The two men who had been tormenting the prisoners perked up, their heads snapping toward the sound. Their eyes locked onto the clay mug spilled across the dirt and the lone axe lying beside it—the weapon must have slipped from the dead man's sheath as I dragged him away.
The taller one nudged the shorter, exchanging a glance before they both cautiously stepped toward the scene. I kept still, pressed against the scorched wooden wall inside the ruined house, listening to their footsteps crunch over debris.
I risked a peek through the broken window. One of them was mere inches from me, within arm's reach, while the other crouched down, inspecting the axe and mug.
This was my moment.
In one fluid motion, I shot up, grabbed the closest one by his collar, and yanked him through the window. He barely had time to gasp before my fist cracked against his jaw. He reeled, but before he could recover, my axe split his face open. Blood splattered against the ruined wall, his body collapsing in a heap.
"Huh?" The second man muttered, straightening. "The fuck was that?"
He stepped toward the window, brow furrowed, gripping his sword tighter. Leaning inside, he peered into the darkness—only to find his comrade's corpse staring back at him, eyes wide with frozen terror.
I was nowhere to be seen.
He recoiled, but before he could react, I slipped out of the front door. In an instant, my fist crashed against the back of his head, making him stagger forward. I seized his hair, forcing his face into the dirt, then hoisted him up and hurled him through the same window. His body crashed inside, rolling to a stop beside his dead friend.
Vaulting over, I landed atop him, both axes flashing. The first buried deep into his chest, splitting ribs. The second met his neck, severing flesh and bone in one clean strike.
I exhaled, pulling my weapons free.
One of the remaining guards—this one sitting atop an overturned cart—who was sharpening his sword, yawned. As he finished, he sheathed his blade and stood, making his way toward the prisoners.
He frowned. "Where the hell did those two idiots go?"
I slipped behind him and tapped his shoulder.
"Here."
He barely turned before my axe sank into his gut. A choked grunt escaped his lips, but I wasn't done. I struck again. And again. His body crumpled, twitching on the ground.
Quickly scanning my surroundings, I dragged his corpse behind the cart, shoving it beneath broken wood to keep it hidden.
I muttered under my breath, voice low. "By Odin… how many guards for such a small camp?"
By the fire, another man stirred. Rising from his seat, he stretched, then wandered toward a barrel brimming with ale. He dipped his horn in, lifting it to his lips, and downed it in one long gulp before belching loudly.
As he reached to fill it again, I struck.
Silent as a snake, I emerged from the shadows. My hand clamped onto his hair, yanking his head back before slamming it into the ale. He thrashed wildly, clawing at my arm, legs kicking in desperation. I kept my grip firm, forcing him under, his muffled screams bubbling to the surface.
Seconds stretched into eternity. His struggles grew weaker. Then, at last, his body sagged, going limp in my grasp.
I let go. His lifeless form hit the ground with a dull thud.
Grabbing him by the legs, I dragged him into the thick underbrush, concealing his corpse beneath the tangled growth.
One by one, they were falling.
And I wasn't done yet, unfortunately.
"More to go…"
I stepped toward the campfire in the center of the ruined village, its glow flickering against the scorched remnants of the houses. Three men sat around it—one, a fat brute with a comically large head, tore into a chunk of meat, grease dripping down his chin. The other two spoke in hushed tones, their heads close together.
Moving behind a wooden crate, I kept low. But just as I was about to slip past, a door creaked open from a nearby burnt-down house. My body tensed. I dropped into a crouch and crawled under an overturned cart, the cramped space barely enough to fit me. Holding my breath, I gripped my axe tightly, waiting.
"When are we killing them?" The guard who had just exited the house asked, his voice laced with impatience. "We can't just keep feeding them."
One of the men by the fire snorted. "Ragnar says we feed them until he decides otherwise." He took a swig from his mug. "So, we feed them until he decides otherwise. Simple as that."
