A beast without a collar

I will upload the chapter now because tomorrow I will have problems to upload it at the usual time.

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In case anyone is interested, I decided to write a story to distract me from the research I do for some chapters of this fanfic, it's called Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion, it's more violent because there is no need to keep up appearances.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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-Pov of Mervyn tenth moon 288 AC

"Row, damn it, row like dishonor is chasing us!" I shouted, watching as our small boat approached the shore. The rowers' arms moved with desperation as the sound of waves crashing against the wood filled the air. Ahead of us, the Ironborn's defensive line was already preparing. They knew we were trying to land, and they would do anything to make sure every meter we gained cost blood.

I could feel the tension in the air. Many of my men were nervous, but there was no time for that. The Ironborn steel awaited us on the beach, and I wasn't about to let fear paralyze them.

"Row faster, damn you!" I shouted again, as the first arrows began flying from the shore. The whistle of projectiles cut through the air, splashing into the water around us, with some striking the shields we had raised along the sides of the boat. "Shields up!" I commanded, as my men quickly covered themselves.

We were closing in, and the shadows of the Ironborn warriors became more visible. They knew their only chance was to repel us on the beach, because once we gained solid footing on the sand, it would only be a matter of time before we overwhelmed them with numbers.

"Prepare for the clash," I muttered, drawing my sword and raising it into the air.

My men continued rowing in time with the drums pounding from one of the rear boats. The steady, powerful rhythm echoed in our ears, keeping us focused as we drew closer and closer to the shore. I could see arrows still raining down around us, but our shields held firm.

When we finally reached shallow waters, just deep enough that the water only came up to our knees, I didn't hesitate. "Jump, damn it!" I shouted. The cold water welcomed us, but it didn't matter. Adrenaline surged through our veins. Without losing time, we formed a line, shields up, and marched forward with purpose.

In front of us, the Ironborn stood ready, prepared for our onslaught. I could see them clearly now: hardened men, toughened by the sea and battle, wielding axes and swords, ready to defend every inch of that beach.

"Form the line! Stay together and get ready to charge!" I barked orders as we moved forward, the water licking at our legs. I knew our discipline was our advantage, and if we held together, we would crush them.

"GOTT MIT UNS!" I roared with all my strength, leading my men in the charge as we advanced against the Ironborn. My blood boiled with battle lust, and the war cry echoed across the beach. The water splashed around us as our feet crashed through the waves, driving us toward either death or victory.

Before the clash, we unleashed a volley of crossbow bolts that whistled through the air like a dark storm, descending upon the Ironborn with deadly precision. Screams of pain and the thud of bodies hitting the ground echoed before we even met them face-to-face. I knew our crossbows were an advantage they couldn't match.

Yet, the Ironborn archers kept firing, their arrows still flying, though now disorganized and weakened by our attack. Arrows flew toward us, but our shields were raised.

"Forward! For God and victory!" I bellowed as my sword lifted high. When we finally clashed with them, the sound of steel striking steel filled the air, and the chaos of close combat began. My men, disciplined and fierce, crashed into the Ironborn with an unstoppable fury. I lunged at the first one in my path, a burly warrior wielding an axe with both hands. I intercepted his swing with my shield and, in a quick motion, drove my sword into his throat. He gurgled and fell, but there was no time to think—another one was already coming at me.

The clash of swords and the thunderous clang of metal rang out all around us. It was all resolved by steel, blood, and sheer brute force. With every moment that passed, more of our reinforcements were landing, adding to the line of battle like an unrelenting tide of warriors and shields.

"Hold the line! Keep pushing forward!" I yelled, as another group of soldiers leaped from the ships and sprinted toward us, taking their place in the formation. The Ironborn, though fierce and filled with rage, were beginning to be overwhelmed by our organization and our numbers.

Each sword strike, every falling axe, was a reminder that this battle would be decided by skill and determination. The Ironborn's arrows still flew, but with less intensity, and exhaustion was starting to show in their movements. They knew they were losing ground, but they refused to retreat.

The ground beneath our feet was already soaked with blood and littered with bodies, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and desperation. But with each new reinforcement landing from our ships, the balance was tipping in our favor. My men's shouts echoed across the battlefield, marking each advance, each blow struck.

"For the king, keep pushing!" My sword plunged into another enemy warrior attempting a desperate defense. I knew that soon, their resistance would collapse entirely. The Ironborn were on the verge of breaking, and we were ready to claim victory.

Finally, the Ironborn began to retreat, fleeing for their lives as they saw dozens of their comrades lying dead on the beach. Terror and despair were etched on their faces as they ran, knowing they could no longer stand against us. They had given everything, but their ferocity wasn't enough to stop us.

I looked around and saw that our men stood firm, with only ten casualties among our ranks. That said everything about the difference in our equipment and discipline. While they had fallen into disarray, unable to hold the line, we had advanced with precision, leaving no gaps or weaknesses.

