ACT EXTRA: Þjálfi’s Daily Ordeals
“Now then, everyone, let us end this sacred ritual in celebration,” Alexis said. “Lend me your hands, and your voices. Together, now...”
“Congratulations!!” Following the lead of the goði Alexis, the attendees cheered in unison, and a smattering of applause echoed in the ritual hall.
Today was the day when the Panther Clan patriarch Hveðrungr and the Lightning Clan patriarch Steinþórr were fortifying their bond as newly sworn brothers, with the ceremony of the Oath of the Chalice.
Each of their respective clans was among the most powerful in Yggdrasil. As such, usually before such an important ceremony, messengers would be sent out in all directions, gathering guests and visitors from across the region. The citizens would receive gifts of alcohol in commemoration, and turning the day into a great national festival would not be uncommon.
However, the citizens in town were currently going about their daily business, entirely unaware that this event was taking place. In the ritual hall, there were fewer than ten people in attendance.
If one were to consider the authority and influence of those involved, it was a sad excuse for a ceremony.
However, one might also say that it could hardly be helped. After all, this particular ceremony could not afford to be made public yet.
As the ceremony concluded, the masked man known as Hveðrungr stood up and held out his hand to Steinþórr. “I’ll be counting on you from now on, Brother.”
In Yggdrasil, the Chalice ceremony was a sacred and inviolable ritual. At the very least, they had each officially declared a stance of mutual recognition and respect, or else it couldn’t take place.
The act of participating while still concealing one’s true face with a mask was unmistakably an offense. In truth, though none said so openly, in secret there had been quite a bit of protest about that from the attendees from the Lightning Clan.
However, such matters of formality and appearance were, as usual, trivial to Steinþórr. “Who cares about the details” had been his response. There was only one thing that was important to him.
“Yeah, same here.” The red-haired young man smiled mischievously and took Hveðrungr’s hand, squeezing it.
“Ngh!” Instantly, Hveðrungr’s confident smile vanished. The force in the hand clasping his was far too great to be construed as anything friendly.
Hmph! This is likely his way of “greeting” me, Hveðrungr thought to himself coolly.
The two of them had become sworn brothers of equal standing to each other, but today was also the first time they’d met. The oath between them was mostly political in nature, an alliance based on the principal of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Likely, the Lightning Clan patriarch wanted to test him, and see just what sort of man his new ally was. Steinþórr was said to have the heart of a tiger, but to Hveðrungr, this was the move of the sort of dullard who had muscles for brains.
Still, this was also a rare chance for Hveðrungr to get a firsthand experience of just how powerful the man known as the strongest in Yggdrasil truly was. He squeezed back with every ounce of his own power. He held back nothing, pouring his strength into his grip with every intent of crushing Steinþórr’s hand, an act at odds with such a diplomatic ceremony. However...
“Hmm... that’s all you’ve got, huh?” Steinþórr muttered in a bored tone, quietly enough so that only Hveðrungr could hear.
It didn’t seem to be a taunt or bluff; he was genuinely disappointed.
Damn it! I’ve no hope of coming close to him in physical strength, after all.
Hveðrungr was leagues stronger than a normal human, but a bit below average when compared to other powerful Einherjar.
He wasn’t the mightiest in terms of pure physical strength, but he had incredible abilities that more than compensated for that, thanks to his rune Alþiófr, Jester of a Thousand Illusions.
And so, personally, Hveðrungr didn’t particularly mind that he’d lost this sort of simple contest of pure strength. But there was another factor at play.
As a patriarch, I can’t allow anyone else to look down on me.
If he were to be taken lightly because he was “weaker,” it could potentially cause problems in future military strategies involving the two clans.
Hveðrungr concentrated his whole mind, focused it on his hand, and exhaled.
“Mm? Whoa?!” Suddenly, Steinþórr lost his balance and stumbled in place.
“Oh, is something wrong, my red-haired brother? Dizziness from standing up too fast, maybe?” Hveðrungr smiled coldly down at Steinþórr, who had lost his footing and almost dropped to a knee.
Steinþórr looked back up at him and blinked a few times, seemingly unaware of what had just happened. However, after a moment, his mouth curled up into a vicious smirk, and he let go of Hveðrungr’s hand, clapping him heartily on the shoulder instead.
“Hey, that was a pretty neat trick you pulled, my masked brother. You know, I remember the last guy who did something like that to me, a skinny guy who looked like a sick, scraggly wolf.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Hveðrungr had an idea who that “scraggly wolf” might be, but he chose to shrug his shoulders and play dumb about both that person and the technique he’d just used.
