Chapter 180
Chapter 180
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 180
Chapter Title: Interlude: Crisis is Opportunity
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*
“Kill him.”
“Jarl, Jarl!! Just one more chance... just give me one more chance...”
A deep, black night. It was a night when chilly snowflakes drifted down sporadically. The kneeling warrior shed tears as he slammed his forehead into the snow-covered ground. Please, please... It wasn’t that he didn’t want to die. It meant he didn’t want to meet his end like this.
“Shh.”
A young boy stepped forward before him. His black cloak dragged long across the ground. Black, spiderweb-like scars covered his pale, youthful skin. The boy spun a massive axe, as big as his own head, effortlessly with one hand.
“Besan. If I must give you another chance, tell me why. Why should I?”
“Jarl... From the time of your predecessors, I have served your house with unwavering loyalty.”
“Such excuses for your incompetence are utterly pathetic. I already gave you another chance once before. A chance to defend your failure.”
-Shing.
The axe gleamed coldly under the moonlight. The boy gazed at the middle-aged man kneeling before him with dry, emotionless eyes. Poised as if to strike down at any moment, yet holding still, as if daring him to attack.
“You bastard.”
The warrior ground his teeth and muttered.
“Is this the reward for my loyalty? Just this? You traitor! You’ve betrayed humanity!”
The warrior sprang up, drawing a dagger from his bosom. In a single draw and strike. The dagger shot toward the boy’s throat like a flash of light. The boy’s small stature made the sudden assault astonishingly swift.
-Clang!
But the blade shattered in the first clash.
-Slash.
Before the dagger’s fragments could fly through the air. Before the man’s eyes could even react, his arm was severed.
-Whoosh—. Crunch.
With that centrifugal force, it spun full circle, finally reaching the man’s head. The axe, coiling like a striking serpent, cleaved through his neck and skull. Completing three motions in a single draw, the boy spun the axe once more to shake off the blood from its blade and sheathed it at his waist.
“Dispose of it.”
As the man, now bereft of limbs above the shoulders, collapsed limply, the warriors standing behind him silently grabbed his legs and dragged him away. A long trail of blood marked the snow. The boy indifferently regarded the dagger fragment embedded in the back of his hand, then plucked it out and let it fall.
“It was a duel, not an execution, so his soul should reach Valhalla. That is the reward for your loyalty.”
The boy turned and walked away. His black cloak trailed across the white, snow-blanketed ground. The warriors watching him prostrated themselves all at once and whispered. ‘Erik’. ‘Great Jarl’. ‘King of the North’...
Ebony Erik. The warriors did not rise from their spots until his presence fully faded.
*
When Erik returned to his command tent, servants approached at once to remove his garments and wipe his body with warm, damp cloths. His small frame was covered in scars and scabbed wounds, so the maids’ hands moved with utmost care.
In the midst of this, one maid touched the back of his hand where blood still flowed. Erik’s brow twitched, and the maid paled, prostrating herself low on the ground.
“F-Forgive me!!”
“Enough.”
Erik took the damp cloth from the trembling maid’s hand and roughly wiped the wound. The bleeding stopped, and a scab formed in an instant. Another scar to add to the collection. Erik watched it quietly for a moment, then handed the cloth back to the maid.
“Leave me. I want to rest.”
“Y-Yes!”
The maids bowed their heads in unison and withdrew. At the same moment, a silhouette formed behind him like gathering mist.
“You have a kind heart, Erik.”
“Baldur.”
“Haha, was that really necessary? Hmm? Every time a new scar appears on that tiny body of yours, my heart aches. My great warrior. Even if your heart were torn out, you wouldn’t die anyway.”
Baldur’s blessing was ‘Invulnerability’. A flawless, shining life—the life of a king. With that blessing upon him, Erik could not die even if he tried.
Long ago, when Baldur was first born, Great Goddess Frigg bestowed upon him a blessing that no being in the material world could harm, praising his perfect form. ‘Invulnerability’ was a minor copy of that blessing: immunity to death by any material being.
Thus, from Baldur’s perspective, what Erik had done was utterly pointless. A ridiculous farce, a hollow puppet show.
“Only in that moment do I feel truly alive.”
“Tch. Mortals.”
Yet the blessings and curses of the gods were one and the same. The absence of death’s threat meant, in turn, being robbed of the sensation of truly living. From a very young age, Erik could only feel his life when he took wounds.
Baldur gazed at Erik’s left chest, where scars clustered so densely it looked as if the flesh had been torn away. The heart beneath surely bore no fewer marks.
It displeased him. The great warrior personally blessed by the god of ‘Perfection’ should be flawless even in appearance. Baldur frowned as he watched Erik slowly don his robe.
“So, what brings you here?”
“How rude. Do I need a reason to visit my great warrior?”
“At least you do.”
Baldur made no effort to hide his irritation at Erik’s words. An overwhelming presence pressed down on Erik. Erik faced Baldur’s anger with an unchanging, numb expression.
After a brief standoff, Baldur chuckled to himself and waved his hand dismissively.
“How go the recent matters?”
“I’ve got it handled.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve got it all under control, I’m sure. No successful operations to speak of, right? Hmm? Not even managing to hunt down those pathetic remnants of defeated foes—filthy rabble from wretched tribes barely sustaining their own wounded kin. Haha!”
As Baldur spoke mockingly, Erik’s expression gradually hardened. Baldur cackled at the sight.
“Of course it would be. Vanadis got involved, after all.”
“...Vanadis?”
“Yes, our dear cousin. The dwarves’ whore, filthy half-breed... Freyja Vanadis. That bitch has awakened.”
“One of the underground tombs we overlooked, then. Should’ve pried open every lid, no matter how long it took.”
