Supreme Viking System-Chapter 16: I miss my old life

The blood was darker than it should have been.

Not fresh-bright, not the sharp crimson that steamed and sang against frost when a kill fell clean and quick. This blood had thickened as it ran, dulled by time and distance, smeared along bark and pressed into leaf mold by hooves that had staggered rather than fled.

Anders followed it anyway.

He moved slowly, bow loose in his left hand, breath measured, steps placed with care. The forest had not yet woken fully. Light filtered down in thin, uncertain bands, catching on spider silk and frost-rimed needles. Somewhere far off, a bird tested its voice and fell silent again.

The elk should have gone down sooner.

That was the first wrongness.

Anders replayed the shot in his mind as he walked. Angle good. Draw steady. Release clean. The arrow had struck deep, but not where he’d wanted it—not perfectly. Enough to kill, eventually. Enough to leave a trail.

Enough to invite others.

The woods thickened as he went, trees drawing closer together, undergrowth tangling around his calves. The air smelled heavier here—damp earth, old rot, the faint copper tang of blood that no longer belonged solely to prey.

He slowed.

The forest had changed its posture.

It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. It was attention—the sense that something had shifted its weight, that an unseen presence had aligned itself with his path. Anders felt it in his chest first, a tightening that had nothing to do with breath. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Predator awareness.

He paused, eyes scanning, ears open.

Nothing moved.

And yet, the silence had weight now.

He exhaled and let the system rise.

The familiar blue shimmer appeared before him, steady and unadorned. No fanfare. No warning.

Status Check — Anders Skjold

Level: 2

Strength: 39

Endurance: 45

Agility: 26

Perception: 39

Will: 65

Honor: Known

Reputation: Clan-aligned

He took note without pride, without surprise.

Fifteen points across the board since the last time he’d looked. Time and effort quietly acknowledged. The system had not rushed him. Had not rewarded spectacle.

It had simply kept count.

He let the screen fade.

Numbers did not matter much out here.

Weight did. Distance. Timing.

And competition.

He found the elk another hundred paces in.

It lay on its side in a small clearing, one hind leg twisted beneath it, chest still faintly warm. Steam curled from the body, thin and ghostlike, drifting upward into the morning air.

Relief flickered.

And then died.

The clearing was wrong.

Too open. Too quiet. Birds should have been arguing already, drawn by the promise of meat. Insects should have begun their patient work. Instead, the forest held its breath.

Anders stepped closer, every sense tightening.

That was when he heard it.

A grunt—low, rolling, heavy with breath and mass. Not angry. Not startled.

Close.

Anders turned slowly.

The bear stepped into view between two spruce trunks, massive shoulders rolling as it moved. Its fur was thick and dark, scarred in places, mottled with old injuries earned and survived. It did not rush. It did not charge.

It claimed space.

The animal was enormous—easily six hundred and fifty kilos, perhaps more. A wall of muscle and experience, eyes small and intelligent beneath a heavy brow. This was not a desperate scavenger.

This was an apex predator responding to opportunity.

The bear huffed again, a sound that vibrated through the clearing, and took a step closer to the elk.

Not toward Anders.

Toward the kill.

Anders did not draw his bow.

He did not shout.

He did not run.

Fear never arrived.

What came instead was a narrowing—a focusing. The world reduced itself to angles and options, to the feel of cold air filling his lungs and the solid press of earth beneath his feet.

Running would fail. He knew that without calculation. A bear this size could outpace him easily over short distances, and the forest would betray him with roots and deadfall.

Surrendering the kill was possible.

But the bear had already marked him.

The animal’s eyes had flicked to Anders, measured him, then returned to the elk as if he were a nuisance rather than a threat.

That was worse.

Anders set the bow aside gently, leaning it against a fallen log where he could reach it again if needed. His gaze dropped briefly to the ground, scanning for what the forest offered.

Sticks.

Straight ones. Thick enough to hold, narrow enough to thrust.

He knelt, movements deliberate, and gathered three lengths of hardwood fallen from an old storm. He tested each for flex, for balance. One snapped under pressure and was discarded. The other two held.

From his pouch, he drew the prototypes.

They were ugly things—arrowheads Anders had shaped and reshaped over months, not bound by tradition or aesthetics. Broad, wickedly edged, barbed in ways that would horrify a smith raised on honor and clean kills.

Modern in philosophy, if not in material.

Maximum tissue damage. Maximum bleeding.

He fitted them to the sticks with practiced hands, binding them tight with cord and resin, twisting until the join felt solid beneath his grip.

Improvised spears.

Not ideal.

But tools were tools.

The bear watched him.

Its head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring as it tested the air. It was not confused by his preparations. It was assessing.

Anders straightened, spear in hand, weight settling into his legs.

And then—unbidden, unwelcome—a thought surfaced.

He missed his old life.

The realization hit harder than the bear’s presence.

Not the noise. Not the pace. But the ease. The way danger had once been optional. Chosen. The way companionship had been simple, immediate, human.

Five years.

Five years since a woman’s laugh had been close enough to touch. Five years since warmth had meant something other than fire or blood. Five years since he’d been a man among men instead of a mind folded into a child’s body, standing alone against something that could tear him apart without malice.

The thought did not weaken him.

But it weighed.

He wondered—not for the first time—whether this was what the gods intended. Whether Odin’s perfect Viking for Valhalla was meant to stand here, spear shaking slightly in small hands, missing a life that no longer existed.

The system did not answer.

The bear took another step forward.

Closer now. Close enough that Anders could hear the animal’s breathing clearly, could smell the rank, musky scent of its fur layered over blood.

The bear lowered its head.

Anders raised the spear.

He planted his feet.

Not because he was fearless.

But because this was the moment he had been walking toward since the day he first crawled across a dirt floor with strength no infant should possess. Since the first time he chose restraint over cruelty, discipline over rage.

This was not a test.

This was the forest answering his presence.

The bear huffed once more, louder now, and shifted its weight.

Anders tightened his grip.

Whatever happened next would be written into him.

And the woods—old, patient, watching—would remember.