There was no way he could one-up a monster like this in terms of pure power. So he’d used the willow tree technique, which he’d stolen from his former teacher, the previous Mánagarmr of the Wolf Clan. Hveðrungr had deftly and subtly redirected the flow of force and manipulated Steinþórr’s center of gravity.
“Now, then. I’m reluctant to have to part with my new brother already, but I’m afraid the long journey here has left me quite tired,” Hveðrungr said. “I shall take my leave for today.”
Spinning on his heel in a way that caused his cloak to flap behind him, Hveðrungr turned his back to Steinþórr and left the room.
After walking for a while, he checked to make sure there were no people around, and then muttered to himself, “Hmph, I’d heard rumors about him, but he really is a monster in every sense of the word. I never suspected he was that strong...”
He stared down resentfully at his right hand, which was still throbbing with intense pain.
He’d used his special technique to get one over on Steinþórr, but in the end, that had only worked because the young man’s guard had been down.
The instant Steinþórr had grasped his hand, he’d viscerally felt the overwhelming gulf in strength between them. It had only been a moment of entertainment for the Lightning Clan patriarch. He likely hadn’t been using even half of his actual strength.
If he’d wanted, the Lightning Clan patriarch could have crushed all the bones in Hveðrungr’s hand and wrist, without granting him any time to attempt any clever tricks.
To Hveðrungr, it really felt as if his hand had been held in the open jaws of a tiger.
On the other hand, this experience had also been beneficial; it had granted him a feeling of absolute certainty.
“For someone like him, breaking through that vexing carriage wall defense should be a simple matter.” Hveðrungr smiled to himself.
In the previous war with the Wolf Clan, he’d finally managed to jump some of his horses over the wall of wagons by borrowing the magic power of a seiðr, but that method could only work for at most a few dozen riders. That wasn’t enough to win with, and now that he’d used it once and made it known, such a risky tactic would not likely work again.
And that was exactly why his nemesis, that little brat, surely did not suspect that the Panther Clan had already found a new tactic in such a short amount of time.
That was also why today’s Oath of the Chalice ceremony had been conducted behind closed doors and kept secret. It was all so that the brat would have no chance to come up with some bizarre counter-strategy.
“Keh heh heh... spring cannot come soon enough.”
If it were possible, he would have liked to launch a new invasion right away, but both the Panther Clan and the Lightning Clan had sustained significant damage to their forces in their most recent wars. And so, they planned to spend the rest of this winter focusing on healing their wounds and recovering their strength.
And once they’d recovered to full strength again, they would attack. This time, that despicable little brat would finally breathe his last.
“Enjoy this brief moment of peace while you have it, Yuuto. Heh heh! Ahahaha!”
“You picked a fight with him right after swearing the Oath of the Chalice to become his brother! What in the world were you thinking?!” Þjálfi exclaimed.
“L-look, I said I’m sorry.”
The delegation from the Panther Clan had been properly seen off. Now, alone with Steinþórr in a room in Bilskírnir’s palace, Þjálfi was laying into him with a stern lecture.
A patriarch was the sovereign of both his clan and the citizens of his territory, a singular figure of absolute and unquestionable authority.
If the sworn parent of the clan claimed that white was black, then that became the understood truth; if he commanded it, then his child subordinates would have to charge ahead even if it was into certain death. That was the weight of the Oath of the Chalice.
In the Lightning Clan, however, the patriarch being scolded and lectured by his sworn child was a rather everyday occurrence.
“Honestly... It’d be one thing if you were just picking a fight with someone out of nowhere, but why do you have to take it all the way to physical violence?!”
“Uhh... er... I guess, because I thought it’d be fun?”
“Hauughhhhhh...” Þjálfi let out a very long and pained sigh that was almost a groan. He pinched the upper bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head lightly side to side.
He was still only in his mid-twenties, but he already had deep wrinkles on his brow that wouldn’t go away, and the mental exhaustion from constantly dealing with his patriarch was undoubtedly the cause.
“He really hasn’t changed a bit since the day I met him...” Muttering those words ruefully to himself, Þjálfi’s mind journeyed back into his memories of the past.
In a way, it was a momentary escape from the present reality.
It all started seven years prior.
The Lightning Clan was in a state of war with its close neighbor, the Snake Clan, and Þjálfi was the general charged with commanding the fortress at the border between the two countries.
There was a Snake Clan fortress across from them on the other side of a river. Neither side had a definitive advantage, so there were constant small skirmishes, but they were keeping each other in check. This situation continued day after day for about a year, until one day, a single young man was transferred in from the capital.
Years later, Þjálfi would still be able to remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.
“Hey there, you’re Þjálfi, the head of the fort, right? I’m Steinþórr. Good to meet ya!”
