Chapter 46: Chapter 40: For the Glory of the North

Although both sides were eager for a fight, they were chained to different stone pillars. Only those chained to the same pillar could come to blows, while the rest could only offer support by launching long-range saliva attacks.

In reality, the fight wasn’t intense at all.

"What’s all this noise! Quiet down! Quiet! Quiet!"

The large-scale brawl among the prisoners finally attracted attention. Alette, commanding a group of guards, quickly surrounded the prisoners. They were a squad of well-equipped, ax-wielding Guards whose bodies were covered in even more grotesque tattoos than the average Viking Warrior.

They pressed the sharp blades of their axes against the prisoners, and the chaotic atmosphere instantly fell silent.

For most people, so-called faith must give way to reality—especially in the face of death.

Eric quickly pulled back his hands, slipped them back into his shackles, and began whistling, feigning indifference.

"Hey, hey, hey, brother, brother, that’s enough."

Lagman grabbed a guard who was in the middle of a zealous fight. This guard was clearly a believer in the old gods; he was straddling a Christian prisoner, pummeling him with gusto.

After being pulled aside by Lagman, the guard, still not satisfied, gave the other man one last kick.

Lagman helped the Christian prisoner to his feet and urged him to get away. But the Christian, still furious, spat in the direction of the guard—and it landed squarely on Lagman’s face.

The corner of Lagman’s mouth twitched.

In the grand scheme of things on the Isle of Man, this was just a minor incident. No one cared what a group of prisoners about to be sent to their deaths were thinking.

"Get them all on the ships. Watch them closely. Put them on the longships linked by chains."

Alette directed the guards to load the prisoners onto the longships, then turned to Lagman, who stood beside him.

"From now on, you will command this army of prisoners, Lagman."

He then turned, grabbing Lagman and leaning in to speak.

"Yes, Uncle Alette," Lagman replied with a nod.

"Do you see? This is your standing in your father’s eyes. To him, you’re only fit to lead a bunch of slaves. I advise you to think carefully, Lagman. Don’t end up like me, with nothing, reduced to a lowly mercenary."

"A member of the Nobility without land is nothing."

"I understand, Uncle."

Lagman gave his uncle a perfunctory reply and then walked toward the longship carrying the slaves. It was a topic he didn’t particularly want to discuss.

His father’s words in the council hall yesterday still haunted him.

Of course he yearned for the throne and a territory of his own. He also refused to admit that he was inferior to Harald.

He had always thought he could win his father’s favor by proving his worth, obtaining what he wanted without bloodshed.

’Perhaps... his father just doesn’t love him that much.’

He could never accept the Vikings’ customary way of seizing the throne. He knew that the Vikings’ repeated defeats stemmed from their endless succession struggles, and he didn’t want to be the villain in that story.

He also didn’t want to destroy his family, not even for a father like that.

’But now it seemed he truly... had nowhere left to go.’

’Oh, my ancestors, where am I to go?’

Lagman boarded the longship. For fear of a slave revolt during transport, a number of guards nearly equal to the number of slaves was assigned to the escort. Furthermore, each longship carrying slaves was chained to an empty one.

As a result, the longship Lagman was on was rather crowded. He sat at the prow, gazing out at the distant sea, which was much calmer and more beautiful than on the day he had returned with Harald.

It was noon, and the sunlight was a bit harsh. He lowered his gaze, and soon noticed a particularly conspicuous person on the longship, right beside him.

’A Priest?’

"Are you a Priest?" Lagman asked in a low voice.

"By Christ, I thought everyone on this island had a conscience eaten by dogs," Eric said with a shrug. His gaze, however, wasn’t on Lagman’s face, but on the silver arm-ring on his arm, glinting in the sunlight.

"You can speak our language? And you speak it so well." Lagman had only said it casually, not expecting Eric to reply.

"What else? The Scandinavian tongue isn’t some profoundly difficult language. It’s a piece of cake." Eric leaned back against the side of the longship, speaking casually to Lagman.

