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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
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The entire universe exploded once inside my head, the Earth was born and the sun was created, my young children grew up in a flash, and I ended my life in their embrace. Then I was reborn and, together with Inga, became the sun and the moon.
Things that were all jumbled up in sequence and separated by an immense amount of time swirled through my mind in an instant and disappeared. That’s how shocking the first kiss was.
In truth, it was a bit short of a real kiss, more of a peck, but for a flimsy couple who had barely managed to hold hands, it was an immense development.
It could be said to be progress on a level similar to when humanity first left a footprint on the moon.
So we had kissed, but Inga and I, not knowing how to pull away, stayed like that for a while. And thanks to the warriors who, as if they never tired, kept whistling and shouting my name, the other people loitering around also joined in, creating a scene from a clumsy romance drama.
If the screen had just switched to a sepia tone and a sweet song had started playing, it would have been a perfect episode ending…!
The moment our pressed lips finally parted was after Inga’s face had gone beyond red, to the point where I wondered if all the blood in her body had rushed to her face.
As if her mind was hazy, the slender woman fell into my arms, and I held her firmly. This moment now took its place at the very front of the [Helgi’s Happy Memories] page in my mind.
The countless marriage-skeptics I had seen in my past life? I could now say with confidence that they were all deceivers, swindlers, and vicious males who wanted to keep the good things for themselves…!
Of course, I knew it was a gamble + case-by-case + a bet on one’s entire life…!
Even if what I had over my eyes now was a severe case of rose-colored glasses, I did not want to take them off.
But the time of feeling such happiness was brief. Soon, the busy days that would have to go into the [Helgi’s Tiring Memories] page came looking for me. The weather grew warmer, and with it came the slowly moving merchants, preparations for the spring festival, the formation of a new village, military system reorganization, mineral exploration, and so on.
The feedback from the large-scale projects I had started simultaneously without any delay came crashing down like a tidal wave, but with the power of my newfound love and duty, I stoically accepted it all and led the people.
Because I had a strong conviction. A conviction that the path I was on was the right one. More than anything, didn’t I have an accurate road map? I was a man from the 21st century.
So all my vassals, starting with Bjorn, who in his own mind was retired but in my view was not, Hrolf, Leon, Refil, Eric, Storolf, and the countless others under them.
On the outside, they all groaned as if they were dying, but I think they must have felt an immense sense of satisfaction at seeing things change.
If not, well, can’t be helped.
Surprisingly, what had far less feedback than all these administrative, political, social, economic, and military matters was the religious reformation.
In fact, it was now only me who called it a reformation; the people seemed to have accepted it as Helatru, a new religion with Hel as the main deity, and seemed to have accepted my words, as its prophet, as new doctrine.
Perhaps it was a natural result, and also this era’s answer to my rash actions.
In this age where faith is a part of life, could reason and rationality take root immediately?
Still, this was a partial success, so I decided to take a long-term view. For now, I forbade the priests, who were gradually returning to their homes, from making profane living sacrifices and human offerings, and told them to get a good grasp of the number of people in their respective regions and report to me.
I thought that if I repeated the process of rewarding the priests who listened well and punishing those who didn’t, a certain system would be established.
Until an administrative organization of the level I wanted was in place, wasn’t it best to use the religious groups that were already rooted in the local communities?
Since I had already seen the teaching material that was Rome, I would have to follow that path.
Anyway, the good thing about time is that because it flows without stopping, even difficult times eventually pass. At the same time, the bad thing about time is also that because it flows without stopping, even good times flow away.
Because Mr. Einstein had observed it, my time with Inga, which I learned of the existence of its relativity, was ending in the blink of an eye, while the time in my gloomy office passed as slowly as a snail’s crawl.
Before I knew it, the last month of winter had ended.
867 AD. The first month of summer. Harpa. April 18th in the Julian calendar.
The month when a warmth that now boasted a full presence lingered over the land, and all the Northmen gathered to hold the great summer festival (Sigrblót).
The day the festival began, to honor the war god Odin and pray for victory, while at the same time celebrating the month of women.
