章 27: Imminent Clash
We stay put for what feels like hours. The swish of arrows and the labored breathing of my comrades fill the otherwise eerily silent keep. Tension weighs heavy in the air, each of us gripping our weapons tightly, waiting for the inevitable.
Then, a voice echoes from outside. Deep, commanding, and unmistakably Alfred's. The tone carries authority; its words are indecipherable from our position, but it's clear they carry weight. A hush falls over the defenders, and even the arrows cease their deadly flights.
"Let him in!" Henrik's voice booms from below.
The declaration sends a ripple through us. We glance at one another, unsure if we heard correctly. Henrik, standing in the middle of the main hall on the ground floor, leans casually on his warhammer as if he's been expecting this moment all along. He waits, calm and unshaken, for Alfred to face him.
The massive keep doors creak open, the sound reverberating through the silent hall. Hubbert's remaining men work quickly, unbarring and unbolting the barricaded entrance.
My group and I instinctively gather near the railings overlooking the ground floor, eager to witness the unfolding confrontation. Whispers ripple among us, the tension thick enough to choke on. Slowly, the other groups abandon their posts, drawn by the magnetism of what's to come.
Through the now-open doors, a lone figure steps inside. Alfred.
He moves with purpose, his armor gleaming under the dim light, his confident stride amplifying the menace of his towering frame. The soldiers below part like a wave before him, their silence a testament to the sheer weight of his presence.
Above, we grip the railings tighter, unable to look away.
I remember my thoughts from the first time I saw Alfred—a chilling realization striking me. Without hesitation, I dash to the room where Laura and the others are sheltering.
"Laura, you have to see this," I whisper urgently through the door.
"What are you talking about?" She hisses, her tone sharp with disbelief.
"You need to see how Red Frost is used in battle," I insist, my voice rising slightly despite my effort to stay quiet.
A moment later, the door creaks open, and Laura's pale, terrified face peers out. Without waiting for her to protest, I grab her hand and lead her toward the railing, weaving through the gathered crowd.
We manage to secure a decent view of the unfolding scene below. The gathered soldiers glance at me and Laura with curious expressions but remain silent, their focus quickly returning to the tension below.
Alfred, helmet in hand, surveys the keep with the air of a visitor admiring fine architecture. His movements are deliberate, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. His gaze eventually rises to the balcony where we stand. Half the soldiers around us gasp and quickly avert their eyes, cowed by his presence.
Alfred's lips curl into a knowing smile, relishing the reaction. "Nice place," he remarks, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. After a deliberate pause, he raises his tone slightly. "Henrik," he says, drawing out the name as if savoring its weight.
"Alfred," Henrik says, his tone flat, almost dismissive, as though addressing a nuisance.
"I didn't recognize you back there," Alfred replies, his voice laced with mock hurt. "You made me look like a fool. That stings, you know." His tone shifts, feigning sincerity, though his smirk betrays him.
Henrik remains silent, his expression cold and unreadable.
"You've lost your hair but grown quite the magnificent beard, if I do say so myself," Alfred continues, rubbing his chin in mock admiration.
"Your subordinate, Hubbert, is still alive," Alfred continues, his voice calm but laced with an unmistakable edge. "Win or lose, the Blue Claw may have him back—for a price, of course."
"Awfully merciful of you," Henrik replies, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"I wouldn't want to sour my relations with you, old man," Alfred responds, his words unexpectedly polite
The group around us collectively gasps, the tension breaking into a murmur of hushed whispers. Old man? The question ripples through the gathered soldiers. Confusion is palpable as heads turn to Henrik below, searching for answers.
"The day I found you," Henrik begins, his voice heavy with sorrow, "I hoped it would mark the day things changed. A demon raised by a human. But it's my failure that you turned out this way."
Alfred chuckles, the sound cold and mocking. "Would it help if I called you 'father'?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Henrik's sorrow shifts to anger, his voice rising. "I raised you as my own son, and this is how you repay me? By becoming a monster?"
"It's not your fault, old man," Alfred says, his voice calm but laced with condescension. "Ever since I awakened my power—my Red Frost—I just knew I was above everyone else. You're the same, aren't you? Blessed by the Goddess with Blue Flame."
"You tarnish her name with your atrocities!" Henrik roars, his voice echoing through the hall.
Alfred chuckles, the sound cold and dismissive. "It's not my fault. I was born this way. I am strong, and so are you. You're the odd one here, choosing a life of mediocrity. What's your grand purpose these days, anyway? Making horseshoes?"
"Silence, child!" Henrik's voice trembles with anger, each word cutting through the tension. "I found you cowering in the cold! I fed you when you were starving! I named you, for the Goddess's sake!" His fists clench, his shoulders heaving. "I saved you then, and now it will be my duty to put you down."
Alfred's golden locks shimmer as he brushes them back with a nonchalant gesture. A sly smile spreads across his face. "Very well," he says, his voice calm yet taunting. "Show these plebeians what Henrik the Blue Claw is truly capable of."
Henrik erupts into a radiant blue blaze, his magic illuminating the keep like a second sun. Alfred responds in kind, his body engulfed in a crimson aura that pulses with raw intensity. Their opposing magics clash, creating gusts of wind that send dust and loose objects skittering across the ground.
Henrik grips his warhammer tightly, its head glowing faintly in the blue light. Alfred, his massive axe in hand, matches his stance. The air between them crackles with tension, their powers vying for dominance even before a single blow is exchanged.
I glance at Laura. Her eyes are wide, transfixed by the impending clash below. For the first time, she seems completely absorbed by the display of magic, her fear momentarily replaced by awe.
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