Lord of Caldera - Chapter 142

Chapter 142: Chapter 142

“So, what will it be? Surely the great red dragon will fight for justice?” Marius’s tone was laced with mocking bravado.

Sylas let out a sarcastic chuckle. Marius looked smug, as though he’d already won. “What an idiot,” Sylas thought. He’d encountered this type before, people who thought they’d grasped power just because they served someone influential. Such people loved to flaunt their “understanding” of politics.

Dealing with fools like this was simple: bring them crashing back to reality.

“You’re Marius Greve, right?” Sylas asked.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“I challenge you to a duel.”

Marius’s face went blank, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Pardon me?”

“I challenge you to a duel,” Sylas repeated.

“N-Not me!” Marius stammered. “Challenge Bjorn if you want a fight!”

“No, you’re the one I’m challenging, not Bjorn.”

“But why…?” Marius asked, visibly trembling.

“Because you insulted me with that attitude of yours.” Sylas’s eyes glinted dangerously, and even a fool could tell he had no intention of sparing Marius if the duel took place.

“I… I refuse! There will be no duel!”

“Then I’ll just kill you where you stand.”

As the cold gleam of Sylas’s blade flashed, the color drained from Marius’s face. He stumbled back, pushing his chair away in a panic.

“W-Wait, hold on!”

“If you want to die resisting, at least draw your weapon,” Sylas taunted, taking a step forward.

“I-I was wrong! Please, forgive me!” Marius pleaded.

“Blade incoming. Wheeeee!” Sylas raised his sword slightly, and Marius yelped, stumbling backward, crashing into the door as he scrambled to escape, shouting.

“Someone! Anyone, help me!”

“What’s happening, sir?” Soldiers stationed outside burst into the inn. Startled, Bjorn’s men also looked up, bewildered.

Seeing Sylas approach from the upper floor, the soldiers gaped in confusion. Sylas called out.

“I challenged you to a duel. Why are you running? Come back here!”

“That lunatic!” Marius screeched, retreating behind his soldiers and pointing at Sylas. “Kill him!”

“Sir? But he’s a knight…”

“I don’t care! Kill him!”

To Marius, whether he respected the Corleone name or not no longer mattered. He was determined to save his own skin.

As the soldiers with spears began to close in, Sylas called calmly, “Ray, Toby.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Take them down.”

Bjorn couldn’t understand the sight before him.

“You’re amazing, my lord!”

“We apologize for cursing you before!”

“Thanks to you, we feel completely liberated!”

The people of Falun were all praising Sylas. Not a single person voiced complaints or resentment. Bjorn swallowed down the words that nearly escaped his lips.

“Why?” he wondered. After all, everything that happened was because Sylas had nearly killed Marius. As a result, the barbarians were now attacking, and the villagers had to risk their lives to fight. So why were they cheering?

“Why do they look so relieved?”

If they’d sighed in resignation or despaired at the looming battle, he could have understood. But this… he had never imagined such a reaction. Just then, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“My lord, what are you doing?” asked Henrik.

“Henrik?”

“Prepare yourself for battle! The fight awaits,” Henrik said, grinning widely. Bjorn was taken aback. Henrik, who usually wore a hardened, serious expression, now seemed almost joyful.

“Hail to you, my lord! Hail to Sir Sylas, the knight-in-training!”

“Show those barbarians what we’re made of!”

Bjorn advanced with a stunned expression, unable to clear his head even with the battle imminent.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Sylas asked, observing Bjorn’s reaction.

Bjorn slowly nodded. “To be honest, yes.”

“You expected curses and resentment, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

“And why?”

“This isn’t their war.” Bjorn paused, choosing his words carefully. “They’re citizens of the land, dragged into a war decided by those in power, and they’ll be the ones to bleed. They bear no responsibility for any of this; all responsibility falls on those who initiate the war.”

“So you can’t understand why people who see themselves as victims are so eager for battle?”

“They are victims,” Bjorn replied.

“Victims? Who says they’re victims?” Sylas’s voice was calm yet piercing. He stared at Bjorn intently. “They’re all part of this. They were mocked, angered, and humiliated. Do you really think they’re just ‘caught up in someone else’s fight’?”

“Well, isn’t it all my fault?” Bjorn asked, bewildered.

“They don’t see you as ‘someone else,’ do they?”

Bjorn’s eyes widened, a strange, tickling feeling welling up in his chest as if he were finally grasping something he hadn’t understood before.

“They didn’t want to sit idly by. They wanted to resist this constant threat to their lives. If they were going to die anyway, better to die fighting.”

“That… can’t be. They never said anything like that.”

“Because you never let them.” Sylas’s words hit Bjorn like a lightning bolt. He continued, “They must’ve thought fighting would make your sacrifice meaningless. So even if they wanted to fight, they couldn’t say it.”

Bjorn closed his eyes tightly, the memory of Sylas’s words two days prior echoing in his mind: “Honor isn’t exclusive to nobles.” He’d been too preoccupied at the time to fully grasp the meaning, but now it was crystal clear. The villagers hadn’t wanted to be protected as mere bystanders. They wanted to stand alongside Bjorn, to fight and bleed by his side.

And the one who had shut them out was none other than himself.

“Me.”

“Take up your axe,” Sylas said sharply, snapping Bjorn out of his self-blame. “The battle’s upon us. This isn’t the time for a commander to be wallowing.”

“…”

“Look around. They’re all watching you. Say what they’re waiting to hear.”

Bjorn turned, his eyes meeting those of the villagers, who had once been soldiers but had now lived as simple citizens of Falun for the past three years. But their gaze was unchanged from the days they’d ridden into battle together.

Taking a deep breath, Bjorn raised his voice. “Sons of the North!”

The crowd fell silent, hanging onto his words.

“Kill them all!”

A simple and blunt order, yet it was met with an overwhelming roar that rang in his ears. Their leader had given them permission: no more holding back. There was only one thing left to do now. Amidst the earth-shaking cheers, Bjorn turned to Sylas.