On a misty morning in the Brightmoon Mountains, visibility was limited to what was directly in front of one's eyes.
Kopi, son of Gern, walked at the front of the procession. Behind him were the tribe's last three hundred warriors and their families, a silent and weary group, returning home to reclaim their land.
He turned, attempting to dispel the gloom in his tribesmen's hearts with his voice: "We're almost there! My people! No Flatlanders have appeared!"
But at that moment, in the procession, the one-eyed Elder Ji stopped. Her withered finger pointed to the sky.
Kopi, son of Gern, followed her gaze upwards, where several crows circled above the group, cawing hoarsely.
Elder Ji began to murmur: "Blood."
"I smell blood, child. This is not our way home."
Kopi, son of Gern, impatiently interrupted her, picking her up and placing her on a cart: "It's the smell of revenge, old mother."
"Our ancestors will bless us to reclaim everything."
He urged the group forward, entering a canyon with steep walls on both sides. Just as the last woman, holding a child, entered the middle of the canyon, a piercing horn blast suddenly erupted from above, echoing between the mountain walls.
Kopi, son of Gern's heart sank. A tremendous crash came from behind him. He turned in horror to see several huge logs and boulders pushed down from the mountain wall, smashing into the canyon entrance. Debris flew, and dust billowed, completely sealing off their retreat.
It's over! These two words pierced his mind like blades, and his face instantly drained of color.
He had no time for despair. His entire tribe was here. The instinct for survival overwhelmed everything, and he fiercely drew his battle-axe.
He roared in a hoarse voice: "Charge forward!! Out of the canyon!! Kill them all!!!"
The three hundred barbarians, driven by the fear of death, summoned their last ounce of courage. They let out bestial roars, charging recklessly towards the canyon's only exit.
However, when they reached the exit, everyone's steps seemed to be nailed to the ground. In the very center of the exit, Arthur stood calmly on a large rock, his face devoid of expression. Before him was a line of over forty local soldiers.
Everything seemed just as it was when they first met. He wore a simple noble black robe, with that slender longsword hanging at his waist.
Memories flooded back into their minds. Even the barbarian warhorses in the group snorted uneasily, as if they were back in that night of raging fire.
The charging barbarians instantly scattered. The moment they saw the Black Lion himself, all their courage was completely devoured by fear.
They remembered the terror of being dominated by this army last time, they remembered their compatriots who were easily torn apart, and that eerie Black Lion.
Kopi, son of Gern, was also stunned. His hand, gripping the battle-axe, trembled.
He instinctively turned, screaming with all his might: "Go back!! Charge backward!! Break through those logs!!!"
As they turned and ran, countless whistling sounds pierced the air from above the canyon walls on both sides.
Brin, with his longbowmen brothers and crossbow units, began to fire. Arrows and heavy crossbow bolts, with their air-tearing shrieks, rained down from above.
A barbarian warrior, charging at the front, had his beast armor, which was as fragile as paper before the crossbow bolt. The bolt directly pierced him, nailing him firmly to the ground. He didn't even have time to let out a scream.
Another crossbow bolt shot into the chaotic crowd, accurately piercing the chests of two barbarians, skewering them together like kebabs, and sending them tumbling to the ground.
The narrow canyon became a perfect shooting range, a slaughterhouse for the barbarians.
The barbarians had nowhere to hide, nowhere to take cover. Screams, wails of agony. They ran in despair, fell, and were caught by the invitations of death descending from the sky.
Kopi, son of Gern, watched helplessly as his tribesmen fell one by one like harvested wheat. He frantically swung his battle-axe, trying to block the incoming crossbow bolts.
An arrow directly struck his arm. Warm blood flowed, mixing with the tears rolling from the corners of his eyes. The Shuren Tribe was finished.
Suddenly, the deadly whistling stopped.
Inside the canyon, over a hundred barbarian corpses lay scattered in pools of blood. The survivors huddled together like frightened rabbits,
gasping in terror.
