Game of Thrones: Holy Flame King
Chapter 35: mad dog

  Chapter 35 Mad Dog

   "Cheman, what are you doing!"

   Some tribal leaders seemed to have a premonition, and roared fiercely.

   Chi!

  The long sword pierced into the chest of a tribal leader without hindrance, and the gushing blood spattered Qiman all over.

   "Cheeman! Do you dare to kill us?"

   Chi!

  Qiman answered the questioning with actions, and killed another tribal leader in the blink of an eye.

  The wooden house suddenly boiled, and the remaining leaders cursed and struggled.

  But Cheeman was unmoved, and continued to walk to the next tribal leader.

   "Wait! Chiman, I am willing to surrender, I am willing to surrender..."

   Chi!

  Cheman swung his sword again, as if slaughtering a wild boar.

   "You madman! You traitor! We have already surrendered! Why do you want to kill us!"

   Chi!

   "The warriors of the Longbeard tribe will repay me..."

   Chi!

  …

  The smell of blood filled the closed wooden house, tumbling, mixed with the smell of excrement and urine due to fear, forming an extremely strong, almost suffocating smell.

  Like a slaughterhouse.

   "The Butcher" Cheeman's body was already covered with a thick layer of blood stains, like a bright red armor, which was daunting.

  As the tribal leaders were killed one by one, the wooden house gradually became quiet.

   There is only the last one left—the patriarch of the Blueskin Tribe, Cheman's uncle, Linia.

  Linia stopped speaking at this time, and there was no expression of anger or fear on his face.

   He looked at his nephew standing in front of him, and said indifferently:

"tell me why?"

   Cheeman, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke.

  The voice was hoarse like a rusty sword:

   "For the future of the wildlings."

   "The future of the savages?" Linia, who was already ashamed, suddenly became angry again, "You are killing the future of the savages with your own hands!"

  Cheman shook his head slowly:

   "No, you are the obstacle to the progress of the wildlings."

  Linia was stunned for a moment when he heard such absurd remarks.

  Cheman continued unhurriedly:

"We savages are also descendants of the ancestors and Andals. There is not much essential difference from the people of the River Bay. But thousands of years have passed, and the people of the River Bay have built hundreds of castles, fed tens of millions of people, and organized There are countless powerful armies. But what about us savages?

   We are companions of wild beasts and ignorance, split into hundreds of large and small tribes, fighting each other for a ridiculous territory and prey, but after fighting for so long, what have we won?

   Didn't they only dare to hide in the crimson mountains? Occasionally go out to plunder, and seeing the regular army of the Hewan people, can't they just run away?

  Tell me, uncle, even if I drive the people from the River Bend out of the Crimson Mountains with you this time, so what?

  We will still return to the previous state, stuck in the quagmire of barbarism, ignorance, and backwardness. "

  Linia sneered and said:

   "Could it be that you can change the future of the savages by being a dog for the people of Hewan?"

  Cheman didn't care about the insult in his uncle's words, and still responded flatly:

   "At least, this is the best chance to smash the barriers between the tribes and unite all the savages of the Crimson Mountains."

   "Even so, the future 'Savage King' will be the nobleman of the River Bend, and you are just a mad dog under him!"

   "As long as the savage can break free from the quagmire of savagery and ignorance, so what if I am a mad dog?"

   Linia was silent.

  At the moment when his life was about to come to an end, he seemed to finally understand his nephew.

   Of course, understanding does not mean forgiveness.

  Linia couldn't forgive Cheeman for what he had done, but now, he knew that it was impossible for him to stop his nephew.

  He didn't know whether Cheeman's actions would bring the wildlings into a glorious future, or into an even more desperate abyss.

  But Linia suddenly felt that perhaps it was time to give the wildlings a different leader.

"Don't be a mad dog." Linia suppressed the hatred and anger in his heart, and became earnest, "The people in Hewan asked you to kill us, right? If you kill us, you will reap the hatred of the thirteen tribesmen. If you kill more people in the future, the blood stains on your body will accumulate more and more, until the whole world is an enemy. Therefore, Cheman, control your desire to kill! Otherwise, before the wildlings usher in a bright future, you will have already fallen into the abyss."

   Cheeman twitched the corners of his mouth, with a strange expression on his face:

   "I'm already in the abyss, uncle."

   "It's not too late." Linia persuaded, "The Crimson Mountains are still huge, and it's too late for you to stop now. The future of the wildlings needs you."

   Qiman shook his head: "It's too late, I'm a kinslayer, and I have no future."

  Linia froze for a moment, then thought of her brother-in-law's death, her complexion suddenly changed:

   "You killed your own father?!"

   "There are brothers." Cheeman stepped forward, piercing Linia's chest with the blood-red long sword in his hand, "Now there is another uncle."

  Linia roared wildly, and blood gushed out of his mouth continuously. However, there was not much hatred in his eyes, but a look of great regret:

   "You... why do you... do this kind of thing... detested by the gods..."

  Cheman looked at his panting uncle expressionlessly, and said lightly:

  “I also prayed devoutly to the gods, but it was never answered. So, I decided to give my soul to the devil.”

  Linya seemed to be struggling to say something, but his broken heart was no longer able to support the body, and he spit out the last mouthful of blue blood. He finally tilted his head and remained motionless.

  Cheman stared at his uncle's body in a daze for a while, not knowing what he was thinking.

   It wasn't until the shouting outside the house completely subsided that he turned around and walked to the door, and opened the locked wooden door.

  Hoo—

  The slightly cool night wind came oncoming, but it failed to blow Qiman's hair that had already been covered with solidified blood scabs.

   "Cheman, where is Lord Linia?"

   "And what about the patriarch of our long beard tribe?"

   "And our patriarch, now that the battle is over and we have surrendered, can you release them?"

  …

  Faced with the questioning of the captured savages, Cheeman remained silent.

   It wasn't until everyone saw the blood stains on Qieman's body that they all changed their faces and cursed, and some even rushed forward to fight Qieman with their lives.

  The soldiers hurried forward to stop them, and even killed a few of the most violent ones before they nip this captive riot in the bud.

  At this time, Samwell just walked into the camp surrounded by soldiers.

  The group of savage captives also gradually calmed down, and turned their attention to the River Bend nobleman who was about to decide their fate.

  Samwell first glanced at Cheeman from a distance, and then with a warm smile on his face, he said loudly under the expectant or fearful gazes of the savage captives:

   "Anyone who is willing to surrender, I can pardon your death penalty!"

   The captives were quiet for a while, and then burst into cheers:

   "Thanks to the kind lord!"

   "We are willing to surrender!"

   “We Will Serve!”

  …

  Cheman looked at Samwell, who was being cheered and supported by everyone, with complicated eyes.

   Under the light of the orange fire, the young river bend noble seemed to exude a divine radiance.

   But he could only stand alone in a dark and cold corner, exuding an aura that people despise ghosts.

   Cheman let out a laugh, shook his head, then clasped his right hand on his chest, and said loudly:

   "Loyalty, dedicated to the greatest Caesar!"

   "The Greatest Caesar!"

   "Caesar!"

   "Caesar!"

   "Caesar!"

  …

  The sound of cheering was louder than wave after wave, sweeping across the forest like a strong wind.