Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 278

Chapter 278: The matter of ruling(1) Chapter 278: The matter of ruling(1) Geowulf sat heavily on the throne, the faint creak of the wood beneath him a far cry from the majesty the seat once held.

Once adorned with gold and fine engravings, the throne had been stripped of its grandeur, the precious metals and jewels looted during the city’s fall.

Now, it was nothing more than a weathered frame of dark wood, its splendor traded for the spoils of conquest.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands dangling loosely as he stared at the ground beneath his boots.

The stone floor was smooth and cold, unmarred by blood or dirt-the kind of surface that felt strange to a man who had spent most of his life on snow-covered plains and frozen cadavers.

His gaze lingered there, on the scuffed leather of his boots, as if they held the answers to questions he dared not voice.

Geowulf sighed, a long, deep breath that seemed to carry the weight of years.

His broad shoulders sagged under an invisible burden, and for a moment, the Great Knotur, the conqueror of Sarlan, looked merely like a tired man.

I’m getting old, he thought, the admission heavy in his mind.

Once, he would have dismissed such a notion with a snarl and a sharp laugh, but not now.

Now, the truth of it was inescapable.

He closed his eyes and remembered the man he had been-young, fierce, and unstoppable.

He thought of the battles he had fought, the enemies he had crushed beneath his axe, all the female that he bedded in the night after a battle .

There had been a time when he could have killed three men like Klarik without breaking a sweat,and bedded triple the women afterward.

But today-today, he had sweated, bled, and fought harder than he cared to admit to bring down just one.

Geowulf’s hand clenched into a fist, the knuckles whitening as the memory of the fight burned in his mind.

The humiliation of his slowing body was a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was one he could not spit out.

Time had taken its toll, even on him.

The Great Knotur, who had united the tribes and brought them to this land of plenty, was now a man who felt the ache in his bones and the weight of his axe in ways he never had before.

One of the main arguments raised against him , was if he wanted to be king of the various tribe.All the time he replied negatively, saying that he was merely the Knotur of their Knotur, yet if he was to be true, the answer would be yes.

What other man did what he had done?

The dream that their ancestors craved during their last breath was achieved by him in his lifetime, he had done things thought impossible.

Was it not proof that he was worhty of being their king?Yet the thought seemed to revolt them.

Ungrateful mutts all of them!

He cursed as he closed his fingers in a fist.

Geowulf’s fingers drummed lightly against the armrest of the throne, his thoughts swirling like a storm over a churning sea.

Those idiots think themselves wolves, he mused bitterly, his eyes narrowing at the memory of their jeers and boasts in the Hutt.

They strut and howl, convinced of their might, convinced that toppling a kingdom makes them predators.

A wry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it held no humor.

But they are sheep dressed in furs.

They don’t see it.

Not yet.

His gaze dropped again to his boots as he let the memories play out in his mind.

The fall of Sarlan had been swift and brutal, but it had not been the kind of triumph his so-called leaders imagined it to be.

They think it was their strength, their cunning, that brought the kingdom to its knees.

He snorted softly.

Fools.

They don’t realize the truth-they never really fought the Sarlan.

The giants did The presence of the giants of the Tribes of Unth had tipped the balance long before the first sword was drawn.

The massive beings, towering over even the tallest of men, more than two times their size , had sent the horses of Sarlan into a frenzy.

The steeled discipline of the royal cavalry had shattered in an instant, the noble steeds bolting in terror as the giants approached.

Without their mounted force, the Sarlan infantry had been left vulnerable, scattered, and broken.

Their king, who deserted the fight , was then captured and killed.

The giants won that fight for us, not those sheep, Geowulf thought grimly.

And even then, it wasn’t strength or glory that brought them to my side.

He remembered the first time he had approached the Unth.

They were solitary by nature, each giant living far from the other, their massive forms moving silently through the icy wilderness.

They had no interest in raiding or conquest, no hunger for blood or gold.

Their lives were simple, and their desires simpler still: to be left alone.

Geowulf had not won their allegiance through feats of strength or great speeches, as the tribal leaders believed.