The entire canyon was so quiet that only the wind and the groans of the wounded could be heard.
Kopi, son of Gern, stood among the piles of bodies, pulling out the arrow that had struck his arm. He looked at the ground covered with his tribesmen, then at the path home sealed by rolling logs, his heart filled with despair.
The other side had stopped. He didn't know what they intended to do. This sudden halt terrified him more than a continuous massacre. Did the other side intend to torture his tribesmen?
Under the desperate gaze of the surviving tribesmen, Kopi, son of Gern, knew they had no way out. Their path home was cut off, and ahead was that demonic figure.
He threw away his battle-axe and, with his remaining tribesmen, walked step by step, as if going to an execution ground, towards Arthur at the canyon exit.
Watching Kopi, son of Gern, lead his remaining tribesmen to his front, Arthur felt a little emotional. If only the Ironborn were this easy to deal with...
Arthur strode forward, standing before them, and spoke calmly. His voice was not loud, but in the ears of these barbarians, it was more terrifying than the whistle of the crossbow bolts just now.
He pointed to the corpses in the valley: "Swear allegiance to me, or keep them company."
Kopi, son of Gern, trembled. A fierce struggle churned within his heart. The tradition of the High Mountain Clan was never to kneel. For thousands of years, they had never knelt to any king or Flatlanders lord.
As chieftain, he should lead his people to fight to the last man, to return to the embrace of their ancestors in a glorious death. Surrender was a betrayal of their ancestors, a defilement of the tribe's honor.
But he heard the muffled weeping of the women behind him, and he turned to see the fear-filled eyes of the children.
He knew his tribesmen didn't want to die.
Perhaps as chieftain, his greatest responsibility was to ensure the continuation of the tribe's bloodline. He could only tell himself that...
Finally, he slowly and humiliatingly knelt, pressing his forehead to the cold earth: "Kopi, son of Gern, pledges allegiance to the War Chief who conquered my tribe, the Black Lion..."
The words had drained all his strength. Just as Kopi, son of Gern, thought everything was over, Arthur did not reply.
He looked up, puzzled, at Arthur, only to see Arthur wave his hand backward. Several soldiers brought forward over a hundred bound captives, all old and weak. He recognized them; they were all freemen from other tribes.
Arthur drew his sword and pointed its blade at the captives: "I want to see your actions!"
"Kill them!!!!"
"With the blood of your compatriots!!!!"
"Wash away the sins of trespassing on my land!! Prove your loyalty!!"
All the barbarians of the Shuren Tribe were stunned. To make them kill freemen, who were also from the High Mountain Clan—although barbarians fought and killed each other, this was being forced by outsiders to kill their own people. They would completely cut themselves off from the High Mountain freemen, becoming traitors and dogs of the Flatlanders. Kopi, son of Gern, suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief and rage.
Arthur said nothing, but Brin, behind him, had already commanded the crossbowmen on the mountain wall to raise their crank crossbows again,
silently aiming at Kopi, son of Gern, and his tribesmen.
Kopi, son of Gern, understood. Either they killed these hundred-plus people and lived, or they, along with these hundred-plus people, would die together.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, only a beast-like madness and despair remained. He snatched a weapon from a barbarian behind him and was the first to charge at the bound captives.
Led by him, the other warriors of the Shuren Tribe, and even the women and children, let out bestial roars, brandishing their weapons,
and charged.
When the last captive fell in a pool of blood, the entire canyon fell into a deathly silence.
All the barbarians of the Shuren Tribe were covered in blood, their eyes numb, as if their souls had been completely drained. They could never go back.
Kopi, son of Gern, knelt on the ground, trembling. Arthur walked over to him and looked at him.
He announced his reward in a calm tone: "From today on, you are my barbarian tribe. I permit you to live on my land."
"Not only that."
"Your tribe will be free from hunger. As long as you fight for me, I will provide you and your people with food."
"You and your people will always be under my protection."
Arthur placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Now."
"You can go home."
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