Chapter 42: Chapter 36: The Fishy Smell in the Jail Cell

He had no idea how much time had passed. Ultimately, it was an overpowering fishy smell that woke Eric.

He opened his eyes and looked around.

Gray stone bricks, a tightly shut iron door, and damp straw. This was clearly a cell, and a sealed one at that. There wasn’t even a window, only two air vents the size of a man’s arm.

And, of course, there was the reek of fish that had woken him.

Eric sat up on the straw, a clash of metal chains ringing out. Both his hands and feet were shackled, and the chains were heavy.

He tried to trace the source of the pungent fishy smell, and his gaze fell upon another figure in the opposite corner of the room.

The room was dim, with the only light filtering in through the air vents.

Eric couldn’t make out the person’s face, but he was certain of one thing: it was definitely not Hessin.

"Brother, how long have I been here?"

In this cell, the other man was the only one he could ask.

After Eric spoke, there was only silence. It seemed the man had no intention of answering.

Just as Eric was about to give up, the sound of chains came from across the cell.

"About two hours." The voice was somewhat hoarse, but exceptionally deep.

"Is that all?" Eric muttered.

"You understand me?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

The man got to his feet and walked toward Eric. The room’s only light fell on him, revealing a dirty fur pelt. Perhaps the pungent stench came from the sealskin.

He was remarkably tall, a good half-head taller than Eric. He had the look of a small giant, though he wasn’t bulky. Instead, he was surprisingly well-proportioned.

His long, flaxen hair was a tangled, knotted mess from neglect. Beneath the strands of hair, a black tattoo snaked around his neck and onto his left cheek.

Of course, even as Eric was sizing him up, the man was doing the same to him.

"You’re a Norman? I’ve heard that the Danish who settled in France forgot their own language long ago."

"Perhaps."

Eric shrugged, got to his feet, and felt his way to the cell door.

Suddenly, he kicked the door with all his might. A tremendous CLANG of metal against metal shattered the silence of the cell.

"Get someone over here! I am a Priest! You villains, you apostates...!"

Eric wasn’t naive enough to think they’d release him because of his Identity as a Priest. He just wanted to get the guards’ attention.

However, the first response he got was an angry roar from the other prisoners.

"Fucking hell! What asshole is making all that noise in the middle of the night?!"

"We’re all stuck in here. Can’t you quiet down for a second, Father?"

"Bullshit Priest! Piss off! Odin is the one true god!"

"..."

The sounds of prisoners banging on their cell doors rose and fell from outside.

But despite all the noise, there was still no sign of any guards.

"A Priest?" The burly man in the fish-reeking pelt glanced at Eric. "You think they’ll care about that?"

"Haven’t all the Nordic People converted?"

"They’ve converted, true enough. But as the saying goes, when you try to force something on people, you’d better make it mandatory for everyone. Even then, you’ll still have holdouts.

Besides, the ones who brought you here aren’t your ordinary Danish. They’re Joms Vikings."

"The Joms Vikings? Haven’t they been disbanded?"

The Joms Vikings were a mercenary brotherhood from the Viking Era. Comprised of wandering warriors from the Three Northern European Countries, they were independent of any kingdom and famous for their devotion to the Norse Gods.

’If I remember right, didn’t the King of Norway wipe them out more than a decade ago?’

"I don’t know about that."

"Are you Danish?"

Eric asked casually, his gaze fixed on the small window in the cell door, peering outside.

Still no sign of the guards.

"No, I’m from Greenland."

"What? Greenland?" Eric froze.

"It’s the westernmost island in the world," the man explained, assuming Eric didn’t know the place.

"I know what it is. Did you come all the way from Greenland just to be a robber?"

"No. I came to kill someone. I came for revenge. Five years ago, someone murdered my mother and my brothers and then vanished. The killer was a fanatical Christian, and he murdered them only because they kept their faith in the old gods."

"Then it seems they put me in a cell with you on purpose."

Eric clearly felt the man’s tone grow cold. He tensed his muscles, wrapping the chain around his left wrist, ready for a sudden move.

"You’re afraid?"

"No. Just calculating how much energy this is going to take."

"Arrogant, aren’t you."

Before the words had even faded, a fist flew at Eric, making the air tremble.

Just as the fist was about to connect with his face, Eric leaped back, swinging the chain between his hands to hook it around the man’s neck.

Eric was about to tighten the chain when another punch flew at him. He was forced to take a step back, but managed to firmly grasp his opponent’s wrist.

But the man’s wrist was like pig iron; Eric couldn’t budge it an inch.

Eric’s pupils contracted.

’Is this a joke? Is this guy on something?’

At that moment, seizing the opportunity, the man yanked the chain with his left hand, easily breaking free from its hold.

Their left fists slammed together, the massive impact sending a jolt of pain through their knuckles. They threw another punch, but both simultaneously shifted from fist to claw, each man grabbing the other by the throat.

And so, they were locked in a stalemate. With each man’s hand on the other’s windpipe, neither dared to squeeze too hard.

"I... say... two prisoners... f-fighting... like this... isn’t right."

"L-let go... together."

"O...kay..."

A minute later, both men were still motionless, locked in the same position, each with a hand clamped on the other’s neck.

"Damn it, you let go first!"

"Why don’t *you* let go?"

"You first!"

"No, you first!"

Three minutes later, there was still no progress.

Both of their faces were turning purple. Any longer and they’d both be dead.

"Let’s... let’s count to three together."

"Fine."

"One!" they both choked out.

"Two!"

"Three!"

"Let go!"

The moment they let go, both men greedily sucked in air, panting heavily.

"Was your enemy me, by any chance?" Eric asked, rubbing his neck. If there had been a mirror, he’d have seen it was already turning a dark purple.

"No. But killing you might have been satisfying."

His voice was still laced with coldness, but his tone quickly shifted.

"However, a brave Warrior deserves to live."

"Is that so? I guess I should be honored," Eric said with a light chuckle, his tone easy as he looked at the other man. "Though I have to say, I’d prefer a peaceful conversation to a life-or-death brawl as a way of getting acquainted."

"My name is Eric."

The cell fell silent for about a minute.

"Leif."

He finally gave his name.