He had offered them wine, cheese, and salted meats He had shown them the path to these riches, the fertile fields of the south where food grew in abundance.

When he faced them for the first time , he thought that he was going to be squashed by them or their steeds, yet they were calm and mostly ignored him while watching him with a certain interest.

However , as soon as they tasted the things he brought them as gift , they immediately wanted more or so they tried to say through signs, as their ancient language could not be spoken by no man, as it resembled more grunts of an animal than actual words.

And they had come here -not out of loyalty or bloodlust, but out of gluttony.

They had followed him into Sarlan, cleared his path, and then quietly stepped back, retreating as soon as the city fell.

They had no interest in pillaging or slaughter, no lust for southern women whom they could not bed or hatred for southern men, they simply wanted , meat, cheese and wine.  And yet, the leaders of the tribes didn’t see this.

They thought the giants were their tools, their fearsome warriors waiting to be unleashed again and again.

They thought the victory over Sarlan meant they could topple any kingdom they wished, not understanding that their so-called might had been borrowed, not earned.

Now that the giants had their fill, they had little reason to fight.

Solitary by nature, they preferred quiet lives, keeping to their own and avoiding needless bloodshed.

Left alone, they’d do the same in return.

Even Geowulf doubted he could stir them to war again.

But if his lands were attacked?

Then, perhaps, the giants might rise-not for glory, not for kinship for what kinship could two different race share, but simply to protect the abundance they now enjoyed.

Geowulf’s gaze drifted across the empty hall, his thoughts heavy with the weight of the future.

If the tribes were to stay in this land and make it their home, they would need more than scattered leaders and isolated tribes clinging to their own interests.

They needed unity-a single ruler who could command their combined strength, prevent infighting, and lead them against any threats that might rise.

Once, he had believed he could be that ruler.

For years, he thought himself the only man capable of holding the tribes together, of forging strength out of their chaos, and in a certain way he was, but unfortunately recent event proved otherwhise.

The years weighed too heavily on him.

His body, his instincts-they were not what they had been.

Klarik’s challenge had shown him as much.

His gaze dropped to his feet, and a sigh escaped his lips.

The realization settled in: he was not the man to lead them into the future, not anymore.

But as his thoughts turned darker, an ember of hope flared.

His grandson-Beor.

A boy of two, yet already the symbol of their future.

Geowulf’s chest tightened as he thought of the child, innocent and full of potential.

Beor could be the one.

With the blood of the Unifier in his veins, raised to understand their possible power, then he could actually accomplish what he wanted.

The land of Sarlan laid carved and divided, each tribe claiming its piece of the once-unified kingdom.

Fields, villages, and forests bore new names and banners, but the lion’s share belonged to Geowulf.

His dominion stretched across the fertile southern territories, where defeated Sarlan nobles had bent the knee and sworn fealty.

Their oaths tied them to him nominally, but he knew better  Loyalty?

Hah.

Pride like theirs doesn’t bend without reason, and it snaps back as soon as the chance arises.

He sat back on the worn throne, his fingers drumming against the haft of his axe.I could bring them all together now.By might, by fire if I had to.

But what would it mean for the boy?” His thoughts trailed off as his mind conjured images of Beor-a small child with no understanding of the storm that would descend upon him.

“They’d kill him,” Geowulf growled, his voice raw.

“Slit his throat before he’d see ten winters.

They wouldn’t dare risk my blood taking root.” He sighed, the weight of years pressing down on him.

“Five winters,” he said softly.

“At best.

That’s the best I will last.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his calloused hands clenched into fists.

If I force them together now, I leave him a crown of thorns.

But if I don’t…He closed his eyes, the visions of a fragmented Sarlan flashing before him.

This land will rot under their endless bickering.

A patchwork of wolves, snapping at each other’s throats.

 Unity.

That’s the only way.

But not by my hand.

His gaze drifted to the faint light of the setting sun through the window.

The boy…

He must grow into it.

He must be the one  His fingers brushed over the blade of his axe, his resolve steeling as he realized that all he could do was to pave the way for Beor to do what he had failed in accomplishing.