It went without saying, but the young man created a horrible first impression.
jálfi was barely eighteen, but he had already set himself apart from others, both with the great valor in battle typical of an Einherjar, and also with his attentiveness and a talent for management that was at odds with his large and hearty frame. Because of this, he was well respected within the clan, and had already gained a seat at the foot of the table of the high officers.
As for Steinþórr, there were great hopes for his future, but he had still not received the Oath of the Chalice from anyone. In other words, he wasn’t officially a full member of the Lightning Clan yet.
“Boy, it seems like you don’t know how to treat the people above you with respect.” Þjálfi glared down at the insolent red-headed young man, and spoke with a heated edge to his tone.
jálfi was a man of huge build, one of the largest and most muscular one might find in all of Yggdrasil, and Steinþórr was only a boy of thirteen, still only partway through his growth spurt. The stark physical difference between them was truly that of man and child.
An average boy with a normal mind would have been overwhelmed to the point of shaking by this huge, threatening presence looming over him. But the red-haired boy simply replied, without any fear or fervor, “Above me? But strength means everything in this world, right? Are you stronger than me, then?” He sounded indifferent.
jálfi had already heard from several sources about this boy, that he was a “child prodigy” possessing not one but two runes. But he hadn’t known the boy would be such an unbearably insolent little twerp.
I see how it is, Þjálfi thought with annoyance. More than likely, growing up with the adults around him constantly spoiling him with attention had led to him becoming this arrogant.
“Well, how about we find out?” Þjálfi decided he would respond to the boy’s petty provocations.
Arrogant brats like this one needed to have a few painful experiences early on, to learn what the harsh real world was like, for the sake of their futures.
And more than that, as the leader of his own clan faction with several hundred subordinates, Þjálfi couldn’t afford to let a little brat like this talk down to him, or it would set a bad example for his men.
“Ah, really?!” Steinþórr looked up at him with an expression full of excitement and curiosity.
That part of him really was like a typical young boy, like a precocious little rascal who still hadn’t outgrown his penchant for mischief.
“That’s right. However, we’re only using these.” Þjálfi held out his clenched fists towards Steinþórr.
By now, when it came to martial prowess, Þjálfi was among the top three in the Lightning Clan, and he had rock-solid confidence that he couldn’t lose to a mere boy whose body hadn’t even finished growing.
That said, his opponent was a rare twin-rune Einherjar, said to be one of only three in the world. He wasn’t sure whether he could afford to go easy on him or not yet.
But there was also the fact that this boy was known as the clan’s “treasure,” entrusted to him by his patriarch. He couldn’t allow for the risk of accidentally killing him in the fight. Thus, he was insisting on barehanded combat.
Reflecting on this much later, Þjálfi would lament the incredible stupidity of the assumptions his past self had made. Indeed, his past self had been so stupid, it would make him want to cradle his head in his hands.
After all, he had chosen to fight barehanded against a ferocious beast in the guise of a human. There was nothing as reckless and stupid as that.
“...Gah!” When Þjálfi next regained consciousness, he was looking up at an earthen-colored ceiling.
He recognized the pattern of it, the little discolored spots. This was his own room, the fortress commander’s quarters. Apparently he’d been fast asleep.
“Was that a dream? ...Ghh!” As he tried to sit up, an intense pain sprang from his back and the back of his head, and he nearly fainted again.
That pain brought back the memories of before he’d lost consciousness, as vivid as they were unpleasant.
He had been completely and utterly beaten. Just like a wild beast, his quick and agile opponent had dodged every attack.
Seeing this, Þjálfi had used taunts to try to provoke the boy into a head-on contest of strength, but he’d lost in that grapple just as easily, and in the end, he’d been casually tossed through the air by a child less than half his weight.
He had no memory of anything after that.
“Oh, are you awake?” A girl opened the door and entered, and on seeing him awake, her eyes widened very slightly.
She had wavy, golden hair that flowed down to her waist, and wore a reserved smile that spoke of elegance and refinement. She was a girl whose appearance fit the image of a proper lady.
“I heard you lost a fight in a rather unsightly fashion, Big Brother,” she said. “And to a child no older than me. Everyone in the fortress is talking about it, you know.”
He could feel the sting in each of her words. And above her gentle smile, the light in her eyes was cold.
“Did you come here to finish me off with insults, Röskva?” Þjálfi glowered back at her wearily.
She was his younger sister by blood, but Þjálfi had a hard time dealing with her. There was something about her he couldn’t fully understand, and it made her vaguely frightening to him.
“Please allow me an insult or two,” she said. “Because of an unreliable and disappointing brother, my plans have suffered a large and wholly unnecessary setback.” She gave a soft sigh.
