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Urich looked into Gottval’s eyes. His limbs were being held down by a few soldiers.
“Where’s the bite cloth?” Urich asked, to which Gottval shook his head.
“It’s alright. I will pray, instead.”
Urich took out the axe that had been sitting in the crackling campfire. An axe was a better tool than a sword for cutting off an arm.
“Oh, Lou, please give me the courage to overcome this pain,” Gottval muttered.
“This is going to hurt, priest,” Urich warned Gottval. He had taken it upon himself to cut off the priest’s arm as he had no intention of putting his pain off to someone else.
Nod.
Gottval nodded to show that he understood. His eyes were locked on Urich.
‘Gottval is not a frail man.’
Urich had never seen someone like Gottval before. His definition of a strong man equated to a strong warrior. Anyone who didn’t have the physical strength was simply weak.
‘No matter how big you talk, you tend to show your true weakness when your body is taking the toll.’
But Gottval was an exception. He was a strong man, even though his body was nothing close to that of a warrior.
“This might kill you, Gottval. Before we start, let me ask you something,” Urich said as he pulled up the priest’s sleeve.
“Go ahead,” Gottval answered as he opened his closed eyes. For someone who was about to experience such an excruciating pain, his eyes were shockingly serene. It seemed like he had already come to terms with what had to be don...
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