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The shock of impact rolled outward in a heavy, grinding wave. The ruined bear cub, fouled and warped until it hardly resembled what it had been, threw itself against Bayern, and Bayern met it head-on.
The Barbarian King reset his stance and let out a low sound of genuine appreciation. “You are strong. They are calling you a cub, are they not?”
It was not yet fully grown, and even so, it had already become a monster on the level of a Hero. By itself, it carried enough weight to scar the North.
The youngster barreled forward and chopped a forepaw through the air. Bayern tightened his grip on the axe and gave it what it asked for. The force blew the beast backward; its torso skidded and ploughed a deep trough across the ground. Bayern watched it tumble and, despite himself, felt a pinch of regret.
“That is the pity of it,” he muttered.
The cub was undoubtedly powerful. However, it simply did not reach him. Even among those called Heroes, there were distances the title did not bridge.
“It might have grown into its parents’ height if left to its own path… but something else stained it first.”
The cub lurched up, shook filth from its fur, and rushed in again. Bayern exhaled and spoke as it came. “I owe your parents a great deal.”
He had nearly died to the White Bear in the White Snowfield. If not for...
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