Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 277

Chapter 277: Divided Tribe(2) Chapter 277: Divided Tribe(2) The hush in the Hutt was thick and oppressive, the leaders frozen in their seats, their gazes darting between Geowulf and Klarik.

The air crackled with tension, the shattered remains of the table lying as a silent witness to what was about to unfold.

Klarik finally broke the silence, the scrape of his chair against the stone floor loud in the stillness.

Rising to his full height, he reached for the axe strapped to his back, his movements fast and sharp, his expression a twisted mask of defiance and fury.

He held his weapon high, its battered blade glinting in the firelight as he pointed it at Geowulf.

“Enough of this!” Klarik bellowed, his voice filled with venom.

“We’re done following the lead of an old wolf whose fangs are dull!

It’s time someone else took charge-a man with the strength to lead us into real battles!

Your time is over, Geowulf!” For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

Geowulf’s face twisted into a snarl, his teeth bared like a beast provoked.

His booming voice echoed through the hall like a war drum.

“Old age?

Klarik, you won’t live to see it!You will just be known as the latest fool killed by me!” Without another word, Geowulf lunged forward, his massive frame a blur of motion as he surged toward Klarik.

His axe, still embedded in the ruined table, was wrenched free with a splintering crack as he brought it up, the blade gleaming wickedly in the flickering firelight.

The room erupted into chaos as the Great Knotur charged, his roar filling the hall, a declaration of dominance and rage.

The leaders scrambled back from the sudden clash, some overturning their seats in their haste, while others simply stared, transfixed by the collision of two titanic wills.

Klarik, undaunted, raised his own axe and braced himself, shouting in defiance, “Come on then, old wolf!

Show me your bite!” Geowulf’s roar filled the Hutt, primal and ferocious, as he swung his axe in a vicious upward arc.

The sheer force of the blow made the air hum with its passage, aimed with murderous intent at Klarik’s chest.

Klarik brought his axe down to parry, the haft of his weapon catching Geowulf’s swing just beneath the blade.

The impact rang out like a thunderclap, the clash of steel on wood reverberating through the chamber and sending sparks flying from the axes’ edges.

Klarik’s arm trembled from the force, his feet skidding back slightly as he absorbed the blow.

He bared his teeth in a savage grin.

Geowulf did not reciprocate, using the momentum of the rebound to bring his axe around in a deadly horizontal slash aimed at Klarik’s exposed side.

Klarik ducked low, the blade passing just inches above his head, and countered with a swift chop toward Geowulf’s legs.

The Great Knotur leapt back, the axe missing him by a hair’s breadth and leaving a deep gouge in the wooden floor.

He surged forward again, pressing the attack.

His strikes were relentless, each swing heavy and deliberate, forcing Klarik onto the defensive.

Klarik parried another overhead blow, grunting as his arms bore the brunt of Geowulf’s ferocity.

The strength behind the attacks was monstrous; each one meant to end the fight with a single decisive strike.  “You think this is strength?” Geowulf growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder as he pushed Klarik back step by step.

“I’ve bled for this land!

I’ve carved it out with my hands, my axe, my will!

You think you can take it from me?” Klarik snarled, using a sudden burst of strength to shove Geowulf back and break their deadlock.

He spun his axe, stepping to the side and aiming a powerful blow at Geowulf’s torso.

Geowulf twisted away just in time, the blade grazing his side and slicing through the thick fur cloak he wore.

A shallow line of red welled up, but he ignored it, his eyes blazing with unbridled rage.

“You’ll have to do better than that!” With a sudden surge of speed, Geowulf closed the gap between them, slamming his shoulder into Klarik’s chest.

The force sent Klarik stumbling backward, and Geowulf capitalized, bringing his axe down in a crushing diagonal strike.

Klarik hit the ground hard, his breath escaping in a ragged gasp.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Geowulf loomed over him, his chest heaving, his face twisted into a mask of wrath.

Without hesitation, the Great Knotur brought his axe down again.

Again and again, Geowulf’s axe descended, striking wildly and Klarick trying to parry even more, the more time passed however the more the fate of the battle was already written down in stone.

Klarik tried to crawl backward, his hand scrabbling back, but Geowulf’s shadow swallowed him whole.

With a roar that shook the hall, Geowulf brought the axe down one final time, the blade biting deep into Klarik’s shoulder.

A sickening crunch echoed as bone gave way to steel, as everybody was reminded once again why Geowulf was their knotur..

Klarik cried out, his grip on his own axe faltering until it slipped from his blood-slicked fingers and clattered uselessly to the ground.

His face twisted in pain, his body writhing beneath the weight of the blow, as the weight of the gift he had given to hundreds now laid beside him.

With a snarl, Geowulf dropped to his knees, straddling Klarik.

With the ferocity of a predator claiming its prey, he grasped Klarik’s face with both hands, his thumbs pressing against the man’s eyes.

Klarik screamed, his voice shrill and guttural, as Geowulf’s thumbs bore down with brutal force.

The pressure built, and then, with a sickening squelch, the orbs burst beneath Geowulf’s relentless grip.

Blood and viscous fluid ran down Klarik’s face, mingling with the sweat and dirt.

The Hutt was silent, save for Klarik’s strangled, dying cries and the heavy, ragged breaths of Geowulf.

Releasing the ruined face, Geowulf reached for Klarik’s own axe, the weapon still stained with the fight’s fury.

With a final, guttural roar, he raised the axe high and brought it down onto Klarik’s skull.

The blade split bone and flesh with a wet crunch, the force of the blow silencing Klarik’s cries forever.

He raised his arms, gripping the haft of his axe tightly, his voice booming like thunder.

“Do you know who I am?” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls.

“I am Geowulf!

The Great Knotur!

The one who united the tribes when no one else could!

I led us from starvation, from death, from the frozen wastes, and brought you here, to lands rich with soil and full of food.

Lands that you now call your own!” The leaders flinched at the force of his words, but Geowulf pressed on, his tone growing sharper, fiercer.

“I broke the kingdoms of the south!

I toppled their so-called king!

Their royal bloodline lies in the dirt because I willed it so.

Their lands are ours because I took them.

I am not your king, nor do I wish to be!

I do not need you to kneel or bow or scrape before me!” He gestured to the room, to the men seated in stunned silence.

“You want to raid?

Go!

Take up your weapons and spill blood.

Ravage the fields of our neighbors.

Feast on the spoils of the weak.

But if you dare,” his voice dipped, low and deadly, “to raid what is mine-to lay a hand on the lands and people that I have claimed-then you will share the fate of Klarik here!” He yanked his axe free from the floor and raised it high, its bloodied blade catching the light.

“See this axe?

It has tasted the blood of kings, of warriors, and of every fool who thought to defy me!

If you think yourself greater than me, step forward and try your luck!

But know this,” he snarled, sweeping the room with his furious glare, “go against me or my will, I will take your lands, your life, and your name.

You will be nothing but a story of failure, told in whispers around campfires!” “If you want to grow fat over the food your slaves bring you,” he spat, his tone thick with disdain, “then do so.

If you wish to drink the blood of your enemies, to feast upon the spoils of war-then do it!” His chest swelled with each word, his fury palpable.

“The lands are yours now.

Every tribe has its place, its people, its territory.

This is my gift to you ,” he said, his voice echoing in the hall like a final decree.

“Take what you want from it, take what you can- but never what I LAY AS MINE ” The room was deathly quiet, the leaders cowed by the raw fury and certainty in Geowulf’s voice.

None dared meet his gaze for long, let alone stand against him.

His dominance was absolute, and his message crystal clear: Defiance would only lead to death.