Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 131: The head of the pack(1)

The snow stretched endlessly in every direction, a blinding, desolate white landscape where neither animal tracks nor even the faintest hint of weeds broke the monotony. It covered the earth like a great frozen blanket, its stillness only interrupted by the biting winds that howled through the frozen plains. Nothing lived out here, at least nothing for long.

Among this barren expanse, thousands of tents sprawled haphazardly, dark patches against the white canvas of snow. Thin columns of smoke rose from a few lonely fires where dozens of figures huddled for warmth, their ragged furs pulled tightly around skeletal bodies. Some of the fires crackled with an eerie glow, for mixed in with the wood and kindling were the charred remains of those who hadn't survived what the shamans proclaimed as the Great Migration. Weak, sick, or simply too old to keep up—they had become fuel for the flames.

This was the camp of the northern savages, the tribes that had been denied passage beyond the Bane time and time again. Now, they had gathered under one banner, united by a single leader. A man known only as the Great Knotur, a figure who had managed to bend the many wild tribes of the north to his will.

Amidst the sea of tents and snow, towering figures strode through the camp, closer to giants than men. These immense beings stood four times the size of an ordinary human, their hulking forms draped in layers of thick animal pelts. Their breath steamed heavily in the cold air, but it was not their size alone that commanded awe—it was the creatures they rode.

Beneath them were colossal beasts, great beasts covered in dense, matted fur, their massive nose curving outward like ancient, twisted horns. These beasts were the heart of the camp's survival, and their presence loomed large over the huddled masses. Without them, the tribes would have perished long ago in the unforgiving cold. The mammoths, with their powerful trunks and keen senses, were the only creatures capable of finding food hidden beneath the layers of ice and snow.

At times, these giants and their mammoth mounts would lead parties deep into the wasteland, where the great beasts would root through the frozen earth, using their strength to dig out what little sustenance lay buried below. Once they found a promising spot, the tribes would swarm around, shoveling furiously to uncover roots, tubers, and anything that could be scraped together to throw into the great cauldrons. These grim, steaming soups were all that stood between them and starvation.