Each motion of her body language was perfectly noble and graceful, but instead of compassion, there was nothing but acrid contempt behind every word she spoke.
jálfi couldn’t help but lament to himself, What a horrible and twisted personality this girl has.
“You’re talking about your plan to make me into the next patriarch, right?” he said. “I keep telling you, I don’t have what it takes for the position.”
jálfi slumped his shoulders and smiled bitterly.
It was already a constant struggle for him just leading and managing the five hundred soldiers stationed in the fortress. The idea of shouldering the burden of leading the entire clan felt to him like a weight far too great for his shoulders.
“You tend to undervalue yourself, Big Brother.” With a troubled expression, Röskva tilted her head to the side and supported it with one hand. “You are surpassingly strong and brave on the field, and despite your young age, you are prudent and attentive, earning you popularity and trust from those beneath you. If you carry on as you are, you will without a doubt be considered one of the future candidates for successor... or, you would have been...”
jálfi wasn’t boneheaded enough to miss what she was saying. In other words, his blunder had pushed that timetable back.
Of course, these were expectations that had been selfishly thrust on him by someone else, and so having her berate him for betraying those expectations only left him feeling offended instead of guilty.
“Well then, why don’t you just become the patriarch yourself?” he demanded. “Without using me.”
“I cannot, since I lack the sort of disposition that makes one well-liked by others.” Röskva’s reply was immediate, and dispassionate.
So you’re aware of it yourself! Þjálfi almost laughed, but kept control of himself.
However, Röskva seemed to see straight through him anyway. “What’s so amusing? I happen to think that I understand myself quite well. I am more fit for the position of second-in-command or assistant to the second, from where I can use the authority of a respected patriarch to allow me to use my talents and acumen as I see fit.”
Seven years in the future, under Steinþórr as patriarch, her words would be a reality — it would indeed be Röskva who singlehandedly controlled domestic affairs as the Lightning Clan’s second-in-command. But right now, Þjálfi was a mere mortal with no idea of the future, and so he just laughed at her.
“Heh, that’s pretty big talk from a thirteen-year-old little girl.”
“Oh? And who was the one who was helplessly beaten by a thirteen-year-old little boy?”
“Ugh!” Þjálfi choked on his words.
She had said what would cut him the most deeply. It was one more example of how clever his little sister was.
She was an Einherjar like her brother, bearing the rune known as Tanngnjóstr, the Teeth-Grinder. But somehow Þjálfi always found himself to be the one grinding his teeth in frustration around her.
“I cannot believe it... even if he is a child, you should not have let your guard down so much,” Röskva said sternly.
“I didn’t let my guard down, not one bit!”
“...What?”
“That boy’s a real and genuine monster in terms of power. He was just way too much for me to handle... heh.” Þjálfi chuckled a bit sadly, laughing at himself.
He, the man praised as one of the three strongest fighters of his whole clan, had fought a child of thirteen who was going easy on him, and still lost. It was downright comical.
“Oh, hey! You’re finally up!” And speak of the devil, the boy in question called out in a cheery voice and entered the room. “Looks like I was the stronger one after all!”
His wide grin was cocky but innocent, like the bully among a group of small children who ends up becoming their leader.
“That means I get to do whatever I want with this place, okay?” Steinþórr said eagerly.
“...No, I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
“Huuuuh?! Hey now, hey now, I won, remember?!”
“Yes, that fight was entirely your victory. But just because it was, that doesn’t mean I can just let you do whatever you want here,” Þjálfi stated firmly. “It would set a bad example for the men. The chain of command would break down, and everyone would lose morale. I can’t just sit by and let something like that happen. So as long as you’re in this fortress, I need you to follow my orders.”
jálfi was excruciatingly well aware that saying this after having taken the boy up on his challenge and lost was an act of poor form.
Even so, he had been entrusted with this fortress by his patriarch, and there was no telling when the enemy might attack. He had a responsibility to maintain the forces here in a state of perfect readiness.
If they suffered a military defeat, it wouldn’t just endanger the lives of the five hundred soldiers here, but all of the local villages along the border, as well. He was in no position to worry about a little loss of face.
That was the amount of thought and personal responsibility behind Þjálfi’s words to Steinþórr.
But none of that seemed to reach the red-haired boy. “Uhh... I don’t really get it, but, eh, who cares about the little details,” he said dismissively.
“It’s really, really not a little detail at all, though...” Þjálfi replied, his shoulders drooping. From his perspective, it was a grave matter concerning every person in the fortress. He’d only just woken up, but he already felt incredibly exhausted.
