Lord of Caldera - Chapter 144

Chapter 144: Chapter 144

“Are you the chieftain here?”

“Who are you?”

“Bjorn Veldyne.”

“The viscount’s nephew!?” Erikson gasped, his face pale. He’d heard of Bjorn’s experience in battle but hadn’t expected him to be this powerful. “They said he was the type to avoid putting his men at risk!” But here he was, a warrior charging into the fray alongside his people. Had someone fed him false information?

“You’re different from the ones who came before you,” Bjorn remarked. Erikson’s heart leapt with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Bjorn would spare him if he showed humility?

“Yes, that’s right! We—”

“Enough.” Bjorn cut him off coldly. “You can be the first to go to the afterlife. I’ll send the others who attacked with you soon enough.”

“W-wait a moment! This isn’t—”

“Seems like you talk too much for a warrior.”

Bjorn’s axe swung down, and Erikson hastily raised his sword to block. But Bjorn’s strength and intensity were overwhelming, and after less than ten exchanges, Bjorn’s axe found his neck.

Thunk!

“Urgh!”

“Ch-chieftain!”

“The chieftain is down!”

With a victorious shout, Bjorn lifted Erikson’s severed head for all to see, roaring his triumph. From a distance, Sylas watched the scene and chuckled. Not a single barbarian left Falun alive that day

After the battle, the village of Falun was in a festive mood. The townsfolk cheered enthusiastically for Bjorn and the soldiers who had brought back the victory. On the spot, they organized a small celebration feast. Despite the village’s limited resources, they scraped together enough for a single night of celebration.

“For our young lord!”

—”To our lord!”

The resounding cheers filled the air as tankards clinked together. Soldiers embraced one another, singing songs of victory. Sylas and his two knights were also pulled into the festivities. One soldier grinned as he presented Sylas with a tray of food and a drink.

“Here, sir! Try some of this! My wife made it herself!”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Sylas protested.

“Come now, my lord! With you here, we felt safe enough to fight. Without you, we’d have worried our families would be attacked… oh, heavens!” The soldier mimed hugging his own shoulders, his animated gesture making Sylas chuckle.

“Well then, thank you,” Sylas replied, lifting his cup.

“If you need more, just let me know!” the soldier said before hurrying off. Sylas took a sip of his drink, feeling the strong, fiery burn typical of northern spirits. Ray looked uneasy as he accepted drink after drink thrust upon him, while Toby was already drinking straight from a large jug, earning admiring glances from the crowd.

A shadow fell across Sylas’s view of the revelry. “Drinking alone like a beggar?”

“It’s called drinking alone with style,” Sylas replied.

“Same thing,” Bjorn shrugged. “You just don’t know the difference.”

He sat down with a loud thud, setting down five bottles of spirits. Bjorn grabbed a cup nearby and poured himself a drink.

“Here, take my drink,” he offered.

Sylas took it, downing it in one gulp. The powerful drink burned all the way down, leaving a fiery warmth from his throat to his belly. “Ah!”

“You can hold your liquor, I see!”

“Now it’s your turn,” Sylas said, pouring a full cup for Bjorn, who downed it just as quickly. They went back and forth a few more times until Bjorn, wiping the drops of liquor from his chin, murmured quietly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For beating sense into one stubborn fool of a beggar.”

“I just talked some sense into you. I would’ve had to beat you senseless otherwise,” Sylas replied dryly.

Bjorn laughed awkwardly. They continued drinking, until Bjorn spoke again, his tone somber.

“So, how many casualties?” Sylas asked.

“Three dead and five severely injured. The rest are mostly unharmed.”

Sylas raised his eyebrows. It was remarkable that they’d managed to keep casualties so low, given the size of the enemy force. Still, those losses weren’t insignificant—they were the very deaths Bjorn had tried so hard to prevent. But Bjorn’s face remained calm.

“It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“Just a few days ago, I was terrified someone might die, but now… seeing my fallen comrades, I don’t feel sad.”

Sylas stayed silent, allowing the quiet to settle between them. Eventually, Bjorn broke the silence.

“Why do you think that is?”

“How should I know what’s in your heart?”

“Just… say something. Anything.”

Sylas glanced at the soldiers nearby, laughing and talking freely. Though they had won, this wasn’t the end; Greve’s barony and Viscount Veldyne would surely look for another excuse to provoke them. Yet, none of the soldiers’ faces showed even a hint of fear.

“Maybe it’s because you’ve finally come to understand what’s in their hearts,” Sylas replied.

“Perhaps,” Bjorn murmured. And with that, the conversation trailed off, leaving them to simply share their drinks until one of them eventually slumped over, too drunk to stay awake.

The following morning, Sylas awoke with a pounding headache.

“Damn, it’s like a bell ringing in my skull,” he groaned. He’d always been able to hold his liquor well, but northern spirits were something else entirely, and his younger body seemed less resilient. As he made his way downstairs, one of the older villagers approached with a respectful bow.

“Good morning, my lord. You’re awake.”

“Yes. Got any honey water?”

“Right away, sir.” The man disappeared into the kitchen. Honey was expensive and especially rare here, yet the man didn’t hesitate for a moment. Soon, a cup of warm honey water was brought out, which Sylas gratefully drank. Just as he finished, Toby and Ray joined him.

“Did you sleep well, my lord?”

“Well enough.” Sylas eyed the two of them. Despite drinking heavily the previous night, Toby and Ray looked completely refreshed.

“And you two? Not even a bit hungover?”

“Southern men don’t go down that easy, sir!” Toby chuckled.

“I’m alright as well, thanks to Sir Toby’s advice,” Ray added.

“What advice?”

“He said a bit of hair of the dog helps. I had a drink this morning, and it worked wonders,” Ray replied, grinning.