stopped him in his tracks.
Varkas slowly looked back, knitting his brows.
"...What's so amusing?"
"Ah, if I've offended you, then I apologize. It's simply that Your Grace's loyalty to the Empire is so touching that I couldn't help laughing."
The man lazily replied, his enormous shoulders, encased in armor, trembling with amusement.
"It's like watching a perfectly trained hunting dog. So the rumors weren't exaggerated after all. Those Osirian priests truly did an excellent job taming the Grand Duke's heir."
The air around them instantly turned frigid.
One of the Eastern warriors, unable to contain his fury, slammed the shaft of his spear down onto the man's wounded shoulder.
"How dare a criminal speak so insolently!"
Fresh blood burst from the wound.
The man paid it no attention.
Looking directly at Varkas with blazing eyes, he continued provoking him.
"Where has your pride as a warrior gone? Your ancestors fought the Empire until their very last breath. The great King Siorcan, who once made the entire continent of Lobiden tremble in fear, even inflicted a mortal wound upon the hero Wighru during his final battle. And yet the descendant of such a great warrior has willingly become a servant of House Gwirta... Your ancestors must be weeping tears of blood in the afterlife."
"...So that's what you wanted to say."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Varkas's lips as he quietly looked down at him.
Bending slightly toward the captive, he answered in an almost gentle voice.
"Nothing is more hollow than the eloquence of the defeated."
The man's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
His face remained hidden behind the helmet, but Varkas could easily imagine that the smile had vanished from it.
"Then let me ask you a question."
"How does it feel to lose everything at the hands of that 'well-trained hunting dog' you mocked?"
"..."
"Your ambition has been crushed beneath my feet. House Heimdal has fallen. Before long, your body will hang upon the execution grounds. And the name Bjorn Blodar Heimdal will be remembered by history as nothing more than a defeated commander who met a miserable end after a reckless rebellion."
Grabbing the man's jaw, Varkas asked quietly,
"So... how does it feel to fall all the way to the bottom?"
"...Filthy."
The man spat the word through clenched teeth.
Cold breath escaped through the visor, washing over Varkas's face.
"But I'll spare you the details of exactly how filthy it feels."
"Because you'll be experiencing it yourself soon enough, Your Grace."
Varkas narrowed his eyes.
A strange chill crept down his spine.
Instinct told him the man wasn't bluffing.
Without another word, he drove the toe of his boot into the captive's stomach.
The man's body flew sideways with a heavy thud.
The impact snapped the helmet strap, causing the helmet to shift upward.
Varkas seized it and ripped it off in one motion.
Grabbing a fistful of thick platinum-blond hair matted with blood, he jerked the man's head violently upward.
"I don't know what trick you're trying to play, but you're already finished. No matter how desperately you struggle now, the outcome won't chan—"
His cold voice stopped abruptly.
The bluish light of dawn, growing brighter with every passing moment, illuminated the man's face.
The prisoner twisted the corner of his mouth into a smile.
"Do you recognize me?"
A strained voice escaped Varkas's rigid lips.
"Roman Talis..."
"I'm pleased to know you haven't forgotten me."
The strange smile on Roman's lips deepened.
Varkas tightened his grip on the man's hair, wrenching his head back.
The color of his hair was different, but there was no mistaking him.
He was the same heretic hunter who had once roamed freely through Varkas's lands.
Varkas growled,
"What exactly have you been doing in the East?"
"No need to be so angry. Just as you've spent years meddling in my territory... I merely stirred yours up a little."
The man chuckled softly, his shoulders shaking.
"I've invested quite a bit of effort into it."
"By now... Kalmor must be absolute chaos."
Varkas's expression slowly twisted.
Seeing that, Roman burst into delighted laughter.
"Why that look? Did you honestly think you could reduce my territory to ruins while your own home remained untouched? Hahaha! If you ruin someone else's life's work, you ought to be prepared for your own to be torn apart!"
A fist clad in a leather glove crashed into Roman's face.
His laughing head snapped violently to the side.
As his body staggered on the verge of collapse, Varkas seized him by the hair once more, dragging his blood-covered face back into view.
Roman spat out a mouthful of blood before murmuring slowly,
"While you've been busy playing the Empire's loyal watchdog... the East is drowning in a feast of blood."
"Your castle... your lands... they'll all be consumed by flames until nothing but ashes remain."
"Every member of your household will die horribly."
"And your woman..."
A twisted smile spread across his blood-soaked lips.
"I gave very special instructions regarding that little darling."
"By now, she's probably having an extremely... stimulating time with the barbarian men."
"My only regret is that I won't be there to join them."
His vulgar laughter echoed grotesquely through the ruined courtyard.
"By now she'll probably be nothing more than a filthy ra—"
Blood suddenly erupted from his mouth.
Only then did Varkas realize he had driven a dagger into the man's throat.
Somewhere nearby, soldiers gasped in horror.
Varkas heard them only faintly.
He felt nothing.
Gripping the back of Roman's head firmly, he drove the dagger even deeper before slowly drawing his arm sideways.
Roman's eyes filled with agony as the blade pierced his throat while he was still alive.
Varkas stared directly into those dark pupils.
Very slowly...
He continued moving the knife.
The cold steel carved through muscle, arteries, and nerves one after another.
Roman desperately tried to breathe through his severed airway, producing only choking, gurgling sounds.
At last...
The light faded from his eyes.
Varkas pulled the blade out through the opposite side of the neck.
Then he lifted the head, blood pouring freely from it.
Several soldiers who had witnessed the scene from only a few paces away collapsed to the ground and vomited.
Without sparing them so much as a glance, Varkas tossed the enemy commander's head before the gathered knights.
"Hang it from the fortress wall."
Even the knights, hardened by countless battlefields, were too shaken to step forward.
While they stood frozen, Varkas strode across the courtyard, crushing the mountain of corpses beneath his boots.
As he reached the main gate, he spotted the Wolfram Cavalry reorganizing their ranks.
Walking straight toward them, he spoke in a voice so calm it was almost terrifying.
"Summon every available soldier."
"We're riding to Kalmor immediately."
Realizing at once that something catastrophic had happened, Daren wasted no time.
He sounded the war horn, calling the Eastern warriors together.
Meanwhile, Varkas roughly seized the reins of Tork, who had been tethered near the camp, and stared at the sun as it slowly rose between the black mountain peaks.
Its piercing rays stabbed into his eyes like countless needles.
Closing them briefly against the sudden dizziness, Varkas opened them again before swinging himself into the saddle.