Yet they still held their weapons, their eyes devoid of fear, only the exhaustion left after burning everything, a resolve that it was finally ending. Their demeanor was completely different from those wailing and begging bandits.
Twenty soldiers surrounded them, the sharp gleam of their blades flickering in the firelight. No one advanced; they had received orders beforehand to simply corner them, not to engage them in combat.
Tiejiang Bulin watched as the crowd automatically parted to either side, creating a path. A not-so-tall young man slowly approached.
Arthur felt as if he was walking through thin mud melted with blood, each step sinking into the ground. His boots made soft sounds as they stepped in the puddles of blood.
He did not look at the kneeling captives; his gaze passed over everyone, falling directly upon Brin.
Arthur stopped before the encirclement, looking at the man and his nine brothers, who were cornered, and the dozen fearfully trembling bandits they sheltered behind them.
Firelight danced in Arthur's eyes, reflecting the blood-soaked figure. He pulled off his two leather gloves, handed them to a respectfully waiting soldier, and took the first Lion Sword forged in Lions Den from Hakon's hand.
"Tiejiang Bulin." The camp was already silent. Arthur's voice was calm, easily reaching every corner of the camp. "Lay down your weapons, and kneel before me. I will pardon your resistance."
Brin was silent for a long time. He was somewhat shocked, not expecting Arthur to actually want to recruit him. It was so long that the soldiers around Arthur began to tremble with pre-slaughter anticipation, and his brothers beside him began to shift their supporting feet uneasily.
Then, he uttered a hoarse sound: "I will not kneel again."
Brin raised his head, looking directly at Arthur, his eyes full of an unresolvable weariness. He reiterated: "Nor will I ever kneel to any noble again."
Arthur did not get angry; he simply listened quietly. Finally, he paused, a hint of regret in his voice: "Even if…."
"You are loyal to me, and serve me."
"I promise to help you complete your unfinished revenge?"
The firelight shone on Brin's face, covered in blood and sweat. Upon hearing "revenge," the flame in his eyes leaped fiercely, then dimmed again. A noble taking revenge for a lowly commoner against another noble—he smiled bitterly and shook his head, an undisguised expression of distrust.
How could such a thing happen in this world?
Brin plunged his greatsword into the ground, the tip deeply embedded in the mud. His tall frame leaned on his longsword, as if supporting his weary body: "I once knelt to my lord, was conscripted by him nine times to go to war, and even blocked an enemy's sword for him."
"I fulfilled my duty! I kept my oath! What did I get in return! He betrayed his promise to protect my family! He personally took everything from me!"
"Everything is dog-shit! The Seven Gods! The Old Gods! Everything!"
Arthur interrupted Brin's endless stream of curses, which had already reached the level of kings and high priests, and slowly spoke: "What about your brothers?"
Brin glanced at his scarred brothers beside him, and for the first time, there was a hint of plea in his voice: "I heard people praising you. If you are truly merciful, and not just a false pretense, then spare my nine brothers. They are all excellent warriors, no worse than me, and can fight for you."
"And these people behind me, they intended to go down the mountain, but I… I stopped them. The responsibility is mine. Let them reunite with their families; they can farm the land for you."
His nine companions looked at Brin with red eyes, then slowly lowered their heads. No one spoke again. The bandits sheltered behind them also remained silent,
Bowing their heads deeply.
Arthur was silent: "Very well. What about you?"
"I only ask for death." Brin raised his head, looking at Arthur, a sad smile on his face as he spoke. "Please let me reunite with my family."
Then, he let out a hoarse, bitter laugh, as if squeezed from deep within his chest. His voice sounded like two rusty iron plates grating against each other: "I should have died long ago."
"On the day my wife and child died, I should have died."
"My soul died at that moment."
"Now, what lives on in this world is merely a walking corpse."
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