Henry was pinned and dragged by four or five Mercenaries, his heels ploughing two deep gouges in the gritty ground.
Gravel flew, dust choked the air, he was hauled staggering from the ruins that still groaned their last.
'Let me go! Hain is still in there!' he roared; his huge frame erupted with terrifying strength, almost breaking free.
More panic-stricken Mercenaries rushed up, dragging him away from the collapsing danger by sheer numbers.
Only when they had retreated dozens of steps did the heart-stopping rumble finally cease, leaving drifting dust that buried the mighty underground hall in a vast, silent tomb.
The Mercenaries collapsed as if drained, gasping, faces caked with mud, blood and lingering terror. The hands holding Henry loosened.
Henry spun round, blood-shot eyes fixing on the survivors slumped on the ground, gazes averted.
His chest heaved, voice cracked from dust and fury: 'You... just ran?! Left him alone in there!!'
He swung a gore-streaked fist at the dead ruins, voice quavering, 'That was Hain! The man who saved you again and again!'
'When the monsters charged, who stood in front?! How many did he pull through this journey?!'
His glare swept Karl, swept every surviving face.
Shame, dread and numbness mingled on those faces.
Karl opened his mouth, finally just rubbed a weary hand across his face.
'Karl! Even you—' Henry blazed.
'Enough, Henry!' Karl lifted a grey face, eyes holding a deeper exhaustion and clarity. 'That rift... the whole roof was coming down!'
'We... couldn't reach him!'
'Hain was cut off on the other side; staying would only have meant we all died!' He pointed at the rubble-choked ruins, voice hoarse. 'Maybe his spot didn't collapse... there's a chance. But if we'd stayed, we'd be dead for sure.'
'So what if we died?!' Henry roared. 'Better than scurrying out like rats! He could've escaped alone! He stayed for us—burdens—' Words failed; he spun like a maddened bull and charged back at the ruins.
'Henry! What are you doing?!' Karl cried.
'Dig!' Henry didn't look back, clawing at the blocked entrance with torn hands, nails ripping, blood flowing unnoticed. 'He's alive! Hain's too tough to die! I'll dig him out!'
Stone shredded his palms, massive blocks unmoved. He dug mechanically, muttering, 'Dig him out... have to dig him out...'
Two Mercenaries struggled up, trying to shift a smaller stone.
The rubble shifted; a rock rolled, nearly crushing one of them.
'Don't make it worse!' Karl barked, yanking Henry back. 'You'll bring the whole thing down and bury yourself!'
'Let go!' Henry flung him off, slammed a fist into the wall, splitting flesh. 'What else am I supposed to do?! Sit here like you lot?'
'Wait for some bloody miracle?!'
The roar echoed hollowly over the ruins.
Then—
'Crack... clatter...'
A trickle of stones slid from a fissure on the far side of the ruins.
Henry's head snapped up; a spark flared in his blood-shot eyes, swallowed at once by fiercer rage.
Several figures clambered, half-dead, through a fragile crack at the edge.
They were ragged, blood-soaked, faces blank with the daze of escape.
Ironborn—henchmen of the Crows Eye.
One arm hung useless, crudely bound; another bore a gash to the bone across his face.
They panted, still dazed.
'You bastards!' Henry bellowed, an enraged bull charging, axe dragging, 'Crows Eye dogs! How many have you killed!!!'
One thought pounded in him: kill them, avenge Hain, avenge the dead Mercenaries.
The Ironborn recoiled from the berserker fury, scrabbling for weapons too slowly.
The blood-slick axe was about to split the first one's skull—
'Clang! Clang! Clang!'
A rapid, measured clash of metal rang out.
Scores of iron-bound oak shields burst from the shadows of broken walls, slammed to earth, locking into a curving wall that sprang between Henry and the Ironborn.
Instantly spears shot through the gaps, points gleaming, forming a steel hedgehog aimed not only at Henry but at every survivor behind him.
'Form line! Close circle!'
The cold command came from the flank.
More guards in matching leather, grim-faced as hunting hounds, poured from hidden pockets in the ruins.
They moved with practiced speed, extending the shield wall's wings.
A tighter, larger ring formed, penning Henry, Karl, the surviving Mercenaries, and the newly emerged Ironborn.
Corleone's household guard.
They had lain in wait, patient as spiders.
'Drop your weapons!' A lean, hawk-eyed captain stepped forward, voice icy. 'By Lord Corleone's order, all survivors surrender arms and submit to custody.'
'Resist and be killed without quarter!'
The Mercenaries turned ashen; fledgling relief died.
They stared at the ring of steel and bared blades.
'Clang!' Someone threw down a broken sword.
Like falling dominoes the dozen survivors, Karl among them, let their weapons fall.
Only Henry still gripped his axe, chest heaving, red eyes fixed on the captain. 'You're all in league...'
'Final warning. Drop the weapon.' The captain's hand settled on his sword hilt.
Karl lunged, seizing Henry's arm. 'Henry! Don't be a fool! Only the living can plan!'
Henry's arm muscles knotted, trembling.
He looked into Karl's blood-shot eyes, at the mute pleas of the others, then at the silent ruins that had swallowed Aegon.
At last the berserker fire drained away, leaving only cold emptiness.
'Clatter!' The heavy axe hit the dust.
Guards swarmed, binding wrists with coarse rope, careless of injury.
Mercenary or Ironborn, they were merely property to be secured, a risk to be controlled.
Henry was shoved along with the rest toward the only intact platform deep in the ruins.
He cast one last look at the rubble—
Heart ash.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898