143.
143.
I had never once heard a dragon's cry.
If such a thing truly existed, Halfdan the Black thought, it would surely be just like the vast roar that now echoed through the air.
"I am the Fylkir of the North Sea! I am the master of this sea! If any cannot accept this, stand before me now and face me!"
[Face me—! —! —!...!]
The booming voice, like a hammer striking the ear canal, was itself physical violence.
Helgi Ragnarsson's voice, echoing through this vast space, did not permit feeble human opposition.
If what Halfdan himself wielded was the authority built up through long years as a Konungr, then what Helgi Ragnarsson brandished now was entirely his own power.
'Truly, he is the strongest.'
Halfdan had long known that Helgi Ragnarsson was supreme in physical and military might, but today, in this place, he realized that even his power as a king was unmatched.
What meaning did authority or tradition hold before such strength? What meaning could the ancient laws that law-speakers memorized and passed down through a lifetime, or the voices of the gods—the very source of all things in Norse society—hold before that great, tangible power?
It was not something ethereal; Helgi Ragnarsson's strength was like the great sword held in his solid hand.
With this, the haughty old families of Kaupang would at last realize:
Further resistance was utterly pointless. Until now, it had been Helgi Konungr—no, Fylkir—who had tolerated Kaupang's deviations.
But now, much would change.
'Is there anything more I can do?'
There was not.
'Have I fulfilled my duties as Konungr of Kaupang? Have I not sullied the name of my father, Guðrøðr?'
He had.
He looked down at the two shards of the blade lying at his feet.
The clean-cut surface, far neater than the nicked blade, caught his eye, as if it had been shaped that way from the start.
A sword strike that raised goosebumps. Only when the wind had followed did he realize the sword had passed through; the true level of that skill was beyond his imagination.
Halfdan's high spirit, which he had sustained through his position as king, a sense of duty, responsibility, and love and concern for his son, finally broke its will.
'Against such a sword, I could never win. I had pretended not to know until now, but my son was right. Harald, you were right.'
At the same time, when he raised his head, Halfdan could look upon the world with a light heart, like a man who had set down a heavy burden or stripped off drenched clothes.
How long had it been since he had felt this?
Watching the foolish Olaf staring blankly at the Fylkir before him, Halfdan found the man's face quite tolerable, which showed he must indeed have aged.
After glancing at Harald, who wore an equally dazed expression, Halfdan spoke toward the Fylkir, who stood with his back turned like a great mountain.
"Helgi Fylkir. There will certainly be some who cannot accept this. Just as not all Norsemen pursue honor and silver, there will be those who flee your power someday or commit treachery where none can see."
Was he surprised that the man he had expected to oppose him to the end had been the first to call him Fylkir?
Helgi Ragnarsson's thick, dark eyebrows twitched for a moment, and a faint smile bloomed at the corner of his lips.
"Let them do so. I shall await any challenge, whenever it comes. And I shall crush it."
What a supremely self-assured voice. Yet Halfdan knew well that this was not the mere audacity of an immature youth.
'Ragnar. My son is like gold, but you have sired a man of steel.'
"O Fylkir. Kaupang and its throne shall submit before you. Fly ever higher."
Though you are already in a place beyond the sky, fly even higher.
With Halfdan's low words, everyone in that holy place slowly bowed their heads, and the Roman scribe recording this entire spectacle trembled fiercely.
*****
I had risen to the unfamiliar position of Fylkir, but in truth, little had changed.
Simply that when I walked the paths, people now called out "Helgi Fylkir!" instead of "Helgi Konungr."
Seeing that some still called me Konungr, it would take a little time for this novel title to settle into Norse society.
Yet, since most of the Jarls of Scandinavia had already accepted my position, the title that would follow my name from now on was Fylkir.
Scandinavia was not an ordinarily vast place, so if one asked how so many Jarls had accepted my position,
I could answer by pointing to those who were now moving with me toward Árós.
Considering that the majority of the second expedition force consisted of Jarls trying to stick a straw into the overflowing food of Árós, yesterday's declaration was in fact little different from a grand convocation.
A convocation ground, indeed. That was what Fylkir meant.
My own transformation from a man trying to evade responsibility and duty into this was partly driven by the sense that I could no longer postpone things, but more than that, it was because a new goal had been born.
In any case, I had been born in this world as the prince of the warlike and ruthless Norsemen, and though not by my own will, I had ended up ruling all the seas of Europe's northern half—the so-called North Sea.
To come this far and then say something like, 'Actually, I never intended this...!' or 'This duty is too heavy for me...! How could a weak creature like me handle it...?'—I had come too far for that.
In any case, it was a second life, lived with a body and mind like steel. I resolved to dream a greater dream.
That dream was simply to bequeath a better future to my descendants. To live in a more livable world with my family, friends—nonexistent—and followers.
As you know, I was an outsider flung here from the 21st century.
No matter how much I felt my mother's endless love, received my brothers' care, and met the one I loved,
in a corner of my heart, there would always unavoidably be one small hole.
If I had come with all my memories erased I might not know, but adapting and completely forgetting were entirely different matters.
