Thorne's body lay still, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath him like an unwelcome shadow. The silence that followed his death felt heavy, charged with the raw energy of the fight that had just ended.
A wave of nausea rolled in Elder Miya's stomach. _"What have I done?"_ she thought, her mind reeling with doubt. The image of Thorne's defiant roar, cut short so brutally, replayed in her mind. Doubt gnawed at her. Had she traded their tribe's spirit for a false promise of safety? The Silica Kingdom's presence suddenly felt less like salvation and more like a cold, indifferent weight.
Thornek's cries of pain echoed through the clearing. He clutched his left wrist, the raw, bloody stump a testament to Thorne's final act. His face was a twisted mask of agony and simmering rage. _"He took my hand. The old fool actually took my hand!"_ The thought pulsed in his head, eclipsing any sense of victory.
Thaggar watched the scene with a carefully neutral gaze, but beneath it, a subtle calculation was taking place. Thorne's strength was gone. Thornek was wounded and consumed by his pain. An opportunity, cold and sharp, presented itself. The leadership of the Evergreen Tribe, however fractured, was now within reach.
A low murmur rippled through the Elders who had remained loyal to Thorne. Their faces were etched with grief and a simmering anger. The sight of their leader fallen, the embodiment of their tribe's resilience, filled them with a profound sense of loss and a chilling fear for what the future held.
The two Silica Kingdom knights exchanged a look that spoke of utter disinterest. This messy tribal conflict was a means to an end for them, a necessary step in securing Lord Hugh's authority. They stood with a detached air, their polished armor gleaming in stark contrast to the blood and dust on the ground.
Seneschal Lope remained a figure of unsettling indifference. He leaned languidly against a nearby support, his attention fixed on the discomfort of the young servants in his vicinity. A faint, distasteful smile played on his lips. The death of a "heathen" held no significance for him, his mind already drifting back to the refined comforts of Ashwood Manor.
The heavy silence that followed Thorne's death hung in the air, thick with grief and fear. Suddenly, Seneschal Lope broke the somber atmosphere with a loud, exaggerated yawn. He stretched languidly, his powdered face creasing with boredom.
"Honestly," he drawled, his high-pitched voice cutting through the quiet, "can we *WRAP this UP~~*? It's *DREADFULLY* tedious." He flicked a dismissive hand towards Thorne's body. "Sir Lucas, Sir Ryder, be *SO GOOD* as to conclude matters. I believe even this… wilderness air is starting to affect my complexion. Let's *CALL it a DAY*."
Sir Lucas and Sir Ryder exchanged another of their customary bored glances before turning their attention to the remaining Evergreen warriors who had stood defiantly by Thorne. Sir Lucas stepped forward, his armored form imposing.
"You heard the Seneschal," he stated, his voice carrying a cold authority. "You have *TWO choices*. *SURRENDER* now and pledge your loyalty to Lord Hugh, Lord of Ashwood Territory. You will become his servants." He paused, his gaze unwavering and expecting obedience. "The alternative is to remain *DEFIANT* and face the consequences." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a silent threat.
A murmur of anger and despair rippled through the Evergreen survivors. A grizzled warrior, his face streaked with tears and defiance, spat on the ground.
"We will *NEVER* serve those *DOGS* of the Silica Kingdom! And may the ancestors *CURSE* you traitors who *SOLD* us OUT!" His voice, though filled with grief, rang with unwavering *HATRED*.
Others echoed his sentiments, their curses directed at the Silica Kingdom and the Evergreen members who had sided with Thornek. Seneschal Lope's painted face tightened. He snapped his fingers sharply, his earlier boredom vanishing, replaced by a flash of genuine anger.
"*SILENCE*, you insolent heathens!" he shrieked, his voice rising in pitch. "Even I would *WILLINGLY* become Lord Hugh's *MOST devoted* servant! It is an *HONOR* to serve such a *NOBLE* lord! How *DARE* you speak with such *DISRESPECT*
His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the defiant survivors with cold fury. "Sir Lucas, Sir Ryder," he commanded, his voice sharp and clear now, "those who REFUSE to surrender… KILL them. And to make an EXAMPLE, BEHEAD them. Let their defiance be a WARNING to any other savages who DARE to resist Lord Hugh's will."
The two knights nodded curtly, their earlier boredom replaced by the grim efficiency of their duty. They drew their swords, the polished steel glinting ominously in the dappled sunlight, and advanced towards the remaining loyalists.
A woman with trembling hands and tear-filled eyes choked out, "Please... please, we surrender! We will serve Lord Hugh!" Others, their resolve shattered by the brutal efficiency of Thorne's demise and the cold finality of the Seneschal's order, echoed her plea, their voices barely above a whisper.
"Yes... we surrender... please don't kill us..."
But their surrender was met with looks of utter disbelief and scorn from the more resolute survivors. A young warrior, his jaw tight with fury, rounded on those who were kneeling.
"Have you lost your minds?! They murdered Thorne! They will enslave us! Is this how you honor our fallen?!" His voice cracked with a mixture of rage and heartbreak.
Another, an older woman who had stood by Thorne through countless hardships, spat at the kneeling figures.
"Shame on you! Better to die with honor than live as dogs!"
The two Silica Kingdom knights, their expressions cold and devoid of emotion, continued their advance. Without a word, Sir Lucas raised his sword and brought it down in a swift, brutal arc on the neck of the warrior who had just spoken out.
His head thudded to the ground, a gruesome punctuation mark to his defiance. Sir Ryder moved with similar efficiency, felling another of the unyielding survivors.
The sight of the cold, merciless executions sent a fresh wave of terror through those who had chosen to surrender. A collective shudder ran through them. The shame of their capitulation was now compounded by a stark, visceral fear.
They knelt deeper in the dust, their heads bowed, desperately trying to make themselves as small and unthreatening as possible under the indifferent gaze of the knights and the disdainful stare of Seneschal Lope.
Seneschal Lope's gaze swept over the carnage, his eyes lingering on the beheaded bodies of those who had refused to surrender. He turned to Korga, his voice dripping with superiority.
"Are there any other survivors?"
Korga, confident in his own abilities, replied without hesitation. "None, my lord. All of them have been disposed of, except for those who surrendered." He puffed out his chest, taking credit for the supposed victory.
But before Korga could bask in the praise, Thaggar rudely interrupted him. "That's not true, my lord," he said, his voice laced with a hint of ambition. "There are still other survivors, led by the granddaughter of that old man Thorne."
Seneschal Lope's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing Korga like a dagger. Korga's face fell, his confidence shattered by Thaggar's revelation. He bowed his head in shame, his mind racing with venomous thoughts of how to dispose of Thaggar.
Thaggar, oblivious to the danger that had just befallen him, seemed elated. He had found a sure way to climb the ladder, and he was eager to seize the opportunity.
Seneschal Lope's gaze shifted from Korga to Thaggar, his voice dripping with superiority. "Very good, little man. What's your name?"
Thaggar's face lit up with excitement as he replied, "My name is Thaggar, my lord. Son of Thornek and your servant." He bowed low, his eyes shining with ambition.