“They must’ve circled around the perimeter,” Jörgen said with a sigh. Perhaps after dealing with the Jörgen faction yesterday, they’d determined that breaking through the enemy lines normally would be too difficult and circled around in secret while Jörgen’s unit was still preoccupied with the task before them.
“It’s over,” Jörgen muttered glumly. The only way to get back home to Iárnviðr was to break through the Horn Clan Army blocking their path, but there were over five hundred Horn Clan soldiers in their way—double that of the Jörgen faction, not to mention they’d just spent an entire day yesterday fighting and had been on the move all night. They were utterly exhausted, and the enemy wouldn’t be kind enough to wait around and let them rest. Even if they did, it would only be long enough for the Horn Clan’s main army to approach from behind and catch the Jörgen faction in a pincer attack.
“Heh. If we’re gonna die either way, we may as well proceed onward.” Jörgen grinned fiercely. Waiting around would only make the situation worse, and besides, it was more fitting for a warrior to go out in a blaze of glory. Perhaps by taking out a few enemy soldiers, he could create a gap to where at least some of his children would be able to make it back to Iárnviðr safely. Then, if those survivors passed down the tale of how bravely he’d fought to his wives and children, they might be able to live with their heads held high and without shame.
“Everyone made their peace?” He looked around at his sworn children. They all wore determined faces as they nodded. They would follow him dutifully to the grave. He wanted to apologize, but at the same time, their unwavering loyalty warmed his heart.
“All right, boys, this is our last stand! Let’s fight until the very end and drink together once more when we meet in Valhalla!”
The entire faction erupted in vigorous cries and charged toward the enemy lines.
“Your head’s mine!” Jörgen roared as he immediately cut down the nearest enemy.
“Haa!”
“Guh!”
After taking out several more, he cursed inwardly. His body practically refused to listen to his commands. His bronze sword, normally so light in his hands, felt several times heavier.
“Haa...ugh...” He’d hardly even begun, and he was already winded. His exhaustion was reaching its peak. His stamina was at its limit. He was running purely on a combat high at this point.
“Out of the way, grunts.” A man who looked to be around forty shoved an enemy soldier aside and stepped up to the front lines. “You guys are only good for building a wall of corpses.”
One glance and Jörgen knew that he was no pushover. The aura he exuded dwarfed all the other enemy soldiers present. There was only one man Jörgen knew of who could give off such presence.
“Commander of the Three Flames, Rasmus...” He was the strongest of the three Einherjar the Horn Clan possessed, known collectively as the “Three Flames.” He was also the person Jörgen least wanted to encounter right now.
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me, have you?” The moment those words left Rasmus’s mouth, his figure vanished from Jörgen’s vision.
Ting!
It was entirely due to luck that Jörgen managed to block the attack. He’d chosen to guard his neck based on pure instinct, and it just happened to be the correct move. If Rasmus had gone for his torso instead, Jörgen would’ve been making his way to Valhalla right about now. Rasmus’s approach had been terrifyingly fast.
“Not bad. Then how about this?” A flurry of attacks came without a moment’s reprieve, one after another. Every one of them was blindingly fast. It didn’t just seem that way due to Jörgen’s exhaustion—each of the attacks really were on a level he’d never experienced. Not to mention...
“Damn, they’re powerful too!” Each of Rasmus’s blows was strong enough to make Jörgen’s hands go numb, leaving him barely able to maintain a grip on his sword. He’d managed to block them by focusing solely on the trajectory of the sword, but his shot nerves wouldn’t allow him to keep that up for much longer.
“Gaah!” Finally, Rasmus’s sword grazed Jörgen’s right brow. The wound itself wasn’t deep, but its location couldn’t be worse—the blood flowing from the wound got in his eyes, rendering him unable to see. For an opponent as strong as Rasmus, that made all the difference between life and death.
“Hmph, you’ve put up quite the fight against me so far. Are you the ‘Skáviðr’ I’ve heard so much about?” Rasmus grinned in amusement as he held his sword at the ready once more. Jörgen merely spat in disgust, partly from how casually his opponent was treating him, and above all, from being mistaken for that boy. It felt like he was seriously being underestimated.
“Jörgen. That’s my name.”
“Jörgen? Ah, the sixth-ranked. For you to possess that level of skill without a rune, I’m impressed.” His surprise seemed genuine enough, and maybe he’d thought that was a compliment, but all it did was irritate Jörgen further.
“How dare you look down on me! I’ll wipe that grin off your face!” Fueled by his anger, Jörgen roused his tired body to action. He probably only had one more attack left in him, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make that one attack count.
“I like the fire in your eyes. It lets me know that now I can get serious.” Rasmus narrowed his eyes like a beast.
“Give me a break,” Jörgen thought. “You’re telling me he’s just as impenetrable mentally as he is physically? How am I supposed to fight against someone with no openings?!”
“Here I come!” Rasmus approached. Once again, his advance was so fast Jörgen didn’t have time to think of a plan.
Ting! Ting! Tingtingting!
Just like last time, Jörgen was forced on the defensive instantly. But he couldn’t give up.
“Dammit!” Cursing and gritting his teeth in desperation, he withstood the onslaught of attacks. Though Jörgen was loath to admit it, Rasmus was more skilled. However, there were no absolutes in war, and there was no guarantee that the strongest would always win. Jörgen had learned that firsthand in his battle with Skáviðr ten years ago.
A strike from Rasmus repelled Jörgen’s sword, and Rasmus prepared a follow-up strike while Jörgen was open. It was the same technique he’d used to graze Jörgen’s eyebrow earlier, so it was probably a signature move of his. Out of all of Rasmus’s practiced movements, it was also the sharpest—he executed it with perfect timing.
“I can’t avoid it—but what if I take it on purpose?!”
Slish!
Severe pain shot through Jörgen’s left shoulder as the sword stabbed through him. Contrary to expectations, however, he ignored it and sliced at Rasmus with all his might. An eye for an eye—against an enemy as overwhelmingly powerful as Rasmus, the only way to win was to strike at the same time he did.