Thankfully I possessed a strong mental fortitude; otherwise, it would not have been strange if I had collapsed at any time.
And so, I wanted all the more to change this world.
Because I well knew how far humans could reach.
Beyond the realm of technology, I believed there was certainly a role I could play in bringing the spiritual mindset to the level of the 21st century.
Thus, I changed.
More challengingly than cautiously.
More proactively than merely being pushed forward.
In the end, to accomplish what I intended, this thing called Fylkir—the emperor of the North Sea—was necessary, and so I halted the holy duel and forced down the people.
'... Unexpectedly, it seemed people rather welcomed being pressed down in this way...'
In any case, all was well that ended well, and the incorporation of Kaupang and Halfdan had been decided. I must not disappoint them.
Having embraced ambition for the first time since I was born into this world, I stood at the bow of the ship heading for Árós, feeling that it was not so bad after all.
'If I had never begun at all, it would be different, but now that I am Fylkir, I must do this properly. I must drive change, transformation—so great that they cannot come to their senses. I'll work them all like dogs—make them work hard and become one. Under the banner of the North Sea.'
The North Sea.
Yes, the North Sea sounded good. The identity that the people of my empire would hold. The North Sea.
The North Sea Empire.
Just as the people of the lands once ruled by the Romans still seek Rome, I would make the people of the seas where the North Sea walked never forget the North Sea Empire.
My goal was to surpass that Rome.
In return for these absurd blessings and opportunities I had received, for the sake of those who had fallen by my hand and those who would be born in the future, I wanted to give them a world far brighter than the future I knew.
We would all achieve this dream of mine together.
Especially Ivar, Olaf, Bagsecg, and the other warriors who had been at Kaupang's square yesterday were putting strength into their shoulders as if they themselves had become Fylkir.
They seemed to want to boast that they had been present at a historic scene.
As I imagined Árós already growing noisy with their boasting, my heart reached my family.
What a wretched husband I was.
Combined with my previous life, my age easily passed forty, yet I was still impulsive and immature like a child.
With a vow to surely repay Inga, my fleet passed Uppsala and finally reached Árós.
All those grand thoughts about ambition, dreams, 'Now I'll be different!' that had filled my head just two hours ago vanished like a mirage.
In their place, the image of just one person lodged itself solidly.
A woman who stood at the very front of the pier, which was made not of wooden planks but somehow of long, well-polished stone,
Her flawless, jade-white skin, as if flaunting that she had come down from the further north, and her pure white blonde hair that seemed even whiter than her skin, had been neatly braided and laid over one shoulder.
Her long eyelashes, her large eyes, her straight nose extending downward, even her crimson lips were exactly as I remembered. But below that, things were slightly different.
Her appearance, carefully cradling a slightly rounded belly with both hands,
how should I describe it? It possessed a more devastating power than anything I had ever faced.
My mind simply turned pure white and I could do nothing at all.
The surrounding laughter and cheers, the tears and bright smiles glistening in the eyes of my two mothers,
my brothers' teasing laughter, the admiration and happy feelings carried in the people's applause—all of it was as hazy as a mirage.
Only Inga's figure remained distinct, and I, shaking my two hands that seemed larger and more useless than ever today, had no idea what to do.
"You've returned safely, Helgi."
Seeing my wretched self, the daughter of the deer farm owner welcomed me with a bright smile and tears.
In an absurdly awkward posture, I carefully embraced her, keeping my ignorantly sturdy torso as far from her belly as possible to protect it.
At the sight of me, Inga and everyone around burst into great laughter again, but my eyes and mind touched only my wife's face.
I still wasn't sure if this was a dream or reality, but upon returning home, I had become a father-to-be.
*****
"Now, listen well, Helgi! The name must absolutely be something powerful. It doesn't matter whether it's a daughter or a son. No, a daughter would be even better. If you give her a weak name and she gets teased for it, you'll be resented for life, I tell you!"
Unexpectedly, the first problem that rushed at me when the child was on the way was the name.
Ordinary new fathers would worry about child-rearing or the birth, but as you know, I was one of the wealthiest men and a royal in Europe.
Naturally, this had to be quite different from ordinary child-rearing.
Although the junior had not yet been born...
My two mothers, calling it the first heir of the Fylkir, had been moving fervently with that unique feminine, inexhaustible endurance.
As a result, they had personally managed everything from wet nurses to all sorts of servants for odd jobs, a cook or food supplier dedicated to the baby's meals... and all other such matters.
Truly, there was far less for me to do than I expected. At best, I would loiter between my two vigorously moving mothers and get chased away, or I would stick to Inga's side all day, massaging her hands and feet and falling asleep together.
Should I say that all mothers in the world are indeed great?
No sooner had I finally become Fylkir and struck a pose, than life immediately taught me humility before which I could only feel awe.
Still, the tension and worry of a half-baked newlywed husband were somewhat eased by my foolish brothers' nonsense.
As I let Ivar or Sigurd's mad talk about naming the child something like 'Absolute God,' 'Cast-Iron Arm,' or 'Dragon's Fang' go in one ear and out the other, I seriously contemplated my child's name.