Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 283

Chapter 283: Dealing with rats(3) Chapter 283: Dealing with rats(3) Inside the temple, chaos reigned as the pirates scrambled to seal the entrance.

With sweat-slicked hands and frantic desperation, they slammed the heavy wooden doors shut.

Tables, benches, and statues of stone and wood were dragged across the floor, piled high against the doors to form a makeshift barricade.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps as they worked, the thundering of hooves and the distant cries of their comrades outside a haunting reminder of what awaited them if the doors were breached.

Damn me!I should have left when I had the chance, instead of torturing that bastard….

Korran thought as his face turn into an ugly sneer.

As if mocking him the priest-bloodied and bruised, his robes torn-stood by the altar, his face twisted in a mix of delirium and grim satisfaction.

“The gods call for your souls!” he declared, his voice rising above the commotion.

“Their wrath descends upon you!

No barricade will stop their judgment!

No door will bar their will!” His laughter rang through the air, wild and unhinged, echoing off the stone walls.

Korran, teeth gritted and a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, turned and strode toward the priest.

Without a word, he raised a hand and delivered a sharp backhand across the man’s face, sending him stumbling backward into the altar.

The sound of the blow snapped the pirates’ attention momentarily from their desperate work.

“Shut your cursed mouth!” Korran hissed, anger and uncertainty burning in his eyes.  The priest raised his head, blood trickling from his split lip, and smiled through his pain.

Then perhapse if the slap brought him back to reason, his voice, though hoarse, carried a note of sinister clarity.

“There is still a way,” he rasped, his grin widening.

“A way for all of you to live.” The pirates paused, their hands hovering over their makeshift barricade as they turned toward the priest, their expressions a mix of suspicion, desperation, and faint hope.

Korran’s scowl deepened as he stared down at the man, fists clenched.

“Speak quickly, priest,” he growled, “or I’ll send you to meet your gods myself.” “This is the house of the gods,” he began solemnly, his voice filling the space like a sermon.

“No blood may be spilled here.

No blade raised, no life taken under this roof of divine sanctuary.” A ripple of confusion and faint hope passed through the pirates.

They exchanged glances, their fear briefly tempered by the unexpected words.

“I can offer you hospitality,” the priest continued, his tone measured.

“A chance to cast aside your sins and your savagery.

Fertility is not only the patron god of women but also of kindness and mercy.

Lay down your weapons, convert to the true faith, and repent for your crimes through a life of servitude.

I will extend the hospitality of the gods to you.

You may yet live.” Korran’s sharp laugh broke the momentary reverence in the room.

He stepped forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor, and jabbed a finger at the priest.

“Why the hell would you do that, priest?” he demanded, his voice laced with suspicion.

“Why show mercy to a pack of murderers and thieves?

What’s in it for you?” The priest’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of disgust crossing his face, but he quickly masked it with the same serene demeanor.

“The gods do not bargain like men, Korran.

Mercy is their gift, extended freely to those willing to take it.

Will you?” As Korran hesitated, his mind turning over the priest’s offer, a sudden clatter of weapons falling to the floor startled him.

Some of the pirates, weary and desperate, stepped forward with their hands raised.

One of them, trembling, knelt before the priest.

“I will convert,” he said, voice shaking.

“I’ll repent… for as long as I live.

Just… just spare me.” Another followed, and then another, their weapons forming a growing pile near the altar.

Korran watched, his face twisted in frustration and disbelief.

“You cowards,” he muttered, but his words carried no real venom.

He glanced back at the priest, who now regarded the kneeling pirates with a momentary look of disdain before smoothing his features once more into a mask of divine patience.

The priest’s gaze drifted toward the barricaded doors, his composure as steady as a stone pillar despite the agony of his wounds.

“I will need to inform those outside,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice calm and unwavering.

Korran raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

“You think we will let you leave like that?” The priest let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“If you wish, you may come with me, Korran,” he said, his tone laced with challenge.

“Blade in hand, ready to strike me down if I attempt any betrayal.

But I assure you, the gods have no need of deception.

My purpose is clear.” Korran’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms.

“You’ve got guts.

What’s your name?” The priest tilted his head slightly, his bloody face somehow serene.

“Father Donar,” he said simply.

At that moment, two of the pirates stepped hesitantly toward him, glancing at Korran for approval.

When he gave a subtle nod, they began to work on the nails that had impaled the priest’s hands.

Donar grimaced, his lips tightening as the nails were carefully removed from his flesh, but he made no sound of pain.

As soon as the bloodied pieces of iron fell to the ground, he flexed his battered hands gingerly and turned back to Korran, his gaze steady.

Korran jabbed a finger toward one of his pirates “Torv” he barked, “follow him.