“Well, I mean, isn’t it simple? All I have to do is capture that Snake Clan fortress, right?” Steinþórr confidently gestured out the nearby window with his thumb, at the enemy fortress visible in the distance.
jálfi was respected by many for his generosity and patience, but this attitude finally got him to snap. “Quit screwing around! Everyone in this fortress is my sworn child or grandchild, my family! I don’t care if you’re physically strong; you’re an amateur who’s never been through a real battle! I’m not gonna lend even one of them to someone like you!”
This was behavior that went far beyond mere disrespect and into total ignorance of authority.
What the hell are those idiot clan captains in the capital thinking?! Þjálfi’s indignation led him to curse more than just the boy himself.
Sure, the boy was incredibly strong in terms of fighting ability, but he was so spoiled, it was ridiculous.
Seeing Þjálfi so angry that a blue vein was standing out on his forehead, Steinþórr widened his eyes in puzzlement for a moment, then laughed wryly and waved and casually waved a hand at him.
“Huh? No, no, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not gonna take any of your men. I’ll rephrase it. I’m going to go take out that fortress, all by myself.”
With the thumb he’d gestured at the fortress, the red-haired boy pointed to himself, and smiled broadly. It was a fearless and savage smile.
Crunch munch. Munch munch.
One by one, the various foods covering the table in front of Steinþórr vanished into the pit of his stomach. The bread surely contained some grit, as usual, but Steinþórr didn’t spit anything out.
Of the boy’s two runes, one was Mjǫlnir, the Shatterer. Thanks to that, crushing some tiny bits of stone between his teeth was apparently no trouble at all.
“Phew! That was a good meal,” the boy grinned. “But it’s not a real meal unless I finish it off with this.”
He reached out and grabbed hold of a 1-ell-tall pitcher, filled to the brim with cow’s milk. (Equivalent to 51.72 cm or 20.36 inches, the ell was a standard measurement in Yggdrasil based off of the length from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger of the first divine emperor, Wotan.) He brought the whole pitcher to his lips and leaned back, heartily gulping it down.
After downing the pitcher’s contents all at once, he wiped his mouth roughly with his arm.
“All right, guess I’ll set out now! This’ll be a good post-meal workout.”
Tossing the empty pitcher to one of the serving women, Steinþórr stood up as if to leave.
“Set out? Where are you going?” Þjálfi asked.
He was so taken aback by the incredible voracity (or perhaps gluttony) of the young man’s consumption of the table of food, he found himself asking the question without thinking.
“Where? I told you earlier, didn’t I? I’m gonna go capture that Snake Clan fort.”
“All by yourself?” Þjálfi asked.
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“Heh heh, you’re gonna have to wait and see!” Steinþórr laughed fearlessly, and made a show of tapping his shoulder with the scabbard of his large, two-handed sword. He was completely sure of himself.
jálfi, on the other hand, couldn’t see anyone taking down a fortress single-handedly as anything more than a flight of fancy.
Still, he’d also just finished learning firsthand that common sense didn’t apply to this boy. He couldn’t shake a growing sense of expectation, a sense that perhaps Steinþórr had some clever scheme he would use in conjunction with his incredible skill, and would actually accomplish the task.
“I see,” said Þjálfi. “Even though you’re going alone, I’m sure you need to make some sort of preparations. Is there anything you want me to have ready for you?”
“Hm? Huh. Well then, I’d like a large cut log, about as big as you.”
“A log? That’s all you need?”
“Yeah, that’ll be enough.”
“Understood. Give me a moment.”
jálfi passed an order along to his subordinates, and quickly had the requested item brought to them.
It was an essential siege weapon used in attacks on the other fortress, so they only to needed bring one from the nearby storehouse.
“So, where do you want to have this taken?” Þjálfi asked.
“You don’t hafta take it anywhere. I’ll take it from here.”
“What do you mean, you’ll take it? You can’t possibly carry it by...”
Before Þjálfi could finish, Steinþórr picked up the heavy siege log with one hand, hefting it onto his shoulder.
jálfi and everyone else in the room stood there, blinking in silence. That log had taken four fit soldiers working together to carry into the room.
“Right then, see ya. Be back soon,” the red-headed boy said.
And Steinþórr walked out, turning his head for a moment to wave a casual goodbye to the people behind him.
jálfi and his men could only stand there dumbfounded as they watched him leave.
Once he returned to his senses, Þjálfi hurriedly went with his sister Röskva to climb one of the lookout towers on the outer fortress wall, so that he might follow the young man’s movements.
As the commander of his fortress, Þjálfi had more important work he needed to be doing, and the time he’d wasted lying unconscious thanks to his foolishness had put him that much more behind schedule. However, he was filled with curiosity.
What was this abnormal young man planning to do, and what would come about as a result? That curiosity won out over Þjálfi’s sense of duty.
