Ch 2: Melee

Having gnawed the lamb chop clean, Vig considered where to spend the night. It just so happens that a nearby family was repairing their roof and hired him for odd jobs. The reward was a small bag of salt, and food and lodging for two days.

After dinner, he helped cut and saw wooden planks by the fire pit. At this time, the master’s family had not rested either. The husband was sharpening an iron axe, while his wife and daughter sat around the fire pit making butter. A thin film had formed on the surface of the sheep’s milk in the earthenware pot. The wife first skimmed it off with a long-handled wooden spoon, then stirred it with a wooden stick.

As time passed, the Lord’s Longhouse nearby became increasingly lively, as if a banquet was being held. Vig tilted his ear to listen and found that Lord Olaf was singing loudly, praising Ragnar’s pillaging actions in Britain, calling him a legendary hero.

However, from some point on, the laughter became quieter and eventually turned into a dispute:

“You are merely a lucky mercenary, renting my ship, taking my subjects out to pillage. What right do you have to make demands? Two tenths of the harvest is already a gift. What more are you not satisfied with?”

Then, Ragnar’s voice came, mixed with uncontainable anger, “Before the spring departure, it was agreed upon as a three-to-seven split. Why go back on your word now?”

The argument lasted a few minutes. Vig couldn’t help but lean towards the crevice to observe. He found a circle of men, about forty, holding shield axes outside the longhouse. Six of them were equipped with iron armor.

A poisoned banquet? Judging by this posture, the Lord probably doesn’t want to give even two tenths.

Not long after, Vig watched Ragnar leave the longhouse with fifteen comrades, each carrying a small bag of wealth, their faces filled with lingering anger, muttering as they disappeared around the corner.

“Is that the end?”

He was somewhat incredulous. The male owner shook his head and casually revealed information about Ragnar:

Ragnar is thirty-six years old, of commoner origin, and has three sons. Over the years, he has been employed by various lords to go out to sea for pillaging in the spring and return to the port for settlement in the autumn. Therefore, he has accumulated a great reputation. The entire Northern Europe region knows of this figure.

However, he is ultimately only a low-ranking commoner. Facing local tycoons like Lord Olaf, he can only silently endure this humiliation.

“So that’s it,” Vig stroked his chin thoughtfully. Ragnar’s group is more like an outsourced labor team, with a prominent reputation, but essentially a subcontractor, having to act according to the faces of clients like Lord Olaf.

“It seems that this legendary figure’s life isn’t easy either.”

As soon as the words fell, a scream suddenly came from outside, followed immediately after by shouts of killing. The male owner hurriedly had his wife and daughter hide in the cellar, while he himself guarded the house with a shield axe.

Seeing this, Vig also drew his iron axe from his waist and observed the battle situation through the crevice.

After a brief moment of panic, Olaf left the longhouse carrying a double-handed iron axe. He wore chainmail, over which was a thick black woolen cape, and a simple Germanic helmet.

“Assemble, form a shield wall!”

At his call, about forty people formed a shield wall and advanced. To boost morale, they rhythmically struck their shields with the back of their axes while walking, creating an indescribable sense of oppression.

In front of the shield wall, Ragnar led his comrades back. Under the moonlight, his face was ashen, his eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. “Why did you send archers to ambush me?”

“Odin’s will. He wants you to serve the Gods in the Hall of the Slain.” Olaf made a unconvincing excuse and ordered the shield wall to continue pressing forward.

At this point, the mercenaries abandoned their last illusion of peace and tacitly formed a wedge formation, with Ragnar at the tip, acting as the breakthrough force.

“Inn（Odin）!”

The next moment, sixteen mercenaries roared in unison, charging towards the enemy, whose numbers were double their own, like iron axes splitting into a trunk, easily piercing the shield wall.

The enemy formation broke. Ragnar had no time to hack and slash the common soldiers beside him and charged straight towards Lord Olaf, encountering four shield-bearers along the way.

He cut down the first one with his sword on the shoulder. The sound of the bone breaking was clearly audible. The man screamed and fell to the ground, motionless.

The second enemy swung his axe. He ducked, and retaliated, slashing the other’s femoral artery. Blood spurted out, splattering on his face, warm and foul-smelling.

The third one hesitated slightly, holding his round shield timidly. Ragnar kicked him to the ground and immediately turned to face the fourth shield-bearer. This man tried to block the attack with his shield, but Ragnar was too strong. He split the round shield in half with one sword strike, and then severed the shield-bearer’s left hand.

In an instant, four shield-bearers fell. Ragnar stood there, panting, his iron sword still dripping blood. The surroundings fell silent, only the biting cold wind blowing, carrying a strong smell of blood.

Staring at those captivating eyes, Olaf felt a chill rise from his feet. “Whoever kills Ragnar, I will reward them with thirty pounds of silver!”

Wealth moves the heart.

Under the temptation of immense wealth, the morale of the remaining shield-bearers increased. Even more than ten commoners ran out of the nearby houses, trying to claim the bounty.

The battle once again fell into a situation unfavorable to Ragnar. After cutting down a few more common soldiers, he began to chase the fleeing Olaf. The two figures rushed into the darkness.

“What agile movements.”

Vig swallowed his saliva with difficulty. Ragnar’s combat style was fierce and sharp, without any hesitation, possessing both the brute force of a bear and the cunning of a fox.

“A big man of six feet tall, yet able to cleverly dodge the enemy’s attacks, as still as a statue, as agile as a rabbit. Is this the peak combat strength of the Viking Age?”

Witnessing this sudden melee combat, his heart beat violently. After watching for a while, he felt parched and turned to find water to drink in the house.

Gulp, gulp.

The moment he put down the cup, a loud crash suddenly came from behind. Two corpses crashed through the door panel and fell into the room, fighting in a heap. It was Ragnar and Olaf.

After a hard battle, Ragnar’s stamina was greatly depleted. He and Olaf were choking each other’s necks, neither able to do anything to the other.

“Quick, you two lowly farmers, help me kill this mercenary. There will be a great reward afterwards.”

Seeing that the two men were both scared silly, Olaf was forced to focus on Ragnar. Soon, using his weight advantage, he pinned the exhausted Ragnar beneath him, reaching for the ornate dagger hanging from his belt.

“Damn mercenary, may Jörmungandr devour your soul.”

The Lord raised the dagger, about to stab down. At that moment, Vig instinctively grabbed a piece of firewood from the fire pit and threw it, hitting the other’s face. He then swung his short axe, severing the man’s wrist, removing his iron helmet, and embedding the axe deep into his skull.