The bodies of the Ironborn were scattered across the beach, and their surviving comrades, the few who remained alive, fled desperately toward the hills. We didn't pursue them; we knew they wouldn't find refuge for long. The beach was ours, and their resistance had been broken.

Our officer had successfully landed, and with the seawater still dripping from our armor, we began our advance toward the large town in the area. The objective was clear: seize control. We weren't leaving anything to chance this time, so we opted for a more cautious and lethal strategy.

"Form the line, pikes forward!" our commander ordered.

This battle would require precision and discipline. The long pikes rose in unison, their tips gleaming under the sun, ready to stop any charge. We marched in a tight formation, slowly advancing toward the town. Our footsteps pounded against the compacted earth, marking a steady and deadly rhythm.

The Ironborn had rallied many local men to join their resistance, but their lack of armor was evident. They carried only tools and short weapons, nothing that could compare to our long pikes and well-organized ranks. We positioned ourselves with military precision, forming an impenetrable wall of steel, ready to crush them with our formation.

Just as we were about to give the order to advance, I noticed something strange. Suddenly, all the Ironborn turned their heads to the left, their faces filled with surprise and fear. Confused, I followed their gaze.

There he was—a tall, muscular knight, clad from head to toe in gleaming silver armor, shining under the sun. Before I could fully grasp what I was seeing, the man hurled himself at the Ironborn like a hurricane, wielding a massive Valyrian steel greatsword that glinted menacingly in the air. With unstoppable brutality, he began cutting through them, felling several with each swing as though they were mere ragdolls.

Chaos erupted. The knight advanced like a killing machine, every swing of his greatsword echoing across the battlefield with a metallic and ferocious sound. Blood sprayed in every direction, and the Ironborn could do nothing but retreat before the massacre that this knight was unleashing. He seemed inhuman in his strength and skill.

The knight continued his slaughter, cutting through the Ironborn with relentless fury. Every swing of his Valyrian steel blade ended in screams of agony and dismembered bodies dropping to the ground. The Ironborn, once feared for their brutality and mercilessness, now seemed small and defenseless in the face of this storm of destruction.

With each step, a man fell. His movements were precise, but filled with an uncontrollable rage. One man tried to flank him with a short sword, but the knight simply turned and, with a single sweep of his greatsword, the attacker's body was cleaved in two. The ground was slick with blood and limbs, and the Ironborn were crumbling. Some tried to flee, but the knight caught them swiftly, cutting them down with the same ruthless efficiency. He gave them no chance to escape.

The Valyrian steel of his greatsword glowed, reddened by the blood. It sliced through light armor, makeshift weapons, and the unprotected bodies of men as if they were nothing but air. It was as if death itself had taken shape on that battlefield, and the Ironborn no longer had the will to fight back.

Those still standing tried to regroup, but they were cut down before they could even form a defensive line. The knight pushed forward, his deadly blows devastating everything around him. One man, apparently a leader, tried to raise a cry of defiance but was silenced with a single strike that decapitated him, his head rolling across the ground as the remaining men retreated in terror.

We, still standing in formation with our pikes, watched the massacre in stunned silence, awestruck by the knight's skill and savagery. It was as if a single man had accomplished what an entire army hoped to achieve—completely demoralizing and annihilating the Ironborn in this place.

In the distance, the few survivors began to flee. There was no will left to fight in them. The slaughter had been absolute, and the battlefield, once poised for an organized confrontation, was now nothing more than a graveyard of blood and bodies.

Just as he arrived, the knight disappeared over the horizon, chasing down those who fled with the same unrelenting fury he had arrived with. Silence fell over us, save for the ragged breaths of survivors and the faint creaking of our armor.

"What the hell was that?" I shouted, still shaken by what we had just witnessed. The chaos and brutality of the scene had left me breathless.

Our commander, with a grim expression, muttered barely loud enough to hear, "The traitor... Lothar."

That name sent a chill through me. Lothar. I had heard stories about him, but nothing could have prepared me for what I had just seen. If the legends about his brutality were true, then what I had just witnessed was only a glimpse of the fury that man could unleash.

As the wind swept across the blood-soaked field, I looked to the commander for a clearer explanation, but he remained silent, staring at the carnage Lothar had left behind.

"What do we do if… that thing… betrays the king? How do we stop him?" I asked, my voice trembling with the fear still coursing through me. The image of Lothar cutting down the Ironborn was burned into my mind, and the thought of such a merciless man turning against us was terrifying.

The commander, his gaze fixed on the horizon, responded in a serious tone, "Pray... only the king's guards or the Teutonic Knights could stop him." His response offered no comfort, but I understood there was little else we could do. That man, or whatever Lothar had become, was a force of nature, and only the best warriors stood a chance against him.

With a gesture, the commander signaled for us to move forward and seize control of the town. There was no time to dwell on our fear. Lothar had unleashed chaos among the Ironborn, and now it was our moment to capitalize on it. As we organized ourselves to advance, the echo of Lothar's brutality lingered in the air, like a shadow that would not easily fade.

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Give me your power stones

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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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