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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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[Thud!]
The force absorbed by the round shield gripped in my left hand reverberated with a significant weight.
“Raah!”
[Thwack!]
At the same time, the dull clang of the warrior’s wild axe—thrown in desperation as he lost his balance and couldn’t withstand my strength—struck the leather edge of my shield…
“Hup!”
My experienced body moved instinctively, as if both parts of my brain were in perfect harmony. With fluid precision, I rotated my waist, channeling the force through my right shoulder and into the solid fist extended before me.
[Bam!]
It was a picturesque straight right. The rotational force from my knees flowed through my waist and perfectly aligned my fist forwards.
“-Argh!”
It happened in an instant after the shields clashed. The warrior’s body, still straining against the axe blocked by my shield, crumpled limply to the dirt floor.
[Thud.]
“Phew-”
‘I didn’t know it would become so natural to knock a person down in a single breath..’
The name of the man who just fell was Storolf Ormson, the 112th—or 113th—challenger, and the son of a veteran warrior I had seen a few times at the Thing. I heard he was 17 years old this year, the same age as me, and with his impressive physique and strength, if he was polished a little, he seemed like he would become a formidable warrior.
“Wow-!”
“This is it! This is a man!”
“Jarl Helgi! Jarl Helgi!”
“The gods are watching! Tyr! Do you see clearly? Bless these honorable warriors!”
When Norsemen came to mind, one usually thought of rough and strong warriors, but in fact, most of Europe was like this during this era. The people surrounding this arena were all farmers, and at the same time, home-based artisans, ranchers, and retailers.
“Hahaha-! Hey Orm! Your son’s nose is bleeding in two streams! This is a good omen! The gods have foreseen another good harvest this year!”
“Damn it…”
The voices of the half-drunk middle-aged men could be heard among the people cheering with all sorts of strange noises. Hrolfr, the protector and administrator of our territory appointed by my father, the head of various administrative affairs, and Orm, the father of Storolf, who was now squirming on the dirt floor in a pitiful posture.
‘Since when did my duel become an event to predict the year’s harvest?’
Moreover, whether their noses bled or they lost a few teeth, we always had a good harvest. So, wasn’t this completely unrelated to the duel?
‘Perhaps these people just enjoy watching fights.’
In fact, the first 30 matches or so were very brutal and solemn duels. Warriors from all over the country who looked down on me or were too overconfident in their own strength did not hold back their malice, regardless of if I was the son of the Konungr who dominated this region. This was a sacred duel of honor after all.
And just as combat and training were different, it was easy to distinguish between attacks meant to kill me and attacks purely meant to test my skills.
As a result, blessed with numerous combat traits such as [Calmness], [Courage], and [Intimidation], I sent my opponents to Valhalla in a single breath, no matter what techniques they used. Even now, those 30 bloody matches were still talked about by the people, and after them, no more market street ruffians sought out Helgi Ragnarsson of Aros.
However, after that, strong warriors who truly sought honor, seasoned veterans with honed skills who had not yet reached Valhalla, and promising rookies with bright futures, like Storolf who had just been knocked out by my fist, began to seek me out.
Eventually, the so-called new term ‘Duel of Aros’ was coined. Thanks to that, my record had already reached 112 or 113 matches.
“Ugh…”
The sun shone brightly, befitting the second month of summer. Under it, the blond giant with a deeply furrowed brow squirmed.
“Are you coming to your senses?”
“Mm-”
With an expression of having lost about 10 minutes of memory, the 17-year-old Storolf, who was confirming his surroundings and putting together his identity, was startled and tried to get up from his spot in a hurry.
“The fight…! The fight is…?”
“You fought well, Storolf Ormson.”
“Huh..?”
Storolf, who was still staggering, stood up straight, and it seemed like he was gradually coming to his senses.
“Ah-. I see. I lost, Jarl Helgi.”
Tsk-.
Although his bowl-cut hairstyle and neat beard were stained with two streams of blood flowing from his slightly swollen nose bridge, Storolf’s expression of humbly accepting defeat, accompanied by an impressive smile, seemed quite excited.
“The rumors don’t even come close to half of it. You are truly the ‘strongest’ among us.”
Storolf, who finally put down the axe he refused to let go of even after falling, showed extreme reverence towards me. For a moment, an unbelievable silence descended upon the square that had been noisy with people’s cheers.
‘I’m not sure how it turned out this way, but…’
The desires and creativity of living, moving people always exceed my expectations. Who would have known that a fight that started to protect my mother’s honor would become a city event and even lead to the creation of a kind of standing army?
To respond to the eyes of the people filled with anticipation, I performed the traditional performance that had continued since about the 50th duel.
“Kneel, Storolf Ormson.”
“!!”
The cold and sharp blade of my sword approached and touched the right shoulder of Storolf, whose two blue eyes rippled with excitement as he hurriedly knelt down.
“Storolf. This sword placed on your shoulder now holds the sacred power bestowed upon me as a Jarl by Hel, the mistress and mother of all the dead, and the people of Aros, her most faithful city.”
“I like this part the best.”
“Shh!”
The well-honed sword gifted by the Aros Thing (Aros Assembly) in recognition of the legitimacy of my rule. Storolf’s trembling was conveyed through it, and the eyes and voices of the people vividly witnessing this whole scene were carried by the gentle wind.
“Can you swear to never turn your back in battle from now on, and to give eternal loyalty to Hel and her city, and its Jarl, whether in life or death?”
“In life and in death, I swear loyalty to the goddess Hel and you, Helgi.”
One might have expected him to hesitate even slightly. But the people of this warrior society were not unfamiliar with dealing with death and their own lives.
