I stopped at a small pond to wash my face and brush Mielda. Hopping off, I patted her head a couple of times before crouching, plunging my hands into the cold water, and splashing it over my face. The chill woke me, stirring me from my thoughts. Mielda drank beside me, her ears twitching at the sounds of the forest.
My reflection stared back—a weary drengr. Long blonde hair, a few braids woven along the side. The left side of my head was bare, a scar running through where an arrow had once struck.
"Valrik," I muttered to myself. "What are you going to do now?"
A raven cawed from above. I turned, following its gaze to a column of smoke rising in the distance. The scent of burning wood, charred metal—blood. Something was wrong… and that was my cue. This was my opportunity. A battle. A way to die with an axe in hand. I couldn't take my own life—that would send me to Helheim, far from Odin's wisdom.
A grin spread across my face as I grabbed both axes and rushed forward, leaving Mielda behind. The smell of burning thickened with every step. Then, the sounds—screams, the wet crunch of steel biting into flesh. Women wailing. Children fleeing.
I pushed through the thick brush and took in the scene. A small village burned before me, flames rising from the thatched roofs as bandits threw torches onto the buildings. The air was thick with smoke, and the screams of the villagers filled the chaos. A stone church in the center was already alight, the spire cracked and leaning. Two women, each holding a cross in one hand and a sword in the other, stood against three burly men. They weren't Norse or Danes—just filthy bandits, cutting down anyone in their path for gold and silver.
One of the nuns raised her sword, voice shaking. "Stand back, heathen! Stand back!"
The man sneered. "Oh, but I believe in God, sister. I believe in Hell. I belong in Hell. You belong under me."
"G-Good God…" the other nun whispered, her hand trembling as she held the cross out before her. "L-Leave us be. Please, just leave us."
"Pray, sister," the bastard taunted. "Pray as long as you—"
I struck. My axe crunched through flesh and sinew, biting deep into his neck. A wet gurgle escaped his lips as his hands shot up, grasping at the wound, eyes wide with shock. I wrenched the weapon free with a sickening rip, sending a spray of blood across my face. He staggered back, feet slipping in the growing pool beneath him.
I didn't give him a chance to recover. I swung again, the blade hitting into his collarbone, splitting muscle and snapping bone. He let out a strangled cry, but it was cut short as I drove my fist into his jaw, shattering teeth, sending him sprawling onto the mud-soaked ground.
His body twitched, hands weakly clawing at the gaping wound in his throat, blood bubbling from his lips. I stepped forward, raising my axe high.
His companions stood frozen, eyes locked on their dying friend, the sound of his choking breath filling the air.
I brought the axe down one last time. Bone crunched. Flesh split. His head came free, rolling a few feet before stopping in the dirt, his lifeless eyes staring up at the darkened sky.
"Good riddance." I muttered with a low and calm voice. "Another sacrifice for Odin…"
I bent down, grabbed his severed head, and hung it from my Höggskjold, securing it in one of the four notches on my belt. A family custom. Let them feel Odin's wrath before they died.
The nuns stumbled back as the remaining bandits came at me. One swung. I veered left, deflecting with my axe, then severed his sword hand in one clean motion. He howled, clutching the stump as I slammed my shoulder into him, sending him to the ground.
He screamed in pain as he crawled away. "M-my… fucking arm! Kill him! Kill him, kill him, kill him!"
"Yes," I said with a grin on my face, throwing off my cloak. "Come at me, honorless bastards!"
"A Dane!" one of them shouted. "Shit!"
"For Odin!" I roared, lunging forward.
I hurled an axe. It buried itself deep into a man's forehead, sticking out like a unicorn's horn. As he staggered, I planted a boot on his shoulder, yanked my weapon free, and turned to the others.
One stepped back, drawing a bow. I darted behind a tree as he loosed an arrow. It struck my shoulder armor, falling to the ground with a dull thud.
With Thor granting me his strength, I sheathed one axe and grabbed the nearest enemy by the shoulder, using him as a shield. The archer loosed two more arrows, both thudding into his friend. One pierced an eye, the shaft bursting through the back of his skull.
"No, no!" the archer screamed, turning to flee.
"Coward!" I roared, running toward him. "Come here!"
We collided. I hurled his dead companion's body onto him, pinning him beneath the weight. As he struggled, I stomped on his face, then brought my axe down three times. Flesh and sinew gave way. His head rolled free. Another for my Höggskjold. Good.
