Chapter 15: Shrouded by Ragnar
The tent flap burst open with a sudden gust of cold wind.
Singha Ragnar stood at the threshold, silhouetted by torchlight, his wide frame flanked by two grim-faced warriors. His eyes were sharp with greed and power. The firelight danced across the edge of his jagged blade, catching the glint of bloodstains long dried into the metal.
"Well," he said, his voice slow and confident, "I think it's time we had a proper conversation."
Before Marko could speak, before even the air could settle from Singha's entry, the earth trembled under the synchronized steps of Ragnar's entire warband—more than a hundred battle-hardened men. Their boots thundered across the campgrounds like a marching storm. Within minutes, the brakkar tribe's tent grounds were surrounded.
Soldiers of the Ragnar tribe formed a tight ring, steel-tipped spears lowered in unison, torches in hand, and Longma—fearsome dragon-horses with glimmering scales and steaming breath—snorted at the front lines. They looked like beasts summoned from a nightmare.
Marko stepped in front of his family. His sabar—long and curved like the crescent moon—was already in his hands. His body trembled, not from fear, but rage. Behind him were his wife Sofia, his teenage daughter Maria, and his younger sister Lily.
Singha's sharp eyes darted toward the back, where Sofia clutched Maria to her chest.
"My friends," Singha called out mockingly, "I know what you are hiding. Give me that… precious little thing, and I'll spare your tribe. I'll let your wife, your daughter, and your sister live. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"
Marko did not answer. Instead, he motioned backward, urgently whispering to Lily, "Take Maria. Get out of here. Find Tyris. Maybe he can help."
Lily's face went pale. "But—"
"No time! Run!"
Sofia nodded and helped push them away through the side of the tent, ducking beneath the folds. Marko raised his sabar and stepped forward, shielding the exit with his body.
But escape in the face of such numbers was near impossible. Outside, thirty of Singha's elite cavalry warriors had already dismounted. Their Longma beasts hissed and stomped, armored riders moving like flowing rivers of death. Trained for war, each soldier was lethal, and they closed in like a tightening net.
A shout rang from somewhere in the camp:
"Do not let them escape! Kill anyone who resists!"
Singha walked forward slowly, savoring the tension like a hunter watching a trapped animal. "Why struggle, Marko? Hmm? Your stubbornness will be your people's ruin. Tch… Such a shame. Watching this—ahh, it breaks my heart."
Lily turned to Maria. "We make a break for the outer gate. Straight through them."
Maria hesitated. "Yes! I—I'll follow you!"
Hand-in-hand, they burst out, slamming into the cold night, cutting through panicked villagers and scattered flames. But the ring was nearly sealed.
Outside, fire and screams filled the air. brakkar's peaceful festival had transformed into a massacre. The smell of roasted meat was now mixed with burnt fabric and blood. The music had stopped hours ago. The laughter was gone.
Lily and Maria fought tooth and nail through soldiers, ducking under swinging swords, dodging arrows. They clawed through toward the eastern gate.
At the entrance, four massive warriors in blackened armor blocked their path, weapons drawn. Each carried a heavy two-handed sword and wore helmets shaped like a wolf's snarl.
From behind, another wave of soldiers cornered them.
Back at the center of the camp, Marko and Sofia stood side by side, encircled. Bloodied and bruised, they had been disarmed and tied with thick ropes. Soldiers dragged them to the central square, where terrified brakkar villagers had been gathered—some weeping, some bleeding, all kneeling under guard.
Marko's eyes scanned the crowd, looking for his sister and daughter. But when he spotted Maria being dragged in by the hair, his heart shattered.
They didn't make it.
Singha stood before him, arms crossed.
"Such a tragedy, Marko. This was all so avoidable." He leaned close, his hot breath thick with wine. "You have the map. I know it. I want it."
Marko spit at his feet.
Singha smiled. "That stubborn jaw. Just like when you are young"
He turned to his men. "Search the bodies. Search the tents. Tear down the entire camp if you must! The map must be here."