The first guard muttered a curse and let something drop to the ground with a dull thud—an axe. "Shit, my sheath's ripped."
Crouching, he reached for it. His eyes flicked downward. Then, in an instant, they locked onto mine.
I lunged.
One hand clamped over his mouth before he could let out so much as a gasp. His body jerked violently, thrashing against my grip, but I held firm, tightening my arm around his throat like a vice. His boots dug into the dirt, fists pounding at my sides, but I didn't relent. He choked, his muffled screams lost to the crackling fire.
Slowly, his struggling weakened. The life drained from his limbs. Then, with one final twitch, he went still.
I exhaled sharply, shoving his corpse under the cart before rising to my feet. That was close—too close.
"Hey," one of the men at the fire called out. "You got the food yet? It's behind the cart."
Silence.
The man scowled, glancing toward the cart, then shook his head and muttered a curse under his breath. Too lazy to check, he simply took another gulp of ale and returned to his conversation.
A little later, the remaining men around the fire stood and wandered off toward the far side of the camp. This was my chance. I retraced my steps, walking toward the two prisoners. They were bound, lying in the dirt just opposite the ale barrel.
"You're safe," I murmured, kneeling beside them. "I'm a friend. Freydis sent me."
One man had a deep gash along his arm, the wound still raw and exposed. The other… he was barely breathing, his face swollen from relentless beatings.
I cut their ropes and crouched, checking their condition. The one with the wound groaned softly but didn't move, while the other barely managed to part his swollen lips, unable to form words.
Leaving them, I moved toward the cages, stopping between them. The prisoners inside stirred, their sunken eyes flickering with hope. Hands reached through the bars. Silent cheers rippled among them.
One man gripped the bars, his knuckles white. "You… Who are you?"
"Freydis sent me." My voice was low. "Where are the keys?"
"There." An old man pointed to a table nearby. "Hurry. Unlock these damn things!"
I wasted no time, snatching the keys and unlocking the cages swiftly. The moment the doors creaked open, the prisoners slipped out, grabbing whatever weapons they could find from a chest hidden in the underbrush.
As they armed themselves, I returned to the injured men. The one with the battered face was barely holding on, but the other… his breathing was shallow, his skin pale. He wouldn't make it.
I crouched beside him, resting a hand on his chest. His fingers weakly curled around my wrist. His lips parted, whispering something. I leaned in.
He said just one word.
"Axe…"
I looked up, just as a woman approached. She held out a weapon—his axe, probably. Her voice trembled. "It was his. Give it to him, drengr."
I took it. Without hesitation, I placed it on his chest. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, as if it was the last thing anchoring him to this world. Then, with a final breath, his grip slackened. His chest did not rise again. Odin had sent his winged women to carry him home.
"Farewell, warrior," I murmured. "You're among the best, now."
The woman beside me swallowed hard, eyes glassy, but there was no time to grieve.
"Was there a child with you?" I asked, turning to her. "In the cage?"
She frowned. "No. Why would—"
"We need to go before they come back!" A man from the group urged. "We have the numbers, but we're too weak to fight."
I nodded, slinging the barely-conscious man over my shoulder. "Follow me."
Then—a door burst open.
"You shits!" One of Ragnar's men stormed out, sword in hand. "I'll kill you all! Sound the horn!"
The sharp blast of a war horn shattered the air.
I let out a low curse, gently lowering the wounded man to the ground. "You," I barked to the woman, "Take him. Get out of here. Meet me at York, near the cave with a pond. Do you know it?"
She hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I know it. I'll tell the others. We'll wait for you there."
More of Ragnar's men poured from the surrounding buildings, weapons drawn, eyes burning with fury.
The freed prisoners fled into the forest, but I stayed. I planted my feet, axes in hand, heart pounding. Six men stood before me, the firelight glinting off their blades.
I bared my teeth, muscles coiling.
"For glory!" I roared, charging forward. "For Valhalla!"