LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 68: Wulfgar Crowls
***Daeranyx POV***
I dismounted the shaggy goat I had been riding and entered the camp, which would serve as our temporary home. Lord Stane and Lord Magnar were giving instructions to the men who had traveled with us, preparing food and sending out scouts now and then to notify us if they spotted Lord Crowls. After some days since the raiders had been defeated, I decided it was time for us to meet the last lord of Skagos. Before taking any significant steps, I wanted to establish a stronghold of my own—and build a castle that my vassals would need to defend themselves from raiders and my domain.
I sat near the campfire, lit to combat the cold air, and reflected on my time in Planetos so far. It has been almost a year and a half since I arrived in this world, most of which I dedicated to honing my magical and physical skills. As I pondered my situation, I concluded that, deep down, I fear this world is far more dangerous than I have seen or read about. If I want to live peacefully, I will need to become powerful enough to earn the freedom not granted to everyone here. Additionally, ROB's words about how the world balances itself served as another reminder that I must train harder.
I emerged from my thoughts when Lord Stane and Lord Magnar took their seats before me, placing their weapons on their laps. "What troubles you, King Daeranyx?" Lord Stane asked, curiosity evident in his eyes. "You didn't hear when one of them called out to you. You must be deep in thought or something is bothering you," he continued, noting the confusion that sprang up in me at his question.
"He must be thinking about how to convince the Crowls to kneel," Lord Magnar interjected before I could respond. "I bet three unicorns that Wulfgar will accept his proposal. What do you say, Lord Stane?"
"No, I won't be foolish enough to take you up on that, knowing the Crowls," Lord Stane replied, declining the bet logically. Lord Magnar laughed at Stane's response and resumed staring into the campfire.
"If you two are so certain about what Lord Crowls will choose, then why are we here?" I asked, genuinely curious. I intended to take Skagos as peacefully as possible, without bloodshed. But they both know that I will not hesitate to remove anyone if they defy me.
"Because it doesn't cost us anything to have a conversation before extinguishing a noble house with a long history," Lord Stane pointedly remarked, looking at Lord Magnar. Magnar merely grunted in response. "And if he refuses, as we suspect, then we will need an army to defeat him in battle. You and your dragon are enough to put Crowls down," Lord Stane asserted firmly, though I could detect a conflict in his eyes.
***_***
Lord Crowl sat astride his shaggy goat, a grim scowl etched into his face as his men flanked him, each mounted on the same rugged beasts. On our side, there was a stark contrast—most of the soldiers stood on foot, lacking mounts of their own. It was clear that House Crowl possessed more of these formidable "unicorns" than both Stane and Magnar combined. While I balked at calling these creatures unicorns, I couldn't deny their value as mounts. From personal experience, I knew they were fearless, charging headlong into danger without hesitation and wielding their horns with deadly precision. Passing up their potential for cavalry would be folly.
As I surveyed Lord Crowl's entourage, my gaze landed on the man standing beside him. Unlike the armored men at his back, this figure was clad in rough animal furs, a stark contrast to the others. His steel weapon marked him as no mere scavenger, but the stone dagger tucked conspicuously into his makeshift belt betrayed his origins— "wilding", or 'free folks' as they called themselves. It was a surprise to see a wildling standing at Lord Crowl's side, and from the scowls on the faces of Stane and Magnar, it was clear they both did not see the man either and were also not happy to see him by Crowl's side. Their barely concealed disdain mirrored the animosity in the air.
"I know why you've come," Lord Crowl said, his voice laced with disdain as he surveyed us. "What a disgrace—'Stoneborn Lords' bending the knee to an outsider without a drop of First Men blood in his veins." His words were sharp, cutting, and his anger flared as he shook his head. "Your ancestors fought tooth and nail for freedom, not just theirs but for their people's. And here you are, pissing on their sacrifices with your feeble decisions. But fret not. After I kill you, your so-called king, and these traitors, I will ensure your lands are ruled by those who still value freedom."
The wildling at his side smirked maliciously, clearly enjoying his lord's tirade.
Lord Stane's face darkened, his fury barely held in check. "Arrogance and stupidity must run thick in Crowl's blood," he shot back icily. "It was foolish of me to think you'd be an exception, Wulfgar. My ancestors fought yours not purely for freedom, but because they knew that if Crowls became kings they would doom us and the whole Skagos. And you proved that they were right by bringing the enemy here. Enemies who've slaughtered our people since the creation of the wall. At least we know better than to break bread with those who murder 'Stoneborn.'" Stane spat on the ground, a deliberate gesture of disgust.