Minutes later, a soldier came rushing through the smoke.
"My lord! A woman escaped. She ran into the woods."
Singha's face twisted in fury. "What? Escaped?! One of them?!"
The soldier hesitated. "Yes… the younger woman. The girl, Lily."
Singha turned toward Marko and whispered, "So that's how you play it… sending your sister to Tyris. Hah. Let me tell you something."
He leaned in closer, drawing a thin ceremonial dagger from his hip. "I came to you first with peace. I came offering a marriage alliance—my son with your daughter. But that wild guy copped my son's arm and taking him as hostage. And my plan is got fucked-up"
Marko sneered through the blood running from his mouth. "Your son was a brute and a rapist. He got what he deserved."
Singha's eyes darkened. "Did you really think I, Lord of the Ragnar tribe, would care about that crazy ass son? I am the the Lord of Ragnar Tribe and I have more than one women who are ready to get down for me"
He laughed. "My blood runs in many warriors. Dozens of sons.Can that little brat stop me by taking my son as hostage, huh? Your tribe will fall today as well as that little brat. Also that Map will belong to me."
Marko didn't flinch. "You'll never find the map."
Singha hissed in frustration. He raised his dagger and drove it into Marko's left palm.
Marko let out a grunt of pain, biting his lip to keep from screaming.
Suddenly, Singha turned and yanked Sofia by the arm. Her hands were bound, her face smeared with ash and tears. Without warning, without mercy, he pulled her head back and sliced her throat open.
Blood sprayed across Marko's chest.
"NO!" he screamed, thrashing against his bindings. "WHY?! Sofia!! Why?! Please… please—why?!"
The tribe looked on in horror. Some women sobbed. Children wailed.
Maria screamed, trying to run toward her mother, but was held back by a soldier.
Singha walked over to Maria now, his dagger still wet with Sofia's blood. He knelt in front of her.
"Shhh," he whispered, licking the blade, "Don't cry, little princess. Uncle will take care of you now."
He brought his filthy face close to hers, letting the blade trace her cheek. "You'll sleep warm. You'll eat fine. Maybe you'll even smile one day."
Marko was sobbing now, tears and blood mixing on his face. "Please… kill me. Kill me! But let her go. She knows nothing. She's just a child! Please… please, I'm begging you."
Singha looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"But Marko, my friend. You asked me to let her live. That's what I'm doing." He laughed cruelly. "You never said anything about freedom. Besides… people who are going to the underworld shouldn't talk so much."
Then, with a practiced motion, Singha raised his ox-horn spear—its tip made from the sharpened remains of an ancient beast—and rammed it straight into Marko's chest.
The spear went through him entirely.
Marko's body convulsed. His mouth opened wide, but no sound came out. Blood bubbled from his lips. His eyes locked on Maria—his last breath not of pain, but of helplessness.
"Faaatheeer!!!" Maria screamed.
Singha slowly pulled the spear out, flicking blood off the blade.
He turned to the soldiers. "Take the girl. And let's move. The map's not here. It's with the one who escaped—Lily."
He stroked Maria's hair mockingly. "Don't be afraid, little one. You'll learn to be happy."
The soldiers dragged Maria toward the outer gate. Her tears streaked her cheeks, her cries lost in the sound of burning tents and the wails of the dying.
At the edge of the camp, just beyond the broken gate, a figure stood quietly.
Tyris.
He sat atop his white wolf, cloak fluttering in the wind. His eyes burned like twin suns, fixed on the scene before him—flames devouring the brakkar tribe, the mutilated bodies of men, and the chaos left behind by Singha.
He gritted his teeth as he saw Maria being dragged, her father's blood still on her clothes.
The white wolf snarled beside him.
Lily emerged from behind a collapsed wagon, bloodied and bruised but alive. She ran to Tyris, panting.
"They… they are coming. Th-they killed .....a-al-l our [Tyris Stopped her]."
Tyris nodded. "I know."