Gun of Ashes

Chapter 995 - 41: Land Where the Wind Dies (Part 4)

"What’s there?" Bola asked, making Froki pause, and he laughed helplessly, "I don’t know either."

"You don’t know!"

Bola shouted, feeling like he’d been played. Froki had done so much, yet didn’t even know what his goal was. It was ridiculous.

The uncontrollable roar revealed Bola’s actions, and as he roared, he seized the opportunity to attack. Froki had his back turned, the conversation deceiving him, and Bola thrust the broken steel in his hand.

It was a piece of a severed barrel that Bola had secretly hidden earlier. He used his palm to push the barrel, stabbing its sharp edge toward Froki.

Thunder and torrential rain became his best cover. Rather than knowing what lay at the end of the light trail, Bola wanted more to kill Froki for revenge.

All that was heard was the whistling of the wind, lightning illuminating Froki’s face.

During previous negotiations, Bola, as a recorder, had always stayed very far. Even the recent battle had been blurred by rain. Only now, as he got infinitely closer to Froki, did Bola truly see his appearance.

It was a weather-beaten face, scars between the beards, skin wrinkled by the passage of time, yet the eyes were as clear as gemstones.

Froki suddenly turned, bracing Bola’s strike with his arm guard, then grabbed Bola’s hand, feeling as if it were caught by pliers. Bola was dragged up, and Froki’s knee forcefully struck Bola’s abdomen.

Bola wailed, retching gastric juices. Froki’s other hand gripped a silver revolver, using his elbow to fiercely smash Bola’s arched back.

The feeling was like being hit with a hammer; Bola fell to the deck, curling up, trembling in pain.

"I won’t kill you."

Froki repeated once more, but this time he provided his reason.

"Many years ago, when we Vikings fought, we would hire minstrels. We might die in battle, but more precious was having someone to sing of our heroics."

"You think I’ll become your minstrel?"

Bola endured the pain and rose again. He faced Froki with little chance of victory, hoping for other soldiers, but now madness was consuming everyone.

"You will," Froki said mockingly, "not only that, you must remember every detail of this moment so you can report back, right?"

Froki had thought it all through, cunning and deceitful, but in the next moment, he shouted excitedly.

"This is a scene that exists only in mythology. We’ve now been honored as part of that mythology... I need someone to record all of it, take it out, tell others."

Froki laughed, this time it was a genuine smile, his expression fierce like a dire wolf.

"Does what’s at the end of the light trail matter?"

He spoke calmly.

"Just like those early explorers, when they charted nautical charts, did they wonder what was there?"

Froki seemed to be asking Bola, yet also making a self-contemplation.

"No, there wasn’t. What’s there isn’t important. If a reason must be given, it’s merely because the chart shows it as uncharted, and that’s enough!"

Froki laughed heartily; he hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

"Full speed ahead!"

He shouted.

Brilliant light bathed the icy land, observing everyone, turning every face into a magnificent starry shadow, with unknown songs carried by the wind, leading people into a beautiful slaughter.

Blood and bodies plunged into the deep sea, offering devout sacrifices to the gods, and a huge shadow moved beneath the ice, until it covered the entire Horned Whale.