Chapter 66: The Shattering of Faith
The atmosphere in the square reached a boiling point. Seeing the priest’s hesitant demeanor, the wives and children of the four wounded hunters pushed through the crowd, dropping to their knees beside the sled with tears streaming down their faces.
"Please, great Shaman, do something!" shouted Brak’s wife, clutching her husband’s icy hand. "Save them, we beg you!"
The priest, feeling the crushing weight of dozens of inquiring stares, backed away with a contorted expression.
"I can do nothing!" shouted the Shaman, throwing his hands up in defense. "The severity of their wounds goes far beyond what can be saved by mortal hands! All that remains is to pray to the gods to receive their souls!"
Kellar observed the scene in silence, feeling a profound wave of disappointment in his chest. He had believed the priest possessed some sort of magical healing skill or high-level sacred technique. His original plan was to gauge the true extent of the clan’s strength; if he wanted to challenge the tribe’s leadership, he needed to know how powerful they were and if they hid any tricks up their sleeves. However, he had overestimated them: they were nothing more than muscle without brains. He ceased viewing the priest as a real threat and decided to crush him politically right then and there.
"They are a fraud, but that does not mean it is impossible to save them!" shouted Kellar, throwing his voice above the uproar.
The mob fell silent.
"I can save them! Trust me and place the wounded under my care!" said Kellar, staring at the desperate families.
"Silence, you charlatan!" shouted the Clan Leader, pointing at him in rage. "We will not allow a worthless scammer to desecrate our warriors’ final moments!"
"The only charlatans here are the two of you!" shouted Kellar, confronting the Leader and the Shaman. "I carry the true design of the gods! I alone can save their lives, but if you keep getting in the way and refuse to obey my commands, they will all die and you two will be responsible for their deaths!"
"You damned insolent brat!" shouted the Shaman, spitting in anger.
"Listen to the boy! He stopped the bleeding when no one else knew what to do!" shouted Krag, slamming the butt of his mallet against the snow.
"We trust Kellar! If he says he can save them, we believe him over a useless old man!" shouted Marty, raising his blade before the crowd.
Kellar’s words sparked absolute chaos. The wounded men’s families began screaming and cursing at the priest, blocking his path while Krag’s hunting unit formed a human wall to shield Kellar. Tor’s uncle and those loyal to the Clan Leader attempted to advance by force, triggering a violent near-mutiny where shoves, insults, and death threats flew in every direction, splitting the clan into two factions on the brink of Tribal war.
The tension exploded when Mark threw a straight punch directly at Marty’s face. The veteran dodged the blow by inches and countered with a brutal elbow to Tor’s uncle’s jaw, sending him stumbling back across the red-stained snow. A pair of hunters from the Leader’s faction tried to rush forward with their axes, but Krag stopped them dead in their tracks by shoving them with the shaft of his giant mallet, knocking them flat onto the ground with a single hit.
"Back off, you old dogs!" shouted Krag, spitting at the feet of the clan loyalists. "If you want the blood of your own brothers, come and get it!"
Seeing that the hunting unit was fully prepared to take things to the limit and that the townspeople were beginning to harbor serious doubts, the Leader’s faction retreated several paces to try and save face.
Kellar, far from being satisfied, seized the open space to press his advantage throwing his voice wide to crush his detractors’ prestige.
"Open your eyes once and for all!" shouted Kellar, pointing at the Shaman with contempt. "Look at your cowardly leaders hiding behind their titles while these men bleed out! They would rather see them dead than admit they are useless!"
"Shut your mouth, you insignificant trash!" shouted the Clan Leader, the veins in his neck bulging to the brink of bursting with rage. "You have no right to address the authorities of this settlement!"
"The only one who has no right to speak here is you, you useless old man!" shouted Lupar, stepping up beside Kellar. "While you lot sat around the fire scratching your bellies, Kellar was on the front lines!"
"Tell them what we hunted, Lupar!" shouted Marty, pointing at the colossal carcass resting on the snow. "Tell these blind fools what kind of beast this boy brought back!"
"That is no simple river lizard!" shouted Lupar toward the awe-struck, murmuring crowd. "That is the Great Crocodile of the Frozen Lake! A high-rank magical beast! And it was this boy who planned the ambush and gave us victory while you lot can’t even hunt a rabbit!"
The murmurs among the clan residents erupted into a roar of astonishment and admiration. Families exchanged shocked glances; capturing a magical beast of that scale was a legendary feat that would feed the tribe for weeks. Kellar’s reputation soared through the roof in a matter of seconds overshadowing the priest’s standing.
The Shaman, unable to endure the public humiliation and shaking with contained rage, turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat toward his hut.
"This is treason against the traditions of the clan!" shouted the Clan Leader, clenching his fists as he backed away alongside his guards. "For your insubordination, the council declares that you will not receive a single ration from the tribe’s reserves! Not a scrap of meat for traitors!"
Krag let out a mocking laugh that echoed across the entire square, confronting the Leader without the slightest shred of fear.
"Keep your rotten food to yourself, you idiot!" shouted Krag, pointing at the Great Crocodile and the carcasses on the sled. "We have more fresh magical beast meat than your whole damn warehouse put together! I wonder who will be begging whom when the brunt of winter hits, you useless old bastards!"