Blood ran down my face, a war cry tore from my throat as I charged after the other one. I caught him, seized his arm, and twisted until the bone snapped and tore through the skin. His scream was cut short as I hacked into his armpit, then his throat.
He dangled in my grip, barely holding onto life. I swung again, again, again—until his head came free. I fastened it to my Höggskjold. Three down. One more to go.
But the remaining scum fled. The battle was over. Only the nuns lived. The rest of the village lay in ruin—children, women, men, all butchered. Houses burned. Dogs whimpered, cowering in corners.
"Come back, cowards!" I yelled, pointing my axe at one of the retreating men. "Fight me! Give Odin a battle worth watching!"
"Crazy bastard!" a burly man yelled. "Fuck your Odin!"
Rage surged through me. "How dare you—"
"Fuck off!" he spat, vanishing into the night.
The grip on my axe tightened. Then I shook my head. "Not worth it."
I sheathed my axes and turned to face the nuns. One of them trembled, her hands clenched tight, while the other pressed a cross to her chest, whispering frantic prayers to her god.
"Worry not, sisters. You may get up," I said, crouching. "I am not your enemy. Nor am I your friend."
"L-leave us, heathen." The taller one glared at me. "Ragnar's dog! Yellow Dane!"
"A Norse, not a Dane. And I am no one's dog, sister." I stood up. "Tend to the wounded—if they left any."
"What do you want?" she demanded. "Silver?"
"Nothing." I unfastened the severed heads from my Höggskjold and let them drop to the ground. "A thanks would suffice."
They flinched, staring at the bloodied skulls. But I wasn't waiting for gratitude. Without another word, I turned, resting my hands on the hilts of my axes.
The village was a graveyard of burning homes and butchered bodies. A man cradled his wife's severed torso, rocking her as if she might stir again. A boy clutched his dog, the poor creature lifeless with an arrow through its ribs. The air was thick with blood and smoke, the stench of the dead stronger than the flames.
To my right, four well-armored corpses lay in front of a house—guards, but not the common kind. These were elite. The kind meant to protect a noble.
"Hmm." I muttered. "What is this?"
I approached the house, one hand gripping an axe. Smoke bled through the cracks in the door. I grabbed the handle and pulled—thick, choking fumes poured out, stinging my eyes. Waving a hand to clear my vision, I stepped inside.
The heat hit me first. Then, a faint voice.
"Help… please…"
I pushed forward, coughing as the smoke clawed at my throat. A chunk of the ceiling collapsed ahead of me, nearly crushing my foot. I stumbled back, my head cracking against the wall. Pain flared through my skull, stars bursting in my vision.
"Agh… crap. Anyone there?" I called.
"Please…"
I forced myself forward, kicking aside burning debris. Through the smoke, I saw her—a small silhouette curled on the floor. I grabbed her leg, dragging her toward me, then hoisted her over my shoulder and turned back for the door.
I barely made it out before a fist slammed into my face. The impact sent me and the girl sprawling into the dirt. I rolled onto my side, shaking the dizziness from my head.
Three men stood over me. Past them, the nuns lay in the dirt, their bodies motionless. The bastards finished what they started… cowards.
"Piss-colored shit." One of them spat.
A sword came down toward me. I twisted, ramming my fist into the attacker's knee and rolling to the side. As I pushed up, a boot crashed into my back. My face hit the ground hard, dirt filling my mouth. Pain burst through my ribs.
I groaned, trying to push myself up, but another kick followed, this one sharper, crueler. Stars danced in my vision. Then, laughter. I let out a breath, my fingers tightening around the handle of my axe.
"You thought you won, didn't ya?" one of them sneered. "Well, you were wrong, friend."
"Do not call me 'friend,' waste of air." I growled, trying to rise.
Another kick crashed into my ribs, lifting me off the ground before I hit the dirt again. Pain flared through my side as I lay on my back, staring at the dark clouds and the setting sun.
Then, the world slowed.
The bird that had just left its perch froze mid-flight. The branches swaying in the wind stood still. And among the three men standing over me, there was suddenly a fourth.
He hadn't been there before—I was sure of it. A hood shadowed his face, a long staff resting in his grasp, his chest puffed with authority.
"You… Odin?"