"I will whittle you down to a human stick, letting you die a humiliating death in the pigsty, never reaching your grand temple," he threatened. Tulf, stunned by these words, wasn't the only one; Gwynnis's men, including Baldwin, hastily made several holy signs, praying in the name of Agnes.
"I'm not scared of you. Even if you hack off my limbs, I'll never betray my people!" Tulf gritted his teeth. "My people will come to save me. We are more numerous and stronger than you! Your triumph won't last long!"
"Ah, perhaps your kin are about to storm the castle. What will they find then? You, turned into a human stick in the pigsty, covered in filth, reeking. Just imagine, defeated in battle and subjected to such treatment, how will your people see you? Oh, I bet they'll hail you as a hero, lifting your limbless body high, passing you around, extolling your greatness and bravery," Gwynnis mocked, cradling an imaginary infant, swaying back and forth.
"They'll idolize you, your name passed down through generations. Just the mention of your name will conjure your image and your state as a human stick. Such a harmonious scene, don't you think?"
Tulf trembled involuntarily at just imagining it. "No, I won't live to see that! If you chop off my limbs, I'll die right away!"
"Ha! I will die! You fool, I'll die!" Tulf, realizing his imminent death, shook with excitement, a joyous grin on his lips.
But Gwynnis laughed even harder. "Indeed, humans are fragile. A slight cut to a major artery, especially in the arms or femoral artery in the legs, would lead to death by bleeding. Not to mention losing all limbs; without intervention, survival is impossible," Gwynnis sighed.
He then revealed a savage grin, "Allow me to introduce the greatest magician and healer of this domain, Miss Rosalyn!" With that, he pulled a bewildered Rosalyn forward.
"Me?" Rosalyn's face was a mix of confusion and shock.
No one expected the healing arts, meant for saving lives, to be used as tools for torture. "Rest assured, with this healer, you'll surely live!" Gwynnis's face twisted into a terrifying smile, licking his lips as if envisioning Tulf's transformation into a human pig.
Tulf was completely dumbfounded, unable to think of any escape. "Kill me! Kill me now!" he roared.
But Gwynnis paid no heed, snapping his fingers as Cedyna began preparing the torture instruments. "So, are you ready?" Gwynnis asked with a smile.
...
Eventually, Tulf's mental defenses crumbled. He wept silently, begging Gwynnis for a swift death. As for Gwynnis's questions, Tulf answered every one.
According to Tulf's revelations, the raiding Hafdanians numbered about 8,000, comprising five tribes led by "Black Eye" Brock, "White Beard" Eric, "Six Fingers" Harald, and the duo Sor and Hilda, with "Black Eye" Brock as the nominal commander of the operation.
Although Brock was the nominal leader, he couldn't fully control the other tribes. Major decisions still required a military council, and disagreements often led to arguments. The Hafdanians lacked siege weaponry, unfamiliar with such armaments and unable to transport them over the mountains. This inability to conquer castles prevented them from settling in the North, forcing them to retreat quickly after plundering, lest the Duke's reinforcements catch their foot soldiers in the open.
These were open secrets among the Hafdanians, so it made sense for Tulf, a mere foot soldier, to know them. However, what intrigued Gwynnis was Tulf's revelation that the Hafdanian chieftain, Helming, had never defeated the Northern Duke, whom they regarded as a female demon.
"Our Duke is a woman?" Gwynnis turned to Baldwin, who confirmed it. But that didn't matter. The Hafdanians simply waited for the Duchess's death, believing that once she passed, no one in the North could stand against Helming, who would then conquer the Northern Duchy.
"Wait, the Duchess is old?" Gwynnis asked. Tulf believed the Duchess, unbeaten for thirty years, must be at least eighty, if not older. Many Hafdanians thought she was an evil adversary of Odin, a demon. They clung to the hope that her demise would bring their victory.
Gwynnis couldn't help but smirk at this. The northerners were pinning their hopes on their enemy's natural death, not as formidable as they thought. Having extracted the enemy's numbers, leaders, and general strategy, Gwynnis saw no point in probing further, as Tulf couldn't know more.
With this, Gwynnis ordered Tulf back to the dungeon. As for Godric, "Well, you can go collect the bodies for Felicity and the others," Gwynnis sneered.
With everything settled, Gwynnis was about to leave the dungeon when a frail female voice stopped him. "Gwynnis, Gwynnis, I beg you, let us out!"
It was Sophia, no longer the elegant and sharp figure from their first meeting, nor the hateful and angry prisoner. She seemed resigned, pleading humbly with Gwynnis. Remembering the sincere letter from the "Stud" Duke, Gwynnis decided to show kindness, turning back with a friendly smile, "I almost forgot about you, Lady Sophia."