“Wha?!”
“Agh?!” Rasmus quickly let go of the hilt of his sword and crouched down on the spot, evading Jörgen’s last-ditch attack. If he’d taken the time to yank the sword out of Jörgen’s shoulder first, he would’ve been too late. However, the decision to let go of his lifeline during a life-or-death battle likely wasn’t one a normal person would’ve been able to make.
Slish!
“Gahh?!” A shock ran through Jörgen’s solar plexus, rendering him unable to breathe. Pain didn’t even begin to describe the sensation. It was pure agony. Unable to stand any longer, Jörgen crumpled to the ground.
“Ha ha... You surprised me there for a moment, Jörgen.” Rasmus’s voice came from above. Jörgen couldn’t budge an inch, but he had no regrets. He’d staked everything he had on that last attack, and if that didn’t do the trick, then that was just the gulf between them. Dying at the hands of such a powerful opponent was honestly all a warrior could ever ask for.
“Hmph.” Jörgen’s response was indignant.
Rasmus forcefully yanked out the sword lodged in Jörgen’s shoulder and sent a powerful kick to his jaw, flipping him over on his back. “Any last words?” he asked.
“None. Just get it over with.”
“Then let us meet again in Valhalla. Farewell.” With those cold parting words, Rasmus brought his sword down on top of Jörgen.
Just before Jörgen was run through, however, something sliced through the air. A single arrow pierced through the space where Rasmus had just been. A second, then a third arrow followed.
“Tch!” Clicking his tongue, Rasmus leaped backward. Jörgen could see a Wolf Clan flag flying atop the nearby cliff, and underneath that flag stood a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. Several hundred soldiers were gathered behind him.
“Shit. Looks like we’ve got company. All right, Jörgen, I’ll concede victory to you this time. Let’s meet again on the battlefield soon.” With that, Rasmus and the Horn Clan Army were gone as quickly as they had arrived. It seemed he’d immediately realized he was outmatched and had made a swift decision—with a sizable Wolf Clan force joining in from the side and having the high ground, the Horn Clan Army was at a clear disadvantage. However, that ability to judge the situation quickly only proved how formidable an opponent he was. If he’d taken but a moment later to make his decision, the Horn Clan Army might have suffered many more casualties. As one would expect from the Commander of the Three Flames, his judgment was as sharp as his skill with a sword.
Jörgen had lost this battle on all counts. But he wasn’t the type to mope about his losses either.
“One day, I’ll return the favor, Rasmus.” Looking up at the sky, he swore to himself that he would get his revenge. He would never have imagined in his wildest dreams that later, the two would become amicable rivals, crossing blades not only on the battlefield but in the world of politics, and eventually they’d become drinking buddies who laughed and joked about the past they’d shared.
“I’m glad to see you safe and sound, Uncle Jörgen.” Once the battle was over and his shoulder had been tended to, the boy from earlier, Loptr, came over and spoke to Jörgen. As far as Jörgen had heard, Loptr was still only eighteen—but a young lad, by all accounts. His face still retained traces of his boyhood, but deep in his eyes, Jörgen felt a chill, as if the boy was observing every move Jörgen made.
“Yeah, thanks for your help back there. But Loptr, why are you here, anyway?” The Wolf Clan Army should’ve all been on their way back to Iárnviðr right now, so it was odd for him to be here instead.
“I got permission from dad to stay here for just today. Upon calculating your thought patterns, Uncle Jörgen, and the likely thought patterns of Rasmus, of whom I’ve heard many stories, I determined that there would likely be a battle in this area.”
“What the...?!” Jörgen sat there open-mouthed, unable to speak. Loptr might’ve said it like it was no big deal, but it was preposterous. That would mean that all this time, both Jörgen and Rasmus had been dancing in the palm of this boy’s hand...no, not just him and Rasmus, but the Horn Clan Army supreme commander and patriarch Hrungnir as well! If that were true, the boy possessed a frightening tactical eye.
“No matter how good you think someone is, there’s always someone better.” Jörgen heaved a sigh. Back in his youth, he hadn’t doubted for a single second that he had the stuff to be a hero of legend. But by now, he’d encountered so many freakishly powerful people that his pride was already in tatters.
“So this is the true strength of an Einherjar.” Every day seemed to hammer home the point further that he was just a regular guy. Unlike the Einherjar, he could never be a flower that bloomed on the battlefield, no matter how hard he tried. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew it all too well.
Having performed splendidly as rear guard, allowing the Wolf Clan Army to beat a safe retreat, he came back to Iárnviðr that day as a hero. However, ironically enough, that was also the day that he gave up on being a hero for good.
The days and years that followed were one hardship after another. The territory the Wolf Clan possessed dwindled to a third of its original size. Oppressed on both the east and west flanks, the Wolf Clan’s flame was all but snuffed out. Though no one had dared say so, everyone was despairing in their hearts, convinced that the Wolf Clan was finished and that they’d be wiped off the map soon enough.
Just as things were looking their worst, a savior appeared before them. He was the true hero. When Jörgen watched him in action, he felt the excitement he’d felt back in his youth. Even now, Jörgen was convinced that he’d been put on this earth to support this savior. He was also now grateful to Bruno from the bottom of his heart. Without those days of harsh guidance and discipline, he would’ve been ill-prepared for the days that were to come.
But now, even those days were far behind him. Fárbauti, Bruno, Skáviðr, Rasmus—and most likely Loptr as well—had all already made their journey to Valhalla. He alone remained, idly wasting away the days. Part of him still wished he could’ve gone out in a blaze of glory like them. But the longer he lived, the more stories he’d have under his belt. That was why when it was finally his time, he wouldn’t be afraid. He’d look forward to sharing all those stories with his comrades in Valhalla when they reunited once more.