Keep your blade ready.” Torv nodded wordlessly, unsheathing his sword with a metallic hiss.

The other pirates worked to clear the barricade enough to allow passage, their movements tense and hurried.

With a dull scrape of wood and stone, a gap was opened just wide enough for the two to slip through.

As Donar stepped into the open air, the sunlight falling on his bloodied and battered form, his gait was uneven, his limping steps echoing the severity of his injuries.

His arrival quickly drew the eyes of nearly a hundred riders, their spears glinting like needles of death in the light.

Murmurs spread through the mounted ranks as they watched the disheveled priest limp forward.

Donar raised a trembling hand, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

“This is the house of the gods!” he began, his tone swelling with righteous fervor.

“A sanctuary for all men, and no blood may be spilled within these walls.” The riders looked at one another, some furrowing their brows, others gripping their reins.

Torv stood still, watching Donar intently, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Donar pressed on, his voice growing louder.

“A temple has the power to protect men from the dangers of the world-shelter for the weary, refuge for the hunted.

Yet what stands before me today are not men.” He pointed a trembling, bloodstained hand at the cavalry.

“You are hounds, that protect the herd from wolves!” His voice rose to a shout.

“The temple has only one entrance, and it is barricaded.

So do what beasts do-set it aflame!

Burn this profaned house of gods with its trespassers inside!” The words hung in the air like a death knell.

The riders stared, their faces turning into shock.

Donar’s eyes flashed with defiance as he delivered the final blow of his proclamation.

“This temple is already soiled with my blood.

Let it be a pyre for those who defiled it.

Build another upon their bones and ashes!Kill them al-” A sharp curse erupted behind him as Torv, pale with rage, thrust his blade through Donar’s back with brutal force.

The priest let out a low gasp, his knees buckling as the sword pierced him clean through.

As Donar’s body collapsed to the ground, Torv wrenched the blade free, blood spraying the dirt.

Without a word, the pirate turned and dashed back toward the safety of the temple, slipping through the narrow gap in the barricade .

The soldiers shifted uneasily, their weapons in hand as they stared at the temple’s sturdy walls.

Many among them were believers in the Five Gods, and the idea of spilling blood within a sacred temple tugged at their conscience.

The gods’ wrath was not something to invoke lightly.

Yet Donar’s final words echoed like a thunderclap in their minds.

The priest himself-a sworn servant of the divine-had denounced the sanctity of the temple, calling for its desecration to rid the world of the filth within.

With his blessing, their hesitation began to melt away.

Now there was nothing to stop them.

Rykio dismounted with solemnity, stepping toward Donar’s lifeless body sprawled in the dirt.

His men watched in silence as he bowed his head deeply, paying respect to the priest who had defied both fear and pain for his gods.

He never like priests, he believed they were greedy bastards who lived off luxury with the donation of the believers, yet he had to admit that the dead man in front of him, was what all of them should aspire to be, fearless when facing the end of life.

 “Carry him aside,” Rykio ordered, his voice steady but laced with reverence.

“After this battle, we’ll ensure he receives a burial worthy of him, it is not every day that we meet such a pious man.” Several soldiers stepped forward, carefully lifting the priest’s bloodied body from where it lay, moving it to a place of temporary rest.

Rykio turned back to his assembled troops, his voice rising with authority.

“You all saw it with your own eyes.

Even the servant of the gods despised the rats hiding behind those walls!” His words carried a sharp edge, striking at the pride and hearts of the men before him.

He gestured toward the temple with his sword.

“He shamed us, all of us, with his courage!With his bravery!

We have faced dozens of men in battles!

And yet this priest, who for all his life prayed at the altar, shows something that is rarely found in even the most veteran soldier.

A single man, nailed and broken, had the strength to stand tall for what he believed in, more than some of you have shown.” The soldiers shuffled slightly Rykio’s voice grew stronger, brimming with conviction.

“There’s only one way to honor such courage-to heed his final words!

We must cull the wicked who cower inside and cleanse their taint from this land!” The soldiers erupted in cheers, their shame replaced with fervor.

Swords, spears, and axes rose to the sky, their battle cries echoing across the village.

Rykio raised his sword high, its polished edge catching the light of the fading sun.

“Prepare the torches!” he commanded, his voice booming with determination.

“The only way to cleanse the impiety we have witnessed today is through justice-justice delivered by fire and steel!

Burn the rats inside and purify this desecrated ground.” His gaze swept across the soldiers, fierce and unyielding.

“Once their ashes are scattered, we will build a new temple over it-a true house of the gods, untainted by cowardice and wickedness!” The soldiers nodded, their expressions resolute.

Some began gathering torches, dipping them into the fires that the pirates had prepared for their final meal, while others moved to secure the temple’s perimeter.  Everybody knew they were in for a good old roast now…