Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 50: An opportunity offered by God

Chapter 50: An opportunity offered by God

Tobias keeps his distance, his boots crunching softly against the forest floor as he trails Amari, Freyr, and Apollo. The trio’s hurried movements betray their desperation, weaving through narrow pathways that seem etched into the mountainside. Tobias remains calm, his hand occasionally brushing the revolver at his hip, his sharp eyes calculating the next move.

Back at the battleground, Erling struggles to his feet, his metallic armor fractured, and his breaths labored. Blood seeps from the exposed cracks in his skin. Though determined, his body falters as he begins his slow march toward the castle.

Every step feels heavier than the last, and he soon collapses onto the side of the road, his vision blurring. A few civilians rush over, drawn by the echoes of explosions. Their eyes widen at the sight of Erling’s battered state. Without hesitation, they work to stabilize him, using strips of fabric to stem the bleeding and offering water to soothe his pain.

Erling mumbles faintly, barely able to register the aid. His consciousness teeters on the brink as the civilians share hushed, frantic words about the battle they heard.

"Is he the one who fought the stranger?" whispers a middle-aged woman.

"I think so," replies another, her hands shaking as she presses a cloth to Erling’s wounds. "The explosions were terrifying. Who could possibly match his strength?"

Two figures arrive swiftly—a pair of Erling’s friends, their expressions grim as they take in the scene. The taller one, Fjorn, kneels by Erling’s side, his hand resting gently on the warrior’s shoulder. The shorter, stockier friend, Rurik, scans the area for any signs of the attacker.

"What happened?" Fjorn asks, his voice tight with anger.

"He was fighting... fighting someone who was powerful," one civilian explains hesitantly. "We came as soon as we heard the noise."

Another civilian speaks up, her voice trembling. "It could be the man who killed those five men earlier today."

Fjorn and Rurik exchange shocked glances. The weight of the news only fuels their determination. Rurik stands tall, his hands clenched into fists.

"We need to find him," Rurik declares. "Spread the word—let everyone know we’re hunting the one responsible."

The civilians nod, quickly dispersing to relay the message to the rest of the village. Meanwhile, a young boy hesitantly steps forward. His eyes are red from crying, and his small hands grip the fabric of his shirt tightly.

"My father... he was one of the men killed," the boy whispers, his voice thick with grief. "Please, let me come with you. I want to see the man who did this."

Fjorn kneels to the boy’s level, his gaze soft yet resolute. "I understand your pain. But this hunt is no place for you. We’ll find him and bring him back. When we do, you’ll have the chance to honor your father yourself."

Fjorn and Rurik move swiftly through the village outskirts, their determined expressions set against the dimming evening sky. The villagers they pass whisper among themselves, the news spreading quickly. Those who heard the details exchange uneasy glances, their voices laced with concern. The name Tobias Creed begins to carry weight among them—some as a warning, others as a curse.

As Fjorn tightens his cloak against the cold breeze, his mind lingers on the encounter with the boy. The grief etched into the child’s face plays over and over in his thoughts, an uncomfortable reminder of how close this conflict has come to shattering their community.

"The boy’s eyes," Fjorn mutters, breaking the silence. His tone is low but heavy. "So young, yet already filled with something he shouldn’t have to carry."

Rurik, walking beside him with heavy strides, grits his teeth. "I keep thinking about what he said," Rurik growls. "’Let me come with you.’ A kid, Fjorn. He wants to take vengeance with his own hands. What kind of monsters have we allowed to roam among us?"

Fjorn pauses, glancing at his friend. "Do you think we’ve failed them? The boy, his father, the others? Letting that man come here, letting it escalate this far..."

Rurik exhales sharply, shaking his head. "It’s not failure—not yet. We’ll make this right. But only if we act now. That man—Creed—he’s more dangerous than we imagined. If he’s willing to tear apart lives just for gold, then he won’t stop unless we stop him."

The two men continue their search, their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of Tobias. As they move deeper into the forested edge of the village, they slow, their senses on high alert. The area is eerily quiet, save for the crunch of their boots on the ground and the distant call of nocturnal birds.

"He’s clever," Fjorn murmurs. "He’ll know we’re after him. I’d bet he’s already a step ahead, watching and waiting for the right moment."

Rurik nods grimly. "Then we’ll have to be smarter. He won’t slip through our fingers, not after what he’s done."

