Chapter 406: The Blood Ties
Marlon’s breath came in ragged gasps, each one sharp as broken glass. His vision blurred at the edges, darkening with the creeping weight of exhaustion and blood loss. But still, he refused to fall. He would not show weakness—not while men still stood, not while the city of Carles lay under threat.
Hector stood beside him, his face streaked with grime, eyes narrowed toward the ridgeline of Mount Roca—just beyond the jagged outcrops that framed the plateau like jagged teeth. There, amid the last golden embers of twilight, shadows emerged from the treeline.
They moved like ghosts—bows still drawn, cloaked in earth-colored garb that melted into the background.
A sudden gust caught the edge of one cloak, flaring it just enough to reveal a sigil Hector did not recognize: a firebird, wings outstretched, flame trailing from its tail.
But it wasn’t the symbol that stopped Hector cold.
It was the man beneath it. His back was straight and his presence commanding.
"By the gods..." Hector breathed. "That’s General Odin."
Marlon’s head snapped up, pain momentarily forgotten. "Odin?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "He... he came."
As the figures drew closer, the truth became undeniable.
At the front was General Odin, a towering presence clad in blackened steel, a longbow slung across his back, and a sword sheathed at his side.
Beside him were his sons—Asael, Galahad, Bener, Gideon, and Percival—grim and silent, their eyes scanning every shadow, arrows nocked and ready to strike. They were born of battle, shaped by Odin’s unrelenting discipline.
Just behind them, moving with the effortless grace of a huntress, was Lara. Her hair, bound tightly in a topknot, was soaked with sweat and dust. Her twin wolves, Gray and Snow, padded at her flanks like silent sentinels.