“Then rise, Storolf. As a son of Hel. As a member of the Garmr Brotherhood.”
After lifting the sword placed on Storolf’s shoulder, who was now a member of the city’s vigilante group and standing army, as well as my administrative-military-economic-civil servant group, lightly pressing the opposite shoulder and the top of his head, I sheathed the sword and helped him up.
“Thank you. Jarl Helgi.”
The warrior, who had completely shed his boyish appearance, showed me the relief of one who had passed a difficult test and the emotion that only those with a great sense of duty could possess, unabashedly through his bright blue eyes.
‘Is it 60 now?’
The 60th warrior. Did this have any special meaning? Perhaps if I watched a little longer, I might be able to see what this young warrior named Storolf could do. But for now, let’s ignore the various miscellaneous issues like the budget for joining the vigilante group or the matter of my marriage that the council keeps bringing up as an agenda item (likely influenced by my mother).
“Wow-!”
“Storolf! Helson! Ormson!”
“Glory to Hel! Glory to Aros!”
“Oh- What a truly honorable day!”
Right now, I was only thinking about celebrating the entry of this rookie asset.
Amidst the cheering crowd, as I held up Storolf’s hand, who had a moved expression, to respond to the people’s cheers, I suddenly noticed a familiar face shouting at the back of the third row.
“Ah! Bragi! My god of inspiration! Behold these two warriors! Give me inspiration! To sing of glory!”
Judging by the fact that he was already half out of his mind, he had definitely drunk too much alcohol. The man with that enraptured expression, who had charged his patriotism to the extreme with the recent glorious battle and knighting ceremony that ended with Norsemen localization, reaching a kind of spiritual state of nirvana, was definitely…
‘Sigurd? What are you doing here?’
It was clearly my half-brother, Sigurd.
“Storolf, how about going to your father now?”
“Yes, yes? Understood. Jarl Helgi!”
It seemed like the attention of the people who were giving him generous applause was too much stimulation. Storolf looked a bit dazed.
“Right. Drink to your heart’s content today, and tomorrow, find Hrolfr of my household. He will tell you what you need to do.”
After giving a strong pat on the back of the swiftly nodding rookie, I left behind Storolf, who let out a single cry of “Ugh-!”, and crossing the crowd that parted to either side while giving me a look of admiration, I climbed the steps and reached Sigurd, who was playing the harp.
“With this sound here- No, that’s not it. A little more intense-”
“Sigurd.”
[Ding- Ding-]
“Good, good-”
“Sigurd!”
I lightly shook the shoulder of the wannabe harp player who thought he was a genius musician and loudly called his name.
“Hmm? Oh- My brother! Helgi!”
The man with blond hair brighter than Storolf’s hair, who was surrounded by the people down there in a tearful embrace with his father, and impressive green eyes was Sigurd.
“What song should I compose and dedicate to you, who has already become a living legend!”
Sigurd, with a smile so radiant it seemed to outshine mere brightness, was renowned not only for his striking appearance but also for an even more remarkable trait.
“What a pity! A warrior like you, Odin would personally come out to the entrance of Valhalla with open arms to welcome you! But your soul already belongs to the goddess Hel!”
My brother’s serpentine-colored eyes contained snake-like patterns that coiled around his pupils.
“Odin will be disappointed, having to welcome such a shoddy bard (minstrel) into his hall.”
“What? Haha-! Haha! You really don’t know anything about art! Helgi!”
This cheerful older brother grabbed my arm and lightly shook it, giving a mischievous smile.
“If only I had the chance, I would tell you one by one how the girl from Sellan Island to the widow of Uppsala praised my songs!”
The snake in his flickering eyes seemed to be alive and wriggling. A charm befitting his outstanding appearance as a renowned playboy. However, to me, it was just creepy.
“Sigurd…”
As I frowned and removed his clasped hands, Sigurd laughed again and turned around first. As we started walking towards the center of the city, matching our strides, guards who had been waiting here and there in the arena followed along.
“There’s no trouble in Roskilde, right?”
I was about to ask how things turned out with the daughter of the Jutes chief he had been dating before, but I stopped. According to rumors, not only Sigurd but also that daughter of the Jutes chief had an extraordinary history with men, so I felt like I wouldn’t hear a clean story.
“Of course, Helgi.”
[Ding- Ding-]
The fingers playing on the harp strings following the light footsteps were quite graceful. There was always half a smile in the words he uttered.
“That village stands as firm as the southern rampart (Danevirke). It’s very peaceful, unlike here…”
Sigurd’s eyes, trailing off his words, had already captured the approaching downtown of Aros. A place that was just a small fishing village, a transit city of Uppsala, just 10 years ago.
Now, it was a place that endlessly attracted people with immeasurable abundance. The vitality of the growing city was fully reflected in the expressions of the people coming and going.
“Come on, let’s go Helgi. There’s a lot to talk about! I even prepared a song to sing to your third mother!”
I thought he was showing a serious side for once, but sure enough. Sigurd, who suddenly said he had a song to offer to my mother and hummed a tune as he hurried forward. Beyond the back of his head, I saw the figure of my mother, who had come out in front of the city gate to wait for her son’s return.
She dawned plain blue clothes and her jet-black hair with gray strands here and there flowed beautifully.
My quickening footsteps easily overtook Sigurd, who was already starting to strum the harp.
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I can’t lie, my mental image of Helgi is of an eight foot giant with hands larger than my skull, I could never face him like Storolf did.
Anyways, if you find any errors, join the Arcane Translations discord and ping Oihs in #typo-and-mistakes!
He’s literally a Spartan from Halo.
Great, he’s got fans even from his family…