Killing the Jarl
After cleanly devouring the meat from the lord's hand, one problem suddenly came to mind. Where was I going to spend the night? It was too late to head straight back home now that I'd come all the way to Yetebori.
I spotted an elderly couple nearby fixing their roof, so I handed them the barrel of mead Ragnar had given me and offered to help with the work. In exchange, they gave me a small sack of salt and lodging and meals for two days. A woman's body made the heavy labor tough, but it was still far better than sleeping on the street.
After dinner, I sat by the hearth and helped split kindling. The homeowner couple didn't rest either. The husband was sharpening the blade of his iron axe, while his wife and daughter sat around the fire making butter. A thin film had formed over the sheep's milk submerged in an earthenware jar. The wife skimmed it off with a long-handled wooden spoon, then churned it back and forth with a wooden paddle to separate the butter. Watching the process was fascinating. In my previous life, I'd just grab butter off the shelf at the mart, but here they did it all by hand.
That was when it happened. Noisy clamor erupted from the lord's longhouse not far away. Sounded like they were throwing a feast. I perked up my ears and heard Lord Olgrafsson belting out a song in a booming voice. It roughly praised Ragnar's raid on Britain and hailed him as a hero. But at some point, the laughter died down and turned into an argument.
"You're nothing but a lucky mercenary. You borrowed my ships, took my men out raiding, and now you dare make demands of me? Be grateful I even gave you two shares of the loot. What more could you possibly want?"
Ragnar's voice followed, thick with barely contained rage. "We agreed to a three-seven split before sailing in the spring. Why are you going back on it now?"
The argument dragged on for a few minutes. Unable to hold back, I peeked out through a crack in the window. Outside the longhouse, men armed with shields and axes stood in a circle—about thirty of them, six in iron mail. A trap? From the looks of it, Lord Olgrafsson had no intention of paying even the two shares. He'd lured them in with the feast and set his forces in place from the start.
Before long, Ragnar emerged from the longhouse with his comrades. Each carried a small sack of loot, but dissatisfaction was plain on their faces. Muttering curses and complaints, they vanished down an alley.
"Is that really it?" I could hardly believe it. The bold man I'd seen earlier withdrawing so helplessly?
As if reading my mind, the male homeowner started telling me about Ragnar. He was thirty-four this year, born a commoner, with three sons. For years, he'd been hired by lords: sailing out on raids in spring, returning to port in fall for settlement. He'd built enormous fame that way—no one across Northern Europe didn't know his name. But in the end, he was just a lowborn commoner. In front of local powers like Olgrafsson, he had no choice but to swallow his pride.
"I see..." I rubbed my chin, mulling it over. So Ragnar's crew was basically like an outside contractor. Famous, sure, but at heart subcontractors. They had to cater to the whims of their lordly clients. The era and world might change, but the structure of bending the knee to power stayed the same.
"Even a legendary hero's life is... no bed of roses."
Before the words were even out, screams burst from outside, followed by war cries. The homeowner quickly hid his wife and daughter in the underground storage, then grabbed his shield and axe and came back inside. I drew the small axe from my belt for self-defense. Peering through the slightly ajar door, I watched the battle unfold.
After a brief chaos, Lord Olgrafsson emerged from the longhouse, iron axes in both hands. He wore chainmail under a thick black wool cloak, a crude iron helmet on his head.
"Assemble! Form the shield wall!!!"
At the lord's bellow, his men formed the shield wall and advanced. To boost morale, they rhythmically thumped their axe butts against their shields as they marched. Thud! Thud! Thud! An indescribable pressure crushed the air.
Ragnar returned at the front of the shield wall, leading his comrades. Under the moonlight, his face was ashen, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"Why did you ambush me with archers?"
"It's Odin's will. He wants you in Valhalla."
Olgrafsson spouted a lame excuse and ordered the advance. Ragnar's mercenaries silently formed a wedge formation. Ragnar at the tip.
"Odin!"
Sixteen mercenaries roared in unison and charged enemies twice their number. They pierced the shield wall like axes embedding in wood. As the enemy line crumbled, Ragnar didn't waste a second slicing a regular soldier—he charged straight for Lord Olgrafsson. Four shield guards blocked his path.