Lord Magnar, less inclined to temper his rage, let out a low growl. "I warned you we should've burned them in their mountain caves. At least we wouldn't have to stomach this now." His hands tightened around his axe, his knuckles white with the strain. "Still, there's some satisfaction to be had. Gutting you on the battlefield, Wulfgar will be a pleasure."
He turned his goat sharply, ready to leave, but a mocking laugh from Lord Crowl made him halt and glance back, eyes blazing.
"Magnar, I heard you have a daughter I'm sure she" Crowl sneered, "will make a fine Lady Crowl when this is over—if she's fortunate."
It took every ounce of restraint from Stane and his men to hold Magnar back as he reached for his axe, ready to strike Crowl down. Crowl, unfazed, sneered one last time. "If you think that beast your outsider king brought will save you, then I'll delight in showing you otherwise tomorrow. On the battlefield." With that, he wheeled his goat and departed, his entourage following close behind, leaving behind an air of hostility and disdain.
As Crowl disappeared into the distance, Stane frowned, his expression heavy with thought. "Wulfgar is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He wouldn't face us so openly if he didn't think he had something to counter your dragon, King Daeranyx," he said, his tone cautious.
I met his gaze, calm but resolute. "Perhaps. But you've seen what Anarion is capable of. Whatever he believes he has to harm a dragon, it's unlikely to matter. There are only a handful of things in existence that could even scratch a dragon's scales, and none of them are to be found on Skagos—or even in Westeros. Let Wulfgar think he's ready. Tomorrow, he'll find that the one caught off guard will be him, not us."
I think it is time I test my magical skills which I am honing up until now.
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Next day, Midday
Mountains near 'Kinghouse' seat of House Crowls
Daeranyx POV
Lord Crowl stood with his force—a formidable assembly of at least one thousand five hundred men by my estimation. Behind me, the combined armies of Lords Stane and Magnar numbered only six hundred, though they assured me this was but half their full strength. A minor comfort, perhaps, though not enough to quell the tension in the air.
I turned my attention to the terrain. Behind us stretched an open expanse, flanked by distant mountains. Ahead lay flat ground leading to a narrow gap between two towering peaks. This gap, a natural choke point, was Crowl's chosen battleground. It was an ideal retreat path should their plan to neutralize Anarion fail. A narrow corridor such as this could protect their retreating forces, even against the might of dragonfire. From above, Anarion's flames might not even reach them at all, should they slip into the caverns beyond.
The two lords at my side, Stane and Magnar, eyed the enemy with a mix of determination and unease. Their gazes occasionally darted skyward, seeking reassurance in Anarion's presence. Without him, our chances against a force twice our size were grim.
But I didn't need Anarion to win this battle. What intrigued me was Crowl's plan. The presence of the Wildlings—a smaller contingent of roughly three hundred—was telling. Their role was clear: they intended to neutralize Anarion. It didn't take much deduction to piece together their strategy, but I was curious to see how my dragon would respond. With a mental command, I called for him to join us.
Minutes later, a guttural roar echoed through the mountains. Anarion descended from the clouds, his presence igniting cheers from our troops. Their morale soared as they beheld the silver-scaled dragon. Across the battlefield, panic rippled through Crowl's forces. Yet amidst their fear, the Wildling leader locked eyes with one of his men, who nodded grimly. The chosen man stepped forward, his eyes turning an eerie, glazed white. I smiled at the fool's audacity and waited to see how worse his end would be.
Anarion's reaction was instant and furious. He roared, shaking the very earth beneath us. The Wildling's eyes glowed blood-red, and within seconds, blood poured from his mouth, nose, and ears. A moment later, his head exploded like a bursting wineskin, showering his comrades in gore. Screams and chaos erupted within Crowl's ranks. Their supposed weapon had not only failed but provoked an overwhelming display of Anarion's raw power.
The Wildling leader's expression shifted from confidence to terror. Crowl himself barked orders for retreat, and his force began moving toward the narrow gap.
"They're heading for the caverns," Lord Stane said urgently. "Once they're inside, they'll be nearly impossible to root out."
"Indeed, we cannot allow that," I replied earlier smile not leaving my face.
Drawing my wand, I ignored the skeptical glances from the two lords. There was no time to explain. With a flick of my wrist, I whispered the incantation.
"Protego Diabolica."
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