“Where is he...?” Þjálfi squinted and scanned the area.
jálfi had been a shepherd in his youth, and part of that lifestyle was protecting livestock from predators, which meant he had needed to be constantly scanning the distance for signs of those. Because of that, his eyesight was among the most exceptional in the Lightning Clan.
Even in the world of the 21st century, the nomad Massai people of Africa looked after livestock in a similar fashion, and were famous for incredible long-distance eyesight three to eight times better than the average person.
It took only a moment for Þjálfi to spot Steinþórr. “There he is.”
The red-haired young man was just about to start across the Gjálp River.
The Gjálp River was one of the smaller tributaries of the great Körmt River which nourished both the Álfheimr and Vanaheimr regions. It was also currently the effective border between the controlled territory of the Lightning and Snake Clans.
Steinþórr walked straight into the river, unfazed by the prospect of being soaked.
“Oh, come on, now. He might as well be shouting at them to spot him,” Þjálfi remarked.
The area on the far bank of the river was being patrolled by Snake Clan soldiers, and under the watch of the enemy fortress watchtower besides. A man carrying a huge log on his shoulders wasn’t exactly going to remain unnoticed.
Before long, more than a dozen Snake Clan soldiers gathered on the bank, unleashing a volley of arrows upon Steinþórr just as he reached the middle of the river.
He was carrying that heavy log while his legs were busy fighting the current of the river. In that state, both guarding and dodging would be impossible. It seemed to Þjálfi like a desperate situation...
Whoosh, whoosh! Steinþórr swung the log around, swatting away all of the oncoming arrows.
“Wh-what incredible physical strength...” Þjálfi could only stare agape at this display.
It had taken four large men working together to haul in that thing, but this young man was swinging it around as freely as if it were a stick. Þjálfi was seeing it with his own eyes, and yet still couldn’t really believe it.
It was enough to make the Snake Clan soldiers stand stock still, as well.
With a mighty heave, Steinþórr launched the log forward at them. It caught five soldiers as it landed, instantly crushing them underneath.
And that was the final straw.
The Snake Clan soldiers saw that the one in front of them, however human in appearance, was clearly some sort of otherworldly monster or beast. Overcome with fear, some of them threw their weapons down and fled, while others fell weakly to the ground, unable to stand back up.
Steinþórr leisurely strode the rest of the way across the river.
“Hmm. He’s still an insolent little brat, but I must admit he’s incredible,” Þjálfi muttered to himself, impressed.
It was a splendid, almost enchanting display of strength and skill. Having fought the boy once, Þjálfi had already gotten a taste of that strength himself, but this was still far above and beyond what he’d imagined.
Currently, Steinþórr’s older brother by birth, Vingeþórr, was lauded as the strongest in the Lightning Clan. But clearly, this abnormal young man was even stronger still.
And that surpassingly strong young warrior had just barely ago declared in full confidence that he could topple the enemy fortress by himself. Surely, he had to have some sort of equally impressive tactic for doing so. Þjálfi’s expectations intensified.
But...
“Wh-why are you just attacking the main gate head-on?!” Þjálfi couldn’t help shouting.
It seemed that this young man continuously did things that betrayed his expectations.
There was no room to doubt Steinþórr’s impressive strength and valor. However, this was too bold and foolish a move to make, even for him.
Certainly, compared to the towering, thick brick walls of a major city, the Snake Clan fortress defenses were smaller and less fortified.
Still, it was a walled fortress hosting several hundred soldiers. Naturally, archers were lined up against the battlements atop the walls, and they began to rain arrows down at Steinþórr from the gaps in the parapets.
Even if he could swing around that huge log, it wouldn’t be enough to defend against such an enormous torrent of arrows all at once. At last, this seemed to Þjálfi like a truly desperate situation, but...
“Wha...?! Is he actually some kind of wild animal?!” Þjálfi shouted.
Steinþórr’s legs were now proving to be just as inhuman as his arms. He hopped nimbly left and right as he advanced through the rain of arrows, dodging them all. Not a single arrow even so much as grazed him.
His movements were fast as lightning, so much so that the Snake Clan archers couldn’t seem to follow him well enough to aim true. And he was doing all of this while still carrying that huge log.
Just how agile would he be without it, then? Just thinking about it was vaguely frightening.
But there was no time to think.
WHAM!
The sound of a tremendous impact rang out, loud and deep, and echoed several times, as if it were in the mountains.
Steinþórr had slammed the log against the main gate of the Snake Clan fortress.
That part made sense. It made sense, but once again Þjálfi doubted his eyes.
He’d always been confident in his vision, and he’d never had cause to question his eyesight until today.
The imposing fortress gate, itself built solidly out of thick logs, had been smashed into splinters by a single strike.