A rustling sound breaks the stillness, and both men freeze. Fjorn gestures for Rurik to follow as they move toward the source of the noise. It turns out to be a deer darting through the underbrush, but it leaves both men on edge. Their tension is palpable.

"That boy," Fjorn says quietly as they resume their search. "He’s what’s driving me right now. If nothing else, we owe him justice for what he’s been through."

Rurik glances sideways at his companion. "And his father. A man trying to protect his family, cut down because someone brought death to our doorstep. I’ll be damned if I let that go unpunished."

They press on, the forest growing darker around them. Every now and then, they encounter villagers who have taken up the call, some holding lanterns, others armed with makeshift weapons. Fjorn and Rurik issue instructions, directing them to spread out and cover more ground.

As the search intensifies, the weight of their mission grows heavier. It’s no longer just about finding Tobias Creed; it’s about restoring a sense of safety and dignity to a village that has seen too much loss.

...

Freyr, Apollo, and Amari arrive at the castle gates, their hurried steps echoing on the stone pathway. Freyr’s face is flushed with worry as she approaches the guards stationed at the entrance, their imposing figures blocking the way. She steps forward, her voice trembling but resolute.

"Please, we need your help!" Freyr exclaims, gesturing toward Amari and Apollo. "There’s chaos in the village—a stranger attacked Prince Erling, and others are in danger!"

The guards exchange skeptical looks, their expressions hardening as their gaze shifts to Amari and Apollo. The air grows tense, and Freyr senses their judgment before it’s even voiced.

"Who are they?" one guard asks, nodding toward the two men. "Foreigners, I see. Have you brought trouble to our gates?"

Freyr shakes her head vehemently. "No, they’re innocent! They were with me—they’re only trying to help. Amari has nothing to do with the attack, and Apollo—"

The guard interrupts, his voice sharp. "Save your breath. Foreigners have a way of stirring trouble wherever they go. It’s no coincidence that chaos follows in their wake."

Apollo steps forward, his tone calm yet firm. "We mean no harm. We came here seeking refuge, not blame."

Amari remains silent, his face a mask of restrained anger as the guards continue to scrutinize him. One of them steps closer, pointing a finger at him.

"Isn’t it convenient," the guard says with a sneer, "that you show up right when the village is under attack? I don’t believe in coincidences. Arrest them."

Freyr gasps, stepping between the guards and the two men. "You can’t! They haven’t done anything wrong!"

The guards push her back, their resolve unyielding. Amari and Apollo are seized, their hands bound with rough ropes. Freyr pleads with them, desperation coloring her voice.

"They’re innocent! You’re making a mistake—please listen to me!"

One guard narrows his eyes at her. "Get away from here, or we’ll take you in as well."

Freyr stands her ground for a moment, her heart pounding as the guards haul Apollo and Amari toward the castle’s interior. Eventually, she is forced to retreat, her voice breaking as she calls out after them. The gates close behind her, leaving her stranded outside the imposing structure. Tears well up in her eyes as she turns to find shelter, her mind racing for a plan.

From the shadows nearby, Tobias watches the scene unfold. His sharp eyes track every movement, lingering on Amari as he’s led away. Tobias’s lips curl into a thoughtful smirk, his hand instinctively touching the revolver at his side.

"Guess they did half my job for me," he mutters to himself. "Reckon I’ll need some time to heal before I make my move."

He scans the area, his gaze settling on one of the houses near the castle—quiet, unassuming. He approaches cautiously, his footsteps muffled by the soft dirt.

Inside the house, a young boy sits alone in his room, immersed in a book. The faint creak of the door hinges catches his attention, and he looks up, startled. Tobias steps into the room, his revolver drawn and aimed at the boy.

"Keep quiet," Tobias says, his voice low and unwavering. "I ain’t afraid to shoot a child, ’specially one who ain’t of God. You understand me?"

The boy freezes, his wide eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun. Tobias motions for him to stay seated, his tone softening just enough to remove the edge of menace.

"Now listen, kid. You don’t say a word, you don’t move, and nobody gets hurt. You got that?"

The boy nods slowly, his book trembling in his hands. Tobias lowers the revolver slightly, keeping it ready while his sharp gaze surveys the room.

"This’ll do for now," Tobias mutters under his breath, glancing around. "Reckon it’s best to wait ’til I’m good as new before I make my move."

He settles into the shadows of the room, his presence imposing as the boy remains frozen in place, too terrified to even breathe loudly.