Lord of Caldera - Chapter 197

Chapter 197: Chapter 197

“Come at me,” Bjorn said calmly.

“So be it! If you wish for death that much!”

Ragnar charged at him like the wind, swinging his axe downward with a force that seemed it would slice through anything in its path, even if blocked.

“Stop!” Viscount Thorburn shouted, sensing the lethal intent in Ragnar’s blow. But it was too late; the axe was already descending toward Bjorn’s head.

Grinding his teeth, Bjorn swung his twin axes to intercept Ragnar’s blow.

Clang!

Ragnar’s face shifted in surprise. Bjorn’s axes twisted the trajectory of Ragnar’s swing, causing his strike to miss its mark.

“Hah,” Ragnar let out an involuntary sound of admiration. Not even Rogain could have blocked such a blow.

“What kind of sorcery is this?” Ragnar demanded.

“Who knows?” Bjorn replied, breathless but with a grin that betrayed a forced air of confidence.

“You’ll find out if we keep fighting.”

“Tch.” Ragnar clicked his tongue in irritation. Was he really still acting composed, even when he wouldn’t last long? “Fine, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Despite his disdain, Ragnar couldn’t deny that Bjorn’s warrior spirit was impressive. His vision, clouded with anger, seemed to clear slightly.

“Still, I need to put you in your place,” he thought. This was no battle to the death but a lesson for someone who had overestimated themselves. That was how Ragnar saw this fight.

Ragnar swung his axe again, still with fierce power but now without the murderous intent. Bjorn bit his lip, bracing himself as he faced the assault.

Ten minutes later, Ragnar’s confidence had waned.

“You’re like a damned rat!” Ragnar roared, swinging his axe again. Each time, Bjorn narrowly dodged, deflected, or rolled to the ground, just barely escaping the lethal strikes.

Crash!

Bjorn barely managed to dodge as debris splintered around him. Ragnar grit his teeth, watching.

“Damn it. If I go all out, I’ll kill him for real, and I can’t risk that,” Ragnar thought. His control over his strength was flawless, striking hard enough to unsettle Bjorn but without landing a fatal blow. But Bjorn avoided each attack rather than facing it head-on.

“How long do you plan to keep scurrying away? Try attacking!” Ragnar shouted.

“Huff… Too… out of breath!” Bjorn replied, panting heavily yet managing to dodge and respond. His audacity, even while exhausted, was infuriating. Ragnar struggled to keep his temper in check.

“You wretch!” Ragnar swung again.

“Gah!” Bjorn ducked, evading in a way Ragnar found unsightly, rolling back several times in an undignified retreat.

Any favorable impression Ragnar might have had vanished instantly.

“Do you call yourself a warrior? Is clinging to life and fleeing from death all there is to a warrior’s spirit?”

Breathing heavily, Bjorn steadied himself, sweat dripping down his face. Ragnar waited, eager to hear what sorry excuse would leave his opponent’s lips.

“The people of the North are not all warriors,” Bjorn finally replied.

“What?”

“Not every Northerner is a warrior anymore. Those days are over.”

“Blasphemy! Every Northerner is a warrior!”

“That’s an old belief.”

In the past, every Northerner had indeed been a warrior. In the unforgiving North, survival depended on raiding and hunting. But contact with the Empire had changed that.

“Mines were dug, trade routes were established, and civilization made its way here. In some places, even farming became possible. There was a time when prosperity followed.”

It was a golden age few remembered, back when the Imperial court was intact and the Emperors following the first upheld their friendship with the North.

“People laid down their weapons,” Bjorn continued. “They spent years cultivating the land instead of fighting nature. Rather than embracing the survival of the fittest, they dedicated themselves to supporting their weaker families.”

“…”

Ragnar fell silent, processing Bjorn’s words.

“The old traditions are still alive. Honor remains important. Warriors and knights who shed blood deserve respect, but not everyone is a warrior.”

“What are you trying to say?” Ragnar shot a piercing look at Bjorn. Bjorn sighed deeply before speaking.

“Chieftain, let me ask you something. If a warrior wanted to leave battle to care for an aging mother, what would you do?”

“Do you think that excuse would hold?” Ragnar scoffed.

“And if he truly had an elderly mother?”

“I’d have to take his head.” Ragnar answered without hesitation. Whether it was true or an excuse, a warrior who fled battle was no longer a warrior. Bjorn nodded, as if he understood and accepted the verdict. But his real question came next.

“Then what will you do about the mother left behind? Without anyone to care for her, she’ll starve.”

Ragnar was silent, caught off guard. What to do with the mother left behind? If it were a young son or daughter, they could be taken in and trained as a warrior or priest. A young widow could be remarried to someone else. But what about an elderly woman with little time left, especially one who raised a disgraced warrior?

“…Is there really a need to do anything about it?” Ragnar finally responded.

Bjorn laughed, this time with a dry, humorless chuckle. “That’s why you cannot be king.”

Ragnar’s face hardened. Nonsense, he wanted to shout. It was meaningless babble, incomprehensible. Yet, he found himself unable to argue back. His face flushed with frustration, returning to its original color again and again.

Finally, Ragnar managed to mutter, “Get out.”

“…?”

“Before I kill you myself, get out of my sight.”

His voice trembled with the effort of holding something back. Bjorn nodded and turned away, leaving without further protest. Despite his surrender, the spectators remained silent, absorbed in Bjorn’s final words. Even Viscount Thorburn appeared deep in thought. Yet, declaring a victor was the judge’s duty. Awakening from his reverie, the Viscount announced loudly.

“The Chieftain wins!”

“…Next candidate, step forward,” Ragnar replied tersely, his tone a mix of anger and weariness. The last candidate, Karl, stepped up before Ragnar with a tense expression.

“It would be wise not to underestimate me. This sword has even slain a lesser dragon, so no matter how powerful you are, the lineage of the Leiningens—”

Thud.

“Ugh!” Karl collapsed from a single blow. And with that, Ragnar’s duels concluded.

The somber atmosphere lingered long after Ragnar’s fight ended. The conversation between him and Bjorn had left the spectators pondering something deeper.

“Let us continue the duels tomorrow,” one suggested.

“Is that necessary? It’s only been a few hours,” another objected.

“Yet, it’s hardly suitable to continue given the mood.”

“And Karl hasn’t regained his senses.”