Erik looked past the timber walls of the rebel city, his gaze traveling all the way up the dark slopes of the mountain behind it.

A thick plume of black smoke was lazily drifting from the peak, barely visible against the dark night sky.

"Damnit..." Erik breathed out, taking a slow step backward away from the shoreline. "That sound... it is horror, Halig."

"It is just a mountain..." Halig tried to joke, though his voice was completely strained and nervous. "It has been smoking since we arrived today. It is probably just complaining about the cold."

"No, you don’t understand..." Erik said. He grabbed Halig by the arm, "At any moment, this volcano might blow up, If that mountain decides to open its mouth... even the muskets, even Ragnar himself can’t save us."

Though Erik was a brave and legendary warrior, this sudden fear was deeply relatable.

"We are standing on a frozen lake, waiting to fight angry exiles, while a massive mountain of fire grumbles right over our heads," Halig muttered, running a hand through his blonde hair. "This is a fucking nightmare. We should have stayed in Francia with Bjorn."

"We will leave this cursed island tomorrow." Erik promised firmly, forcing himself to let go of Halig’s arm. He took a deep breath. "I refuse to die because a piece of dirt decided to vomit fire."

Afterward, Torstein walked back over to them, unaware of the mountain’s warning signs. "The men are fed, King Erik. The guards are posted around the outer campfires. We are ready to sleep."

"Good." Erik nodded, giving the Lord Commander a forced smile. "Tell the men to get as much rest as they can. Tomorrow is going to be a very fast, very brutal morning."

Thus, the three commanders walked back toward the largest roaring campfire.

They found a dry spot near the flames, wrapped themselves tightly in their heavy bear-fur cloaks, and lay down on the snowy ground.

The Iron Kingdom army slept shoulder-to-shoulder on the beach, sharing body heat to survive the freezing Icelandic night. The campfires crackled brightly, but Erik couldn’t close his eyes right away.

Every time he drifted off, the deep, grinding rumble from the volcano echoed in his ears, reminding him that they were sleeping right next to a ticking bomb of liquid death.

The sun finally peeked over the eastern horizon, casting a pale light across the snowy valley. The wind had stopped, leaving the morning air freezing and entirely still.

"Wake up! Get up on your feet!" Torstein’s loud voice barked through the camp.

Erik opened his eyes, groaning as his stiff muscles loudly protested the cold.

He sat up, shaking the thick white frost off his heavy fur cloak. Beside him, Halig was already stretching his arms, yawning loudly into the morning air.

"Morning." Halig joked, kicking some loose snow at Erik’s boots. "Did the mountain eat us in our sleep?"

"Not yet." Erik grunted, standing up and checking his mace.

He walked to the edge of the beach and looked out over the valley.

Just as he had predicted, the massive hole in the center of the lake was completely gone.

The freezing night had sealed the dark water with a fresh, smooth layer of clear ice. I

"Torstein!" Erik called out, his confident, commanding energy returning instantly with the daylight. "Are the men ready?"

"Yes, my King!" Torstein jogged over, giving a salute. "The musketeers are awake and fully loaded. What are your orders?"

"It is time to act like terrified cowards." Erik grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Start packing the camp, but do it loudly! Kick the snow over the fires! Leave a few empty crates behind! I want the men to form a loose, messy line and start walking back up the snowy slope toward the ships. Make sure we look completely broken!"

As such, they bumped into each other. They yelled fake, panicked orders. They left heavy wooden buckets and empty powder crates scattered across the snowy beach.

From a distance, it looked exactly like an army that had completely lost its nerve and was running away in terror.

Erik, Halig, and Torstein stood near the back of the retreating line, slowly walking up the icy hill. They kept their eyes glued to the massive timber walls of the rebel city across the lake.

For five minutes, nothing happened. The city remained quiet.

"Maybe your uncle is still asleep." Halig muttered, sounding a little disappointed.

"Wait for it." Erik whispered, his eyes unblinking. "Greed is a slow poison. It takes a minute to reach the brain."

Suddenly, the deep, booming sound of the rebel war horn echoed across the frozen valley.

The massive wooden gates of the city groaned loudly as they were thrown wide open.

Thousands of rebel warriors, armed with heavy axes, spears, and stolen bows, poured out of the city gates. They didn’t form a careful shield wall this time. Seeing the Iron Kingdom army "running away," the exiles broke into an disorganized sprint across the frozen lake.

They were screaming, completely blinded by the desire to catch them, steal the muskets, and claim a glorious victory.

Leading the massive charge, riding his heavy warhorse, was Halfdan. The old warlord was raising his double-bitted axe, pointing at Erik’s retreating back.

"THEY ARE BREAKING! CATCH THEM!" Halfdan’s voice roared, echoing loudly over the ice. "KILL THE COWARDS!"

"Look at them run..." Torstein whispered, his eyes wide as the massive rebel army charged blindly toward the center of the lake. "They are heading right for the new ice."

"Keep walking up the hill!" Erik ordered his men, a massive smile stretching across his face. "Don’t stop! Let them chase us right into the freezing water!"

The Iron Kingdom soldiers continued their fake retreat, glancing back over their shoulders as the thousands of screaming rebels got closer and closer to the deadly center of the lake.

Fifty paces to the new ice.

Thirty paces.

Ten paces.

Erik stopped walking. He turned around, resting his hands on his hips, ready to watch his uncle’s entire army shatter the thin ice and drown in their own foolish greed.

But as the first wave of heavy rebel boots hit the exact center of the lake... the fresh ice did not break.

Thousands of men, snarling war dogs, and even Uncle Halfdan’s heavy warhorse ran directly over the exact spot where 60 men had drowned just yesterday, and the ice held them perfectly. It didn’t even bend.

"What?" Erik gasped, his breath hitching painfully in his throat. "One night of cold is not nearly enough to freeze water that thick! It should have shattered!"

"Erik!" Halig screamed, grabbing his mace with both hands. "They are crossing the lake! They are not falling in!"

The massive rebel army was now sprinting up the snowy beach, completely unharmed, screaming for blood as they charged directly at the retreating Iron Kingdom soldiers.

"How..."

"What the fucking hell is holding that ice together?"