“I want to join the fight too, dad!” Raring to go just as much as his father, the young Jörgen expressed his desire to tag along. His father nodded with enthusiasm.
“Well said, son. Your eagerness and bravery make me proud. Just make sure you have the skills in combat to back it up. I won’t have you staining my honor and good name with a shameful display.”
“I understand, dad.”
“That said, I doubt there will be any reason to worry about you,” his father said with a grin. By now, Jörgen was already a head taller than most of the village boys his age, and far more muscular to boot. His skill with a bow put some of the full-grown adults he knew to shame—he was probably the third best in the entire village, and within a few more years, he would likely surpass even the chief himself to become the number one archer.
Unsurprisingly, in his inaugural battle, Jörgen performed just as outstandingly as expected.
“That must be their commander.” Looking down on the approaching Horn Clan Army from the treetops, Jörgen identified the leader immediately. The leader was the only one atop a horse-drawn carriage, so it was easy to tell him apart.
When participating in their first real battles, most young folk were often devoured by the horrors of war and rendered unable to think properly or even stand on their own two feet, but not Jörgen. Where the average person would be quick to attempt to prove themselves and let loose a hail of arrows without reserve, inadvertently giving away their location to the enemy in the process, Jörgen kept his distance and waited for the right moment to strike.
“There!” Fortune must have also smiled upon him, because the decisive arrow he finally loosed pierced straight through the enemy commander’s temple—a bull’s-eye.
“All right!” Having witnessed the outstanding shot with his own eyes, Jörgen pumped his fist. With the enemy commander down, the army lost their chain of command and collapsed into ruin in no time, making them sitting ducks for the Wolf Clan Army. It was no exaggeration to say that the battle had been decided the moment Jörgen had fired that arrow, and thanks to his heroic efforts during that inaugural battle, the name “Jörgen of Nazir Village” soon began to spread throughout the Wolf Clan like wildfire.
A majestic palace stood in the heart of Iárnviðr. Jörgen had gazed upon it from afar many a time whenever his father had brought him here, but naturally, this was his first time actually entering the building. After being guided to one of the rooms, he saw a man with graying hair who had to be at least in his forties sitting at the throne, one hand resting on his cheek. The man stared hard at Jörgen. It was as if the man’s gaze saw through every inch of him.
“So, you’re Jörgen, are you? You look fearless. I like it.” The man stroked his graying beard as if in thought. The gruff authority in his voice made Jörgen feel as though a great weight had fallen on his shoulders.
“It’s truly an honor, Your Majesty,” Jörgen replied with a polite bow. “So this is Lord Fárbauti, our patriarch.” Raising his head and facing the man once more, he swallowed hard—he understood immediately why the Wolf Clan patriarch’s name was known throughout all of Bifröst. Though at first glance the man appeared frail, he exuded an unmistakably intense aura. Jörgen wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had been a seasoned warrior in his own right. At the same time, however, he recognized that this was the level he would eventually have to surpass. He was still at the age where he was full of vim and vigor, ambition burning bright in his heart.
“Heh heh. I hear you’re the one who took out the Horn Clan’s commander. Considering that was the first time you’d ever been in an actual battle, that’s quite the accomplishment—although I would expect no less from Jigen’s son.”
“Heh, that was child’s play compared to what I’m really capable of.”
“Oh? How reliable, and confident to boot.”
“I know, right? So how about making me one of your sworn children? You won’t regret it,” Jörgen declared, pointing to himself with his thumb.
Of course, toward one with as much authority as Fárbauti, his cheeky attitude could be considered the height of disrespect. Perhaps one could chalk it up to being young, but there was only so much that his youth could excuse—regardless of Jörgen’s accomplishments, no one would’ve so much as batted an eye if he’d been thrown in the dungeon for his insubordination.
“Know your place, brat! How dare you behave that way in the presence of our patriarch!” In fact, one of the middle-aged men standing beside the throne roared in anger. Judging from his gray beard and the deep wrinkles in his forehead, he seemed to be rather high-strung. “You are speaking to the leader of the Wolf Clan, our sworn father, so show some respect! Normally, the likes of you would not even be allowed to speak in his presence!”
“Oh, shut up already, old man. You guys were the ones who brought me here, weren’t you? Besides, this conversation is between him and me, so buzz off.” As the man continued to lecture him, Jörgen cursed him in his thoughts. Naturally, he at least had the sense to not voice his opinion out loud, but again, perhaps because he was still young, the man’s attitude ticked him off all the same.
“Enough, Bruno.” Fárbauti silenced his subordinate with a dismissive wave of his hand and a placid smile, as though Jörgen’s impudence hadn’t bothered him in the slightest—as though he dealt with people like him on a regular basis. His broad-mindedness honestly impressed Jörgen.
“Meanwhile, this dude over here has a stick up his ass, just as the rumors said.” In his heart, Jörgen smirked, though he didn’t let it show. He’d heard all sorts of things about the man named Bruno—none of them particularly flattering. In short, they’d said he was a petty, obstinate man who talked a big game but didn’t have the stuff to back it up. There were also those who said he was wholly unsuited to serve as the Wolf Clan’s second-in-command. On either count, Jörgen couldn’t agree more.