1.
1.
A little west of Uppsala, the largest city in Northern Europe's Scandinavia, there lay a stretch of land.
Somewhere the dark-blue sea pushed deep into the interior, there was a city called Árós.
If one were to interpret its meaning, it was the mouth of a river—or an estuary.
Where a great river, flowing down from the high northern mountains, met the dark-blue sea.
The city had planted itself firmly in a spot the earth itself seemed to have designated for a port, and though it had originally been conceived as something of a satellite city for the foremost city of Uppsala, lately it had been growing at a storming pace, absorbing all the surrounding population and resources.
If, in 21st-century South Korea, people suddenly poured out of Seoul into the surrounding Gyeonggi region, what would the reason be?
This world of Earth-187, medieval Northern Europe—Sweden was not yet a country, after all—people came chasing rumors from Uppsala to the east, Kaupang to the west, Roskilde to the south, and even from the long mountain range to the north of my city Árós.
And that rumor was none other than: [To the east, by the sea, there is a land called Árós, ruled by a king (Konungr) blessed by the goddess Hel.]
'A king? How absurd...'
Of course, the people of this early medieval age were not so naive as to believe every rumor floating in the air.
They would occasionally look up at the aurora in the night sky, shout the names of the gods, and drink like mad... but within the bounds of medieval common sense, these people were rational.
But in the medieval understanding, the existence of gods was a given, and my very existence, which had brought change to this land from the moment of my birth, was at least 'divine' enough to them.
[Trait: Green Hand]
It was one of the many traits I crammed in when I started playing Europa Kings, that notoriously terrible isekai game.
Because it sat in the slot just below Genius, Strong, and Attractive, I was fortunate enough to have read the trait description (after that, I grew too lazy to read the descriptions and just jammed in every green trait that looked good), so I remembered it.
[In this person's domain, hunger is nowhere to be found. The acquisition rate of all resources increases according to the user's abilities.]
When you combined a trait that looked ridiculously good at a glance with my abilities, which I had maxed out to the system's limits, a miracle unfolded in this simple coastal domain of Árós: enough food was produced to feed the entire population of Scandinavia.
Sudden surges in grain harvests, fish that practically threw themselves bodily onto fishing boats, bees that boasted prolific fertility and expanded their real estate everywhere, branches that abruptly bore hundreds of fruits at once, wild beasts and birds flocking from all directions... At first, the people cheered; next, they grew afraid; and gradually, they began to doubt and worry.
"What is this?"
"A blessing of the gods? A curse? Odin? Thor? Tyr? Freyr?"
"Then why? Only in this river estuary?"
From the king—Konungr—of neighboring Uppsala, my father Ragnar, to all manner of priests.
The moment the rumor began to flow, they took an interest, and before long, they were at last able to arrive at a single answer...
"Ever since the son of the priestess of the goddess Hel, Asta, and Konungr Ragnar was born on this land, such changes began!"
It was 847, one summer's day.
On his way back from a long expedition, the Adventure King Ragnar, intrigued by word of a priestess serving the unfamiliar goddess Hel, soon learned that this priestess was a great beauty, and after many complicated adult circumstances and courtship, he ultimately won her love—
However, Ragnar, who already had a formal wife (and even she was his third), could not bring himself to set up a new household in Árós and hastily returned to Uppsala.
And soon, when my mother's belly swelled and at last a sturdy baby boy burst forth with a resonant wail into this world, undaunted by the murderous glare of the first wife (the third one), he wielded the king's authority and publicly acknowledged his sixth (official) son as his own child, giving him the name Helgi and securing rights to my mother's lineage, an old and wealthy landowning family.
All of this was decisively settled at the sacred Thing (a type of assembly—more accurately a regional tribal council) held in Uppsala. I, Helgi Ragnarsson, became a Jarl of a district the moment I was born.
Thus, this place, Árós, began to reap the full benefits of my system-born monstrosity, the likes of which would never be seen again in this world.
Over the span of nearly ten years, thanks to the bottomless productivity and all sorts of traits I myself didn't even know I had, the people grew gradually healthier, hardier, the warriors stronger, and the coin purses merchants carried around grew heavier.
But, as with all human affairs, where there is light, darkness inevitably follows.
In this social system that was little more than a Germanic chiefdom, the 'sacred duel' still functioned as a valid political tool.
In other words, though my mother was a priestess of the goddess Hel who presided over death—making her difficult for people to approach—beautiful and young, and under the king's direct protection, there was distance between Árós and Uppsala, and so men with insolent thoughts began to appear one by one.
'I am a Jarl of such-and-such a place, I am a descendant of such-and-such Konungr... the place was crawling with madmen.'
After my father Ragnar, my mother, who had sworn to devote her whole heart to the goddess Hel and to my upbringing, naturally refused every single one of those vile proposals (?), and a few overzealous warriors, unused to rejection, attempted to claim her pure affection (?) by brandishing the sacred duel, but their opponent was poorly chosen...
It was precisely Helgi Ragnarsson, a warrior the likes of which humanity had never seen—that is to say, myself.
Truth be told, it wasn't easy to accept reality after waking up in this medieval land.
Of course, thanks to the [Trait: Composure] trait, I didn't suffer from drastic grief or panic attacks, but being suddenly transmigrated from in front of my desk monitor into the body of a medieval Viking prince was something that had never been in my life plan.
To speak bluntly, even the toilet was an outhouse; everything you ate was hard bread or smoked meat; there was no toothpaste to brush your teeth; and instead of fragrant soap, you washed your hair with whatever substance was in the process of becoming soap...
Once you've experienced medieval land, you understand why people of this era inevitably died young.