"Stop!" one yelled. "Come any closer and—"
Ragnar slammed his sword into the first man's shoulder. Splat! The crack of shattering bone rang clear.
"Gaaah!"
The man screamed and collapsed, writhing helplessly. Ragnar didn't blink. The second swung his axe.
"Die!"
Whoosh! Ragnar ducked low, then backhanded the man's leg. Slice! Blood sprayed, splattering his face.
"Argh! My leg... my leg!"
The third clutched his round shield in terror, hesitating. "Eek! S-stay back!"
Ragnar kicked him down and turned on the fourth. Bam! "Guh!" The man tried blocking with his shield, but Ragnar's strength was overwhelming. "Block it! Blo—"
The round shield split in two with one blow, followed by a slash that severed the guard's left hand. Crack! Slice! "Aaaagh!"
It was over in seconds. All four guards down. Ragnar stood unscathed, breathing hard, sword dripping blood. The area fell silent for a moment, save for the sharp wind carrying the thick stench of blood.
"What the hell is that monster..." I muttered, mouth agape. The giant—at least 190 centimeters—dodged attacks with skill while unleashing that brute force? A beast with a bear's strength and a fox's agility. Indeed. Was this the greatest Viking hero?
Olgrafsson's face drained of color as he met Ragnar's shadowed gaze.
"Whoever kills Ragnar gets thirty silver ingots!"
Wealth stirs the heart. "Ooooh!!!" The massive bounty ignited the remaining guards' morale. Even commoners poured out from nearby houses, eyeing the reward.
"Cowardly bastard..."
The tide turned against Ragnar again. After cutting down a few more regulars, he pursued the fleeing Olgrafsson. The two vanished into the darkness one by one.
"What kind of movement is that..." I swallowed hard. Ragnar's combat held no hesitation. It reminded me of medieval dramas and games from my past life, but this was another level. Real blood reeked in the air amid gut-wrenching screams. Not flashy screen action, but the raw reality of flesh and bone breaking.
Boom! A massive crash erupted behind me. The two men tumbled into the house, smashing through the door. Ragnar and Olgrafsson, rolling entangled on the floor.
"Gah?!"
The homeowner and I plastered ourselves against the wall. After fierce struggle, Ragnar's stamina was critically drained. They grappled at each other's throats, neither gaining the upper hand.
"You lowly peasants! Help me finish this mercenary! I'll reward you handsomely!"
Olgrafsson yelled at us. Seeing us frozen, he had no choice but to fight alone. He used his weight to pin the exhausted Ragnar and fumbled for the ornamental dagger at his belt.
"Filthy mercenary scum... May Jörmungandr devour your soul!"
As the lord raised the dagger to strike—instinct took over, no idea why. I snatched a burning log from the hearth and hurled it at Olgrafsson. It smacked him square in the face.
"Argh!"
As he clutched his face screaming, I swung my short axe. Clang! The sharp edge severed his wrist. Thud! The dagger hit the floor.
"Gaaaaah!!!"
I ripped off the howling lord's helmet and smashed his skull. Splorch!!! The axe blade sank deep into his cranium with a dull thud. Olgrafsson's body went limp.
"What... what have I done..."
My hand trembled on the axe haft. I'd killed a man. I'd killed a man.
"Urk..."
My stomach churned. I fought back the vomit. Ragnar slowly rose from the floor, blood-soaked face looking up at me. Then the hero's lips curved into a slow grin.
"...What's your name?"
"S-Svela..."
My voice shook as I answered. Ragnar struggled to his feet and placed his massive, bloodied hand on my shoulder. Heavy and huge...
"Svela, you killed a lord today. You know what that means, right?"
Of course I did. A mere peasant slaying the lofty lord? Execution awaited. If Olgrafsson's men found out, I was done for. No—the whole elderly family too.
"...Yeah. So... what now?"
I forced strength into my quivering voice. Ragnar grinned, flashing bloodied teeth.
"Will you come with me?"
I looked down at Olgrafsson's corpse. Empty eyes. Split skull. Dark red blood pooling slowly on the floor. The man who'd ruled Yetebori until moments ago was now just a cold body. Who could've guessed I'd end up killing a lord while wallowing in my own misery?
"Haa..."
A sigh escaped me. No choices left now. I followed right behind Ragnar.