Chapter 29: The Fury of Ragnar

The barbarian camp was a stark contrast to the victorious atmosphere in the Viking lines. Fires burned low as warriors huddled in groups, their faces etched with frustration and fear. The once-unshakable confidence of Ragnar's forces had been shattered by two devastating defeats. Whispers of doubt rippled through the camp, growing louder with each passing moment.

At the center of the camp, Ragnar Bloodshade stood surrounded by his loyal captains. His massive Warhammer rested at his feet, the jagged runes etched into its head pulsing faintly with black energy. Ragnar's crimson eyes burned with fury as he glared at the map spread before him.

"This is unacceptable," Ragnar growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Twice now, those dogs have humiliated us."

Tensions Among the Barbarian Leaders

One of Ragnar's captains, a grizzled warrior named Skarn, stepped forward hesitantly. "My lord, their strength is… unnatural. The Vikings fight with a power that no ordinary force can match."

Ragnar's glare snapped to Skarn, the air around him growing heavy with dark energy. "Are you saying you're afraid, Skarn? That you've lost your spine like the rest of these cowards?"

Skarn flinched but held his ground. "No, my lord. But that white man... is the source of their strength. He must have done something that makes them faster, stronger, and nearly impossible to kill."

Another captain, Vuldrek, spat on the ground. "It's witchcraft! No man can fight like that without some dark magic on their side."

Ragnar's lips curled into a snarl. "Dark magic, you say? Perhaps it's time they see the true power of darkness."

The captains exchanged uneasy glances. Ragnar's black energy had always been a source of fear and awe, but its origins were a mystery to all but Ragnar himself. The mere mention of it sent shivers through the camp.

Ragnar stepped away from the map, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the gathered captains. He grabbed his Warhammer, its runes flaring to life as he lifted it effortlessly. The dark energy surrounding him pulsed, feeding off his anger.

"They think they've won," Ragnar said, his voice low but filled with venom. "They think that man has made them invincible. But they've never faced me in battle."

Skarn hesitated. "My lord, should we not regroup? Perhaps send scouts to learn more about their—"

Ragnar slammed his hammer into the ground, silencing Skarn with a deafening crash. The force of the impact sent a ripple through the air, the black energy flaring dangerously.

"Enough," Ragnar said, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I didn't gather this army to cower behind plans and caution. Tomorrow, I will lead the charge myself. And I will show them what true power looks like."

The captains nodded reluctantly, their fear of Ragnar outweighing their doubts. Vuldrek stepped forward, his expression grim. "And what of the men, my lord? Many are hesitant to fight again after what they've seen."

Ragnar strode out of the command tent, his towering figure drawing the attention of every barbarian in the camp. The warriors fell silent as he climbed onto a raised platform, his crimson eyes sweeping over the gathered horde. His voice boomed across the camp, cutting through the cold night air.

"Look at you!" Ragnar roared, his voice dripping with disdain. "Cowering like children after a single defeat. Have you forgotten who you are? You are warriors! You are the scourge of the north, the terror of the weak! And yet, you let yourselves be humbled by a few thousand Vikings?"

The warriors shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting toward the ground. Ragnar's black energy flared, the dark aura spreading outward like a storm.

"I see the fear in your eyes," Ragnar continued, his tone sharp. "You tremble at the thought of that man. But let me tell you this—no man can stand against the power of true strength. Tomorrow, I will lead you into battle. And together, we will crush them!"

A murmur ran through the crowd, growing louder as Ragnar's words took hold. The aura of his black energy seemed to fuel their anger, reigniting the fire in their hearts.

"They think their blessings make them gods," Ragnar said, his voice rising. "But they are only men. And men bleed."

The warriors erupted into cheers, their war cries echoing into the night. Ragnar raised his Warhammer high, the runes glowing brighter with each roar from his army.

Despite the renewed energy in the camp, not all of the barbarians were convinced. In the shadows near the edge of the camp, a group of surrendered warriors who had been forced back into Ragnar's ranks whispered among themselves.

"This isn't right," one of them muttered, his voice low. "We've seen what they can do. They'll destroy us again."

Another warrior, his face pale, nodded. "Ragnar's power is terrifying, but even he couldn't stop that man. What chance do we have?"

A third warrior, his expression grim, shook his head. "If we flee now, he'll hunt us down. We're trapped."

Their whispers faded as Ragnar's booming voice continued to rally the horde. Even in their doubt, they knew there was no escape from the shadow of Ragnar Bloodshade.

Later that night, Ragnar stood alone at the edge of the camp, his crimson eyes fixed on the Viking lines in the distance. The black energy around him pulsed rhythmically, feeding off his anger and hatred.

"You're watching, aren't you?" Ragnar muttered, his voice low. "You think you've won. But tomorrow, I will show you. Your light means nothing against the darkness."

The runes on his Warhammer flared brighter, the energy coursing through it crackling in the air. Ragnar clenched the weapon tightly, his expression twisted with determination.

"I will kill you," Ragnar growled. "And when I do, your precious Vikings will fall."

As the barbarian camp settled for the night, the tension was imminent. Ragnar's decision to lead the next battle had reignited the horde's fighting spirit, but the fear of the Vikings' strength lingered in the hearts of many. For those loyal to Ragnar, there was no choice but to follow him into the storm.

Far across the battlefield, the Vikings prepared for the dawn. Fires burned brightly within their camp, their warriors sharpening weapons and sharing quiet moments of delight. Gabriel watched from above, his wings folded, his pale eyes fixed on the distant glow of Ragnar's camp.

The battle to come would be unlike any before. Both sides could feel it—the weight of something greater looming on the horizon. As the first light of dawn crept over the plains, the stage was set for a clash that would decide the fate of both armies.