Even so, it was an immense stroke of fortune that the Norsemen had a custom of washing their bodies in the stream at least once a week and always carried a comb, endlessly grooming their hair and beards; they were, unexpectedly, exceptionally clean...
But could that compare to the sanitary environment of the 21st century?
Even my mother, the priestess of Hel who held a rank just below the king in this warrior society, was living through the winter with geese, pigs, and two dogs inside the house.
For a frail city-dweller of the 21st century, the nightly battle against crawling insects was nothing short of horrific.
In the end, I did manage to adapt somehow.
On top of that, because this whole neighborhood was a marshy region, why in the world were there so many mosquitoes...? The only reason I was able to overcome this entire hellish environment was purely thanks to my mother's love.
'I truly learned for the first time that a person could do this much for their child.'
It was devotion as if she had literally ground her entire life into it.
Sitting close to me all day, she would stroke my hands and feet with eyes full of love, and as a priestess of Hel she helped the old and powerless, guiding their final journey while constantly checking to see if her son was in any discomfort—those images still remain in my heart.
In this world, it is not so common for effort and hope to be rewarded, and perhaps the goddess Hel took pity on my wish to grow up as quickly as possible and help that mother of mine.
My body grew preposterously and was strong.
I say again, not that I grew stronger—I was simply strong from the very start.
Don't they tell those stories?
That in sports, especially those that use implements like rackets, talent really is everything. That effort is something only those with talent should even bother making.
In my previous life, I had no physical talent whatsoever, so I dismissed those words with a shrug—but in this life, I could feel them deep in my bones.
'The sensations were on an entirely different level.'
When Hrólfr, the great warrior and steward of the temple of Hel whom my father had assigned to me—my protector, my teacher—first placed a wooden sword in my hands, I understood in a single instant exactly how I was meant to wield that blade.
The very next day, I defeated my teacher.
"My Jarl, the blood of a god flows within your body."
The moment we exchanged a single stroke, Hrólfr, unable to withstand the force my sword carried, lost his grip on his own blade and had no choice but to stare up, utterly bewildered, into my eyes—I, who at nine years old had already grown to the height of his chest—as if he were looking at something beyond human.
"From now on, I will personally oppose anyone who dares to challenge my mother's authority with an insolent heart."
"But Jarl Helgi, wielding a sword well is not the same as fighting well. Once I have taught you everything I can, and once you, my Jarl, have grown to my height, I will gladly return the title of great warrior."
"...Understood, Hrólfr."
A year later, at the age of ten, I won my first sacred duel, and from then until this day, I have never once been defeated.
The people of Árós and Uppsala, who had been living witnesses to all my duels, kept attaching various epithets to me and repeating them until at last only a single nickname remained: it was 'Sterkr Helgi'—Helgi the Strong.
*****
Like that river flowing down, indifferent and aloof.
Time flowed without pause, and before I knew it, I had already reached the age of seventeen, in the second month of summer.
As news spread that the 'Duel of Árós,' which had been quiet for a while due to a lack of challengers, was to be held for the first time in a long while, people throughout the city savored the festive atmosphere and hurriedly gathered one by one to the dedicated arena situated on the outskirts of town.
'Though calling it a dedicated arena means nothing more than a ring roped off in a circle, with stepped earthen seats built up around it.'
What had clearly begun as challenges born of pure affection (?) twisted love (?) or greed for my mother's wealth had, at some point, transformed into a sacred duel with the feel of contenders challenging the heavyweight champion, Helgi.
Before I knew it, people had even affixed the special term 'Duel of Árós' to the matches I fought.
"Jarl Helgi! Jarl Helgi! My Jarl!"
"Valhalla awaits! O foolish warrior! Val-hal-la!"
"Blood to Odin! Gods, witness your great warrior here! Today, Helgi fights again!"
Hm. Amidst the people cheering and shouting at the top of their lungs, I could see cups overflowing everywhere.
How on earth had it turned into such a festive party? Had I become nothing more than a gladiator fighting in the Colosseum?
'More than anything, I am the son of a priestess who serves the goddess Hel... I'm not particularly connected to Valhalla.'
Valhalla was for warriors who died by the sword, who went to Odin, and half of their share was claimed by the goddess Freyja. However, both had little to do with the goddess Hel.
All those who died ordinary deaths belonged to the goddess Hel.
"Va-al-ha-l-a-!!!!"
"Let's go-!!!"
But the people seemed to care nothing at all about my personal faith.
'Well, good is good, I suppose.'
I lightly swung both arms to check my shoulders, verified the strap holding my shield in place, and gripped the sword hilt once more.
A pleasant sensation coursed through my whole body alongside surging power. If I lost control of this strength even slightly, the bones of an ordinary human would be shattered. And that was not what I wanted.
"Jarl Helgi. Thank you for answering this sacred duel."
On the opposite side, the warrior of sturdy build who had come forth to stand as proof of himself bowed his head and showed me the utmost respect.
[Tung-!]
I lightly drummed my fist against the shield strapped to my left forearm and reciprocated the courtesy.
"Today, let us inquire of the gods regarding each of our honors."
"Very well!"
Soon, as the two warriors standing face-to-face in the center of the arena pulled their helmets down low and raised shield and sword to aim at one another, the people surrounding the arena let out a massive roar, as if they could no longer contain their excitement.
In their eyes, the sight looked like a small hill challenging a mighty mountain.
Beyond the crowd who had lost their minds in anticipation of witnessing the legendary martial prowess of Helgi Ragnarsson, already treated as something like a demigod or a descendant of the gods, the shields of the two warriors at last touched.
[Kwang-!]