Along with that gate, the common sense of Þjálfi and the soldiers of the Snake Clan was similarly smashed into pieces.
It was certainly true that heavy logs were commonly used as a siege weapon, smashed against the gate of a wall in order to break through it. But ordinarily it took many dozens of blows in order to break down a gate in that way. Attackers were forced to endure one-sided attacks from the defending enemy during that time, meaning serious casualties were a given. And that, in turn, was why a head-on assault on a well-armed city or fortress was considered a poor strategy.
“He... he’s absurd!” This was the definition of jaw-dropping, and Þjálfi couldn’t find any more words.
This young man was doing no less than flipping all of siege warfare strategy on its head.
Seven years in the future, the Wolf Clan patriarch Yuuto Suoh would utilize an advanced weapon known as the trebuchet to do much the same thing, but the red-haired young boy known as Steinþórr was accomplishing it here with just the strength of his own two arms.
“Hurry, men, hurry! We can’t afford to let that kid die!” Þjálfi shouted as he raced across the field, leading five hundred men behind him.
They hurried across the Gjálp River without incident, and were nearing the Snake Clan fortress.
Capturing the fortress and its territory across the river had been a desperate goal of the Lightning Clan for a quite a long time now. It was no misstatement to say that their goal was finally within reach.
However, at that moment what flowed through Þjálfi’s heart was not waves of excitement, but of regret.
“Who the hell would just charge in through the gate?! Seriously, is he just a dumb animal?!” Þjálfi spat contemptuously as he ran.
Just destroying the gate was more than enough of an accomplishment. All the young man should have done at that point was to fall back and wait for Þjálfi’s soldiers to arrive, but it seemed that “charge forward” were the only two words the fool boy knew.
Officially, that red-headed kid was the precious “treasure of the clan,” entrusted to Þjálfi’s care by his patriarch. If he died here, it was possible every bit of honor and standing Þjálfi had built up over his life would at once crumble into dust.
He would surely be spoken of in rumors as a low and petty man, so resentful over losing a fight that he had sent the boy alone to die in enemy territory. Such gossip would be inevitable. After all, in the struggle for power and standing in the clan, there were those who ruthlessly used such things in their efforts. Whatever the truth might be, people like those would not be so foolish as to let such a sweet chance pass them by.
His younger sister by birth, Röskva, was talented at manipulating things behind the scenes, but even she wouldn’t be able to cover up such a serious incident as this.
Still, such concern for himself was not the source of Þjálfi’s regret. More than that, what consumed his heart was the feeling that this young man’s death would be a huge and terrible loss for the Lightning Clan as a whole.
The boy was still young, wild and undisciplined. But after gaining more experience and the ability to think with discretion, surely he would one day become a great general, reliable and worthy of carrying the future of the Lightning Clan on his shoulders.
“Please, let me make it in time...” Þjálfi muttered to himself under his breath.
Under ordinary circumstances, he would have had no hope of making it on time. But, just in case, he had taken the precaution of telling Röskva beforehand to round up his soldiers and have them ready to launch an assault. Thanks to that, he’d been able to assemble and lead his troops here in less than two hours.
That being said, however monstrously strong the red-haired boy was, it was unthinkable that he could have survived for two hours fighting while completely surrounded by several hundred enemy soldiers.
It was unthinkable, and yet...
jálfi found himself smiling in satisfaction. “Of all the damned places you’d end up...”
There wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face this time.
That was only natural.
After his predictions and assumptions had proven wrong again and again, at last he saw exactly what he’d come to expect.
In the center of the fortress, atop the highest platform, a flag was billowing in the wind.
Two hours ago, it had been the flag of the Snake Clan, but now it was a flag with the symbol of the Lightning Clan. It had been made from a large white cloth, likely grabbed from somewhere inside the fortress, and the runic symbol of the Lightning Clan was painted on it with human blood.
jálfi strained his eyes and scanned the interior of the fortress through the open gateway, and saw innumerable bodies strewn about, along with some survivors curled up on the ground, ghastly pale and completely unwilling to fight.
“Hey, there! So, how about it? I said I’d do it myself, didn’t I?” A familiar voice called down to Þjálfi as he and his men finally reached the entrance to the fortress.
It had only been a few hours since he’d last heard it, but Þjálfi found it strangely nostalgic.
Looking up, he saw the boy sitting above him with an arrogant smile on his face. He wasn’t just red-haired; his entire body was stained red. He grinned down at them, boasting in a way that was indeed quite childish. Even so, Steinþórr’s face was dripping with sweat and he was breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving. As expected, even he was worn out. Still, he looked healthy.
Apparently most of that blood must just have come from his enemies, and he didn’t have any major injuries.
