“I really should’ve declined Father’s Chalice back then and tried to persuade Uncle Helblindi to offer me his instead.” Helblindi was one of the Wolf Clan’s most elite warriors, having racked up accolade after accolade against the ever-persistent Horn Clan, and despite being an outsider from far to the west, he had risen through the ranks to become an important adviser to the Wolf Clan. If Jörgen had been under him instead, he was sure he would’ve also gained accolades and notoriety, and he probably would’ve earned Fárbauti’s Chalice by now. Yet the harsh reality was that under Bruno, he didn’t even have a specific position—he was just a gofer. He didn’t feel like his talents were being utilized at all. “My place isn’t here under Bruno’s thumb! At this rate, I’m going to waste away, and everyone else is gonna leave me in the dust!”
And as it turned out, Jörgen’s fears were not unfounded. Because one day...
“Jörgen, come here.”
“Yes? How can I be of assistance, Father?” The moment Bruno called for him, Jörgen quashed the mounting dissatisfaction in his heart and responded as politely as he could muster. Seeing that, Bruno gave a satisfied grin.
“Heh heh, looks like you’ve finally learned some manners.”
“Thanks to you, Father,” Jörgen replied. “Really... Even a monkey could pick this stuff up if they were subjected to what I’ve been put through the last three years,” the young man thought to himself. Of course, he took great care not to allow his expression to change as he did so. By now, he’d learned the subtleties of body language and how it could often communicate more than words.
“We’ve got a newcomer. I want you to show him the ropes.” Bruno patted the shoulder of the young boy beside him.
“You want me to?” Jörgen asked incredulously as he sized up the boy. He looked to be around twelve or thirteen, perhaps. He was skinny and didn’t look like much, but his sharp eyes were unmistakably those of a wolf.
“That’s right. His name’s Skáviðr, and he’s the first Einherjar the Wolf Clan’s been blessed with in ten years,” Bruno replied.
Jörgen’s eyes went wide. This boy was clearly much younger than him, yet he’d already awakened to a rune?! He wouldn’t have believed it—were it not for the faint, yet undeniable aura of a warrior emanating from the boy. It had to be the truth.
At the time, even if someone had explained to the young Jörgen the emotion he’d felt in his heart right then, he would’ve vehemently denied it. But now, in his twilight years, Jörgen smiled as he recalled that moment—he’d felt burning jealousy toward the boy who’d become an Einherjar at such a young age, as well as fear and anxiety about that boy surpassing him.
“It’s nice to meet you, Big Brother Jörgen. I look forward to your guidance from here on out.” The boy named Skáviðr bowed his head once more.
“Sure,” Jörgen replied dismissively. He didn’t know why, but he was getting more and more irritated by the minute. His pride wouldn’t allow him to let it show, of course, but his aggravation had already mounted to the point that he could barely contain it. This boy had seemed to rouse an instinctive response within Jörgen.
“You said you were an Einherjar?” Jörgen muttered.
“Yes, sir. I received ‘Dáinsleif, The Bloody Blade’ from Angrboða.”
“That so? Dáinsleif... Then you’re probably pretty good with a sword, I reckon.” An Einherjar’s area of expertise depended on the rune they’d received, but with a name like that, there was no doubt that it was combat-oriented.
“Well, more or less,” Skáviðr answered.
“Really now? Then to commemorate your induction, how about we head over there, and you can show me exactly how good you are.” Jörgen jabbed a finger over at the courtyard nearby. He wanted to see that one-in-a-million power for himself—no, truthfully he just wanted to beat this annoying kid senseless. That was it, really.
“That’s perfect. I’ve actually been wanting to spar with you ever since I first saw you, you know.” The corners of Skáviðr’s mouth turned up in a daring grin. That pissed Jörgen off even more. Was he insinuating that he didn’t even see the runeless Jörgen as a threat?! Perhaps he intended to assert his superiority once and for all by defeating his so-called “big brother” right here.
“You little shit!” Of course, Jörgen had had the exact same intention, but this child was looking down on him as the kind of weakling he could easily beat. To Jörgen, there was no greater humiliation—and no greater justification to make him kneel.
“Then it’s decided. Follow me.” With a jerk of his chin, Jörgen headed to the courtyard.
Bruno’s mansion was just as spacious as his position might suggest, and his gardens were no exception. When they reached the courtyard, several of his subordinates had just finished sweeping up the fallen leaves strewn on the ground.
“Yo, Jörgen,” said one of his sworn older brothers, Brimir, as soon as he approached. “This the newbie?”
“Yeah, his name’s Skáviðr, and he’s an Einherjar, apparently,” Jörgen replied with a shrug. If he had to evaluate Brimir honestly, he’d have said he was an ordinary man who was as lacking in intelligence as he was in skill with the blade, but he’d received Bruno’s Chalice half a year before Jörgen had, thus Jörgen had to call him “Big Brother” even though they were the same age. “Under the Chalice, shouldn’t ability take precedence over everything else?!” he wanted to argue, but he knew if he didn’t comply, he’d get an earful, so he begrudgingly went along with it. Being in Bruno’s Chalice family was more trouble than it was worth.
“Whoaaa! An Einherjar?! Oh yeah, come to think of it, I did hear something through the grapevine,” Brimir replied in a shocked tone.
“Oh yeah?” Jörgen was always polishing up his sword and bow techniques whenever he had a spare moment, so he didn’t concern himself with gossip.
“You didn’t know?! Well, it’s just a rumor, but the palace is all abuzz. They say he’s our first Einherjar in ten years!”
“Interesting,” Jörgen lied.
“I was sure that he’d be assigned to Uncle Helblindi’s family instead of here!”
“You’d normally think that, wouldn’t you?” On this point alone, Jörgen was in agreement. Talented warriors ought to be sent to the battlefield instead—including warriors like himself. It was a waste of precious resources to keep them relegated to the sidelines. It even made Jörgen wonder if perhaps Fárbauti just didn’t know how to use his subordinates efficiently, as disrespectful a notion as that was.