“Well, we lacked time back then. Not now. If anything, she’s the one short on time.”
Baldur sidled up to Erik with a smirk.
“From your tribe, kill every living being younger than you.”
“...Why?”
“Vanadis’s authority is the ‘Breath of New Life’. If that bitch decides to meddle in earnest, every region with children will fall under her gaze. So, slaughter all the young mortals. Replacements are endless, aren’t they?”
“There’ll be significant backlash. Most tribal warriors took up arms to protect their families.”
“Ha, now? What if those scum rebel? And they’ve outlived their usefulness anyway. If they resist... well, do as we always have.”
Do as we always have... Erik swallowed the thorny words rolling in his mouth. The implication of offering rebels as sacrifices to demons weighed heavily on his throat.
“If a being with such authority has joined them... it means they have a focal point.”
Not just blindly lucky in evading pursuit, but some organized group aiding them in shaking off trackers. Likely one of the clans he had crushed.
“Oh, excellent. That’s precisely it.”
“And it means they’re not just fleeing to safer ground—they’re preparing to resist.”
“That too. Vanadis isn’t some naive saint without plans. That bitch has prepared for Ragnarok over long ages. Her petty ‘noble cause’ isn’t mere refugee relief.”
Baldur stroked Erik’s shortly cropped hair and whispered.
“So, provoke your tribal warriors. Make them betray you. And kill every last traitor. Let more blood flow...”
“What do you mean?”
“Before Vanadis departed, half of the Einherjar were under her command. A cursed legion gone mysteriously missing. Somewhere in this north, in one of the underground tombs we missed, there’s a gateway to their domain... Vanadis will surely try to open that door to win this war.”
“Then I should deploy warriors to search the tombs again.”
“No, that’s not it, little one.”
Baldur’s eyes gleamed with cruelty.
“Make them bold. Let them think we’re walking into their trap. Urge them to dig the pit deeper. Remember: a trap is a threat—and an opportunity. To dig that trap and face us, they’ll concentrate all their power and resources there. Remove that, and this tedious war ends.”
In truth, direct battles or large-scale engagements had been rare since the war’s early days. Most fighting consisted of annihilating fleeing enemies or rooting out and eliminating scattered refugees.
To simply conquer the north by force, Erik’s legion was overpowered. The clan warriors had no means to combat the demons summoned by sacrificing countless humans.
“How does betrayal among my warriors help? If that goddess summons her legion, shouldn’t we prepare for battle?”
“Block Einherjar with your toy soldiers? Hilarious, hahaha. Einherjar can only be met with Einherjar, and the remaining half are in Valhalla. Valhalla’s gates open only to warriors’ deaths, after all...”
My great warrior. Slaughter your warriors on the battlefield to open the gates to Valhalla. The fallen god whispered in Erik’s ear.
“Then, atop the blood of all the dead warriors—excluding the puppets too craven to betray—Valhalla’s gates will open. The Einherjar will descend to earth, prepare for war, the long Fimbulwinter will end, the land will burn at last, and the age of the wolf will dawn. The seas will boil away, the clouds will blaze, and upon that world... Jörmungandr will descend.”
Like an ancient shaman chanting prophecy in madness, Baldur whispered slowly into his ear. Erik bowed his head silently. The gods’ fate, Ragnarok...
“And when that era of crumbling earth and shattering skies ends, upon the compost of old ruins, a new age will be conceived. I, Baldur, the promised king, shall be the sole ruler of that world. Young Erik. Do you fear this destruction?”
Baldur hissed like a serpent. Erik slowly raised his bowed head and met Baldur’s eyes.
“It makes me feel alive.”
Erik’s black eyes blazed like a land engulfed in flames. Baldur smiled whitely at the sight.
*
[He’s started his filthy games. Baldur.]
In the command tent, Freyja, seated in meditation with eyes closed, suddenly opened them and muttered. Kirhas, who had barely slept for five days while coordinating the battle situation, looked at her with a face heavy with fatigue.
“What do you mean?”
[My cousin has noticed my presence. Still a cunning bastard, damn him.]
“You mean the fallen Aesir?”
[Yes, that arrogant hypocrite who pretended to be pure all by himself. Child. This great Vanir Freyja was once called a ‘half-breed’ by that unlucky wretch.]
Freyja slowly unfolded her legs, stood, and stretched. Her stiffened body shivered.
[He’s noticed me. And he’s begun the most horrific thing—that bastard is capable of. I want to stop it, but I can’t. So we must hurry.]
“What do you mean?”
[That scum has started massacring every young life near their legions. A shallow trick to evade my eyes, but...]
“Their morale must be in the pits. There could even be infighting.”
[Exactly.]
Freyja looked down at the flower garden she had conjured. Gazing at the map of the north depicted in flowers, Freyja frowned.
Goddess of New Life. She symbolized motherhood and mercy. To her, the death of a child was always a lingering pain. Feeling a pang in her chest, she flicked her hand. The red flowers on the map trembled and withered black.
[In the last scene I saw, there was definitely infighting. Here, here, and there. Cracks have formed in their bloated front lines. Civil war has broken out.]
“That’s... an opportunity.”
[We must hurry. If he fully quells the civil war, Valhalla’s gates will open. Until Fernandez opens the Vanir gateway and leads my legion, we need to buy time.]
Time is the most precious strategic resource. The Vanir’s Einherjar were originally devised to buy time for rallying refugees, but not every battle unfolds according to plan.
It was a fairly threatening variable, but to field commanders like Kirhas who had reached certain realms, a threat was also an opportunity.
Kirhas’s eyes lit up. Freyja nodded at her. Kirhas turned to the warrior standing behind her and said.
“Summon the Jarl. We begin the offensive.”