"You don’t seem scared at all. In a few days, you’ll be joining a war with an unknown future. You might even die," Lagman said, reminding him, thinking Eric might not know where they were being taken.

"And what if I am scared? What if I’m not? Would it please you if I were weeping and wailing? That’s quite malicious of you. The Normans are pragmatic."

"Normans? Oh, speaking of which, I used to know a..."

Just as Lagman was about to say something, an ethereal voice cut him off, drawing his attention—no... it drew the attention of nearly everyone.

"O, son of man, you have no place here... here..."

At that moment, on a high sand dune by the shore, a woman stood. She wore a goat-headed cowl that obscured her face and a cat-skin cloak that hid her figure.

"A Wolva Witch? You still have that position?" (Note: A Wolva Witch is a female Prophet in Northern Europe, equivalent to Freya in the mortal realm, who blesses warriors before battle.)

"You actually know about them?" Lagman asked, looking at Eric in surprise. "The Warriors of the Isle of Man need the comfort of the Lord of Heaven, but they also need Lady Yulsa to guide them in battle and pray for the Warriors’ victorious return."

"Truly pragmatic," Eric remarked, looking toward the witch.

"Lady Yulsa. What are you doing here? Did my father summon you?"

Lagman quickly and solemnly knelt on one knee on the ship. It wasn’t just him; nearby believers who still followed the old gods, as well as those with more... flexible faiths, also knelt on the ship or on the sand.

"No, son of man. I am summoned only by fate. I have always been here. I know that you need me."

She walked slowly toward Lagman. Perhaps because she was closer, her voice carried a hint of youthfulness. Her blue eyes, however, looked ice-cold.

The silver rings on her bare toes glittered on the sand under the sunlight.

She held her hands out flat, then suddenly clutched her head as if receiving some divine calling.

"I see it. I see it. The Giant Wolf Fenrir is roaring, its fangs drip with blood—the fresh blood of the sons of man. Blood of sons... of sons... blood..."

She spoke with a strange, trailing echo that made Eric feel particularly awkward.

She waved her fingers in front of Lagman, approaching him with a menacing tone.

Suddenly.

"OOF!"

She tripped and fell to the ground.

"Who threw this banana... ahem~"

She saw what she had stepped on, and a flash of anger crossed her blue eyes. However, she quickly composed herself and, going with the fall, lay back on the sand.

"The gods are speaking!"

The Warriors nearby erupted.

"This is bad! It’s a terrible omen! A terrible omen!"

"The gods are warning us!"

"Dammit! Everything was planned out perfectly."

Hearing the witch’s words, the Warriors grew restless. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Of course, some of the Christian Warriors scoffed at this, but their voices were quickly drowned out by the others.

"No, the vision is far from over~! I also see~! An eagle comes from the sea, borne not by wings, but by a blood-stained Cross. The ravens are cawing, the souls of the dead are wailing!"

She scrambled up from the sand.

"Oh! The gods protect us!"

"Glory to the North!"

"The gods are with us!"

The Warriors, who had been dejected just moments before, let out excited roars.

"Do you believe her?" Eric asked, looking at Lagman.

"Why get hung up on one person? Lady Yulsa is a person, not a god. Even Odin himself isn’t perfect. For a Warrior, it’s the words that have Power, not the person themselves." Lagman suddenly laughed.

"True enough," Eric said with a nod of agreement.

He then subconsciously glanced in the direction of the witch, but was surprised to find that she had vanished.

"What!?"

Eric stood up unconsciously, then patted his pocket and sat back down.

Looking at the five silver rings in his hand, he breathed a sigh of relief.

...

「Behind a certain sand dune.」

The witch, who had tumbled onto the sand, struggled to her feet.

"Dammit! Who was the idiot who threw a peel on the ground! And why is there a nail in it?"

Yulsa sucked on her bleeding toe to soothe the pain.

As she was about to get up, she looked down at her now-bare toes.

"Where are my rings!?"