Under the tents specially set up on the outskirts of Aros for the festival, as I was watching the performances of various entertainers with Inga and a few guards, Refil brought me urgent news.
It was the news that my brother, Sigurd, was heading to Aros with Aethelthryth, and that my stepmother, Aslaug, had also rushed to Aros.
‘Sigurd, what on earth have you done this time…?’
While I was healing by looking at Inga’s brightly smiling profile, a worry about the unpredictable artist, Sigurd, was blooming in one corner of my heart.
Thanks to the short distance, my stepmother Aslaug, who had arrived in Aros before Sigurd, must have been suffering from headaches recently, as she placed a hand on her forehead and spoke in a tired voice.
“Helgi, this is sudden, but I think we must hurry the wedding. I had thought it would be nice for you, Halfdan, and that boy Sigurd to hold your ceremonies together since you all found marriage partners at the same time, but…”
“Is something wrong? Mother.”
My own mother, who had met my stepmother beforehand, seemed unable to contain her laughter and covered her face with her hand. And as Inga, sitting before our two mothers, very carefully poured my stepmother some water.
My stepmother, who smiled and thanked Inga, gulped down the water and then answered my question.
“I hear Aethelthryth is pregnant. It would be best to hold the ceremony before the child is born, before her movements become difficult.”
“Ah-.”
He said he was in a fiery love, but to think he would burn a hole right through his mother’s heart.
Sigurd had caused trouble.
In truth, in this era, given the free-spirited nature of the North Germanic people’s views on love, it was not a big problem for a man and a woman to fall in love and become pregnant.
As you can see from my case, there was little discrimination against illegitimate children, and the distinction between a legitimate wife and a concubine was not so great. What was important was the family of the prospective wife and the family of the prospective husband; there was no particular discrimination regarding the order.
Of course, rivalry between women was a completely different matter, but it could also become a relationship of mutual reliance and care, like the case of my own mother and stepmother.
Therefore, it was difficult to see Sigurd as being entirely at fault.
However, this was the story for when Sigurd was an ordinary Northman A or B.
Sigurd was royalty. Moreover, a jarl who had been given rule over a region with the permission of the current king.
Not just any royalty, but for a close aide to the current power to decide on a marriage on his own without the permission of the family elders, and even to have a shotgun wedding, was a clear fault.
He should have at least given a hint to the eldest in the family, my stepmother Aslaug, or the eldest brother, Bjorn, or if not, to me, the Konungr.
No, he did tell me metaphorically about a fiery love and a love of a lifetime, so did that count as an indirect report?
Anyway, for this reason, my stepmother Aslaug felt extremely guilty, saying she couldn’t lift her head in front of me, and I, in turn, found it hard to see my stepmother like that and had to tell her several times that I was fine, and wasn’t it a good thing instead?
For having a sinner of a brother as a prospective husband, Inga also had to comfort my stepmother, and my stepmother, upon seeing Inga, felt even more sorry.
As the demerits on Sigurd’s back were being tallied in real-time, the news finally came that Sigurd and Aethelthryth had departed.
Just in time, with the news that Bagsecg, the Konungr of Jutland, and his daughter, as well as my brother Halfdan, had also boarded a ship bound for Aros, the messengers carrying the wedding dates of us three brothers set out in all directions.
To the ruler of the west, Halfdan and his son Harald.
Across the Eastern Sea to my vassals below, Rurik and Hastein.
And though they couldn’t reach in time, to Damian of Cherson and Michael of Constantinople even further below.
Of course, I also sent people to Sigtryggr, Uhtred, and Ecgberht in Britain, but I told my loyal earls to guard their posts.
Ubba would probably come with Sigurd, and Ivarr said he had things to take care of and would be a little late.
Bjorn, who had rushed back to Aros to calm our stepmother’s wrath, said he would also inform his old friend of this news.
The wedding, scheduled for about a month later, had a high probability of becoming an unprecedented event that would move all the kings of the North and the most renowned lords.
Is this also a talent, if you could call it that…? I was almost impressed by Sigurd, who had snowballed this like crazy.
Naturally, due to the fierce momentum of our two mothers, most of the ongoing projects were halted, and soon Aros, along with the summer festival already in progress, began to bustle with tremendous energy in preparation for an even bigger feast.