“Heh. Damned monster.” Þjálfi sighed and repeated the words he’d already spoken many times that day. But this time, it was with a wry smile.
He’d finally come to the point that whatever this young man did, it would no longer surprise him.
...Or rather, he was sure he’d reached that point at that moment in time seven years ago, but time would of course go on to prove him still naive.
Even in the immediate aftermath of that incident at the fortress, he threw his hands up and shouted, “In Týr’s name, give me a break!” when it was discovered that Steinþórr actually hadn’t suffered even so much as a single scratch.
jálfi could indeed remember all of it as clearly as if it just happened yesterday, so it was astonishing to reflect that seven years had passed already.
Every morning, Steinþórr got up and drank milk before eating breakfast, then sortied to battle; he washed down his lunch with milk and then sortied to battle; he topped off his dinner with milk and then sortied to battle.
Somewhere along the way, that young man had risen to become the Lightning Clan patriarch, and Þjálfi had become the assistant to his second-in-command, and thus the third most powerful figure in the clan.
Looking back on it all, the past seven years had full of crazy happenings.
Once, back when the previous patriarch was still in power, during a huge all-out battle with the Snake Clan, the Lightning Clan forces were defeated and nearly wiped out. In that moment of despair, some suicidal fool volunteered to serve with Þjálfi as the rear guard and buy time for the retreat. That fool then held off the advancing enemy and even drove them back, returning home safely from the field.
Another time, the Hoof Clan to their north launched an invasion, and the enemy boats tried to cross south across the Körmt River. As that was happening, Þjálfi watched as someone climbed onto one of the boats and sank it, then quickly leapt straight from there onto another boat and sank it, and so on for all the boats.
Yet another time, during the Lightning Clan’s final, decisive battle with their longtime nemesis the Snake Clan, an absurd and reckless fool shouted, “If a deer or goat can do it, I should be able to, too!” and then tried to jump his way down the face of an almost sheer vertical rocky cliff.
Of course, all of those people were Steinþórr.
“Haaaaaahhhhh...” Þjálfi found himself letting out a very long, deeply weary sigh.
It would seem that he was fated to have to put up with Steinþórr’s reckless antics. He was probably just born under that sort of unlucky star.
And at some point, it had mostly become his role to have to clean up the messes afterward, as well. Thanks to that, he was already dealing with his share of stomach pain and ulcers, despite the fact that he was only in his twenties.
“Mm? What is it?” Steinþórr frowned suspiciously at Þjálfi’s long sigh.
jálfi turned and stared hard at the young man who had at one point been his sworn younger brother, and who was now his patriarch and sworn father. He smiled mischievously as he replied, “Ah, well, it’s just that I was reminiscing about the past, and started to feel like I want to kill you, but I’m just not sure how I’d go about it, is all.”
He was talking to the man who had walked right into the Horn Clan capital by himself to taunt his enemy nation’s patriarchs, who had been surrounded in battle by a team of seven Einherjar and then swept away by a raging flood, and who had still found his way back home alive, saying, “Oh man, that was a close one.”
Seriously speaking, Þjálfi actually couldn’t imagine any feasible way of doing him in.
“Ha ha, my bad,” Steinþórr laughed. “I guess I am always causing you trouble.”
“If you are aware of that, Father, then I would be grateful if you would listen to my warnings and advice a bit more.”
“Hey, I listen to you sometimes.”
“Yes, that you do. And it really is only from time to time,” Þjálfi said flatly.
It was true that his long years of being involved and playing the part of a protective guardian had achieved results; lately, even this free-spirited young man had shown himself willing to follow some of Þjálfi’s guidance. But it was only sometimes, and at most, it only happened once in a while.
However much Þjálfi might lecture and direct the man, Steinþórr would always choose to go against instructions and cause trouble in some way, if it struck him as the interesting choice.
At the end of the day, this young man was a punk kid down to his core. More than likely, he’d be that way for his whole life.
“Well, who cares about the details?” Steinþórr shrugged.
“Ah, I see...” Faced with the man’s oft-repeated catchphrase, Þjálfi’s shoulders drooped.
It would seem that his daily ordeals would continue for the time being. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny the truth that being at this young man’s side also lit a fire in his soul.
During the Lightning Clan’s last war, they’d been taken out by a raging floodwater, an astounding and ingenious tactic, but one which would never work on them again. And, thanks to the gifts they’d received from the Panther Clan, the Lightning Clan’s soldiers had become much more powerful.
Thinking ahead to the prospects of the next war, Þjálfi flashed a vicious grin that much resembled his sworn father’s. “Heh. Oh patriarch of the Wolf, if you think you can turn aside this monster as he charges you a second time, then you are more than welcome to try.”
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