Erland glared at the homestead sitting in front of him. It was a quaint little two-story house, with sprawling farmland surrounding it. The barn stood a small distance from the main building, and faint animal sounds could be heard from it even at this distance.
Erland turned around and glared at the Valkyrie crystal standing behind him. This was not his respawn point. He should have ended up back in Alaborg.
The crystal was the most extravagant purchase his parents had ever made, and he had never hated it more. They had bought it and set it as his default spawn point after he’d runaway and snuck into a dungeon as a teenager.
When children died in the Nine Realms, they were not faced with Helvegr and the trials of the afterlife. They merely respawned a day later, none the worse for wear.
That hadn’t stopped his parents from worrying about him for the week it had taken the tracker they’d hired to find him.
As he turned around to walk away from the farmhouse, Erland’s stomach made a strenuous objection in the form of a large growl.
Erland pushed the door to the farmhouse open. There wasn’t much chance of his father being inside at this time of day. A farm never ran short on chores, no matter how many hours one put in. His mother would almost certainly be here, however.
“Torsten? Is that you?” his mother, Frida, called from somewhere upstairs, confirming Erland’s thoughts. “Don’t tell me the plow gave out, we can’t afford another one right now.”
“No, mother, it’s Erland,” he replied, stomping through the house to the kitchen.
“Erland?!” his mother’s strangled response echoed through the house, followed quickly by thumping footsteps as she rapidly descended the stairs. She stopped short in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re here. You really came back home.”
Erland’s ginger hair was a more fiery echo of her own, which she kept in a braid that hung down to the center of her back. She had light brown eyes, which currently were filling with tears. She was a spritely woman, not yet past her prime, but her age was always most apparent when looking at Erland. Her resignation and loss of hope overpowered the strengthening effects of the Player System here.
“Not by choice,” Erland growled quickly, trying to stem an emotional outburst. “The Aesir must have been displeased when I turned down their offer, sending me to the place I hate the most.”
“Aesir?” she gasped in confusion, tears spilling now at his words rather than his presence. “What offer? Did they visit you? Is this about the Wild Hunt?”
“You’ve heard about that even out here?” Erland asked, lighting the stove and pulling out eggs and bacon. “Must really be as big of a deal as he said.”
“You father finally got a viewer,” Frida croaked out, rubbing the tears from her eyes. “We saw the announcement almost a week ago. The qualifiers are supposed to start tomorrow. The chosen are expected to be announced tonight.”
“What a joke,” Erland scoffed, beginning to cook his eggs and bacon in the same pan. “Guess you both have a lot more free time without me driving you to sickness with worry.”
“Give me that,” his mother said, angry frustration in her voice as she shoved him out of the way. She flipped his bacon and quickly began pulling out fruits and vegetables and chopping them. “This is still my kitchen, you’re not so far removed that you can do as you like in my house. Go sit down, I’ll bring it out when it’s done.”
Erland rubbed a bit at his shoulder where she had shoved him, heading to the living room. Appearances could be very deceiving in the Nine Realms, so while Frida outwardly appeared to be a simple farmer’s wife, she was still a D-Tier Player. Farmers required strength above all, and his mother could lift and carry any of the farm animals if necessary.
The layout of the living room had changed completely since he’d left. A large crystal viewer occupied the house’s center wall now, and the chairs had been arranged to face it. A center table was set up now to allow them to eat while watching the viewer.
Erland snorted and sat.
The itch between his shoulder blades started almost immediately.
He turned on the viewer with a pulse of mana, trying to distract himself while he waited on his mother. The viewer lit up, displaying a man and a woman at a news desk. A scrolling bar at the bottom displayed headlines speculating about the nature of the Wild Hunt, its competitors, and everything in between. The reporters were currently talking about the other realms and Midgard’s chances for victory.
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Erland changed the channel with another wisp of mana.
Another news program showed up, this one an interview. A heavily muscled woman dressed in brown and white furs sat across from a man in a suit. She fidgeted with a massive broadsword she had leaned against the chair as she talked.
“So Yrsa, what do you think your chances of being chosen for the C-Tier competition are?” the interviewer asked in a smarmy tone. “Some are saying that Ulf the Unbroken has what it takes to beat you.”
Erland changed the channel growling again.
Apparently, no one did.
Just as Erland was about to give up in frustration, his mother came in with his food.
She’d made him a salad to go with his bacon and eggs, which he eyed with disdain. He knew he would have to eat it, his mother would force feed it to him if he tried to refuse. He started with the bacon and eggs, slowly savoring his favorite meal and pretending the salad didn’t exist for now.
“Oh, some of the Aesir have made selections already!” his mother exclaimed, clearly trying to engage with him and brush over the earlier awkwardness.
The news channel begin scrolling through names. As could perhaps be expected, the higher tier warrior slots were mostly filled. There were one or two Aesir in each tier that were undecided, but most of the slots above D-Tier were filled.
Conversely, almost all of the slots below that were empty. There were exceptions but they were few and far between. There were a few exceptions, rising stars who had been earmarked for greatness. Heroes who had performed great feats at young ages.
Erland was mostly watching to give his eyes something to do while he ate, when Halina Berg’s name showed up. His eyes climbed even higher when he saw Bjarke had been chosen as well.
Halina had been chosen by Frigga, and was apparently well known in the area around Alaborg as being a reliable dungeon diver. The reporters made a few comments and speculations about how she may have caught Frigga’s eye, especially mentioning her parents.
The Bergs were apparently an adventuring family, established enough that if they had the numbers they would already have formed a guild. If not for her parents being chosen to become Einherjar over 15 years ago, they may have reached that number already. The reporters delved into their accomplishments in depth, showing recordings of some of their most impressive takedowns.
“—rland? Erland, you listen to me when I’m talking to you!” his mother’s voice intruded upon his rapt attention to the screen.
“What mother?” Erland replied with a scowl. “Weren’t you happy to ignore me for the viewer just a moment ago? Anything to avoid asking what I’ve been up to since I left.”
“I am still your mother, and two Tiers above you!” She yelled back at him, but her face had twisted in fear at his mention of his deeds. He was slightly surprised that she had pulled up his status, but after a moment he realized she must have been afraid of what she might find there. “Your father and I taught you better respect than this.”
“What you and father taught me could fill a thimble,” Erland replied, stabbing harder into his salad, anger clouding his tastebuds enough to make it tolerable. “Just ask what you were going to ask.”
His mother looked for a moment like she would explode into a rage, but instead she slumped back as the fight left her. Eighteen years of trying to get Erland to behave had run even her fortitude into the ground. She sat still for a minute, clearly regretting every decision she had made in raising him, asking what she had done wrong.
“What offer were you talking about in the kitchen?” She finally asked after her soul searching. “What did the Aesir want with you?”
“Worried they wanted to punish me for eternity for my misdeeds?” he asked, chuckling when she shot him a glare. “Baldr wanted to choose me for this joke of a competition. He threatened and cajoled me at first, but offered