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The entire North Sea was astir.
It couldn’t be helped.
Not only himself and Halfdan, but the news of the wedding of his own brother, the great warrior, the demigod, who had shown no interest in women, had resounded everywhere.
As befitting the weather that had entered summer, Sigurd’s dragonship, riding a rather gentle breeze, was moving slowly.
For a fleet of five dragonships with 200 warriors from Bernicia as an escort, it was an incredibly leisurely pace of travel, but there was a reason for this.
It was the red-haired woman nestled in his own arms.
Aethelthryth.
A tragic woman, if you thought about it.
The daughter of Aella, the cyning of Northumbria, who had met a painful death at the hands of his one and only younger brother, the strongest man whom any man of the North could not help but respect, Helgi.
And a bastard daughter (a concubine’s daughter).
It was a funny thing; it was the father who sowed the seed, so why did the child have to be punished?
The moment he saw this woman, who had been stuck in a convent, Sigurd knew that his life would not be the same as before.
A harsh father and a powerless daughter, for whom something like a father-daughter bond had never existed.
At first, it was curiosity, the second time, a strong attraction, and from then on, it was always love. A meeting where new inspiration welled up at every moment, and lyrics came to him naturally.
She, who had resented him but had been torn, standing before the man who was directly involved in the war that killed her biological father, finally gave her heart to his persistent courtship, and from that day on, the days the two were together were more numerous than the days they were apart.
Then one day, Sigurd thought of marriage while looking at the sleeping Aethelthryth’s face, and as if by a lie, a change occurred in Aethelthryths body the very next day.
There was no turning back now.
At the very least, shouldn’t he not become a father like Aella, whom Aethelthryth so resented and hated?
Funnily enough, he was afraid to ask his own mother, Aslaug, for permission, but just the fact that his reliable brother, Helgi—the Konungr Helgi to whom he would devote all his loyalty—was there, was enough to give Sigurd courage.
‘It won’t be just bad news for Helgi either.’
“Mmm-”
Hugging the cute creature stirring in his arms with one arm, Sigurd continued his thoughts.
‘Due to Helgi’s existence, the world of the North Sea can no longer return to how it was. Helgi is only nineteen years old at most. Many people may not know yet, but in just half a year under Helgi’s banner, the beasts of Bernicia and Deira have grown fat, and those who were greatly ill have disappeared.
The news of those who starved to death, those who froze to death, those who were torn apart and killed by beasts, which one hears as soon as one crosses the border of the Ravine Kingdom and the Kingdom of Alba, cannot even be seen here.’
What was Helgi’s greatest strength?
Ubba had always told him. His brothers, who were strong but disliked using their heads, would see Helgi’s physical strength, but in fact, the most important thing was something else.
“Isn’t that right, brother?”
He turned his head and suddenly spoke to Ubba, who was sitting across from him, but the only response was a look that said, ‘Did you eat something bad?’
Haha-
As a low laugh escaped Sigurd’s lips, the voice of a warrior, speaking in a low voice to be considerate of the sleeping Aethelthryth in his arms, reached his ears.
“Uppsala is soon. Jarl Sigurd, Jarl Ubba.”
“I see.”
A land that had changed in countless ways in just one year, so different from when he had left.
The land of Helgi and his goddess.
Once again, although Helgi might not know it, all the Konungrs and Jarls of the North who would set foot on this land would have to think about one thing.
About who, indeed, was the true king.
“Well then, shall we go see the rock that Hel’s great warrior is said to have split with a single punch?”
It was an unbelievable thing. A man, a rock…?
The warriors of Bernicia, who had already spent half a year under Sigurd’s command and had completely accepted him as their lord, all nodded their heads in unison, and a few’s eyes sparkled, swelling with anticipation.
‘Perhaps Helgi doesn’t need us. But we definitely need Helgi.’
Thinking of his child sleeping in his prospective wife’s womb, another desire, apart from the aspiration for art, welled up in Sigurd’s chest.
Whatever the name of that desire, or ambition, what was certain was that the light flowing from Sigurd’s snake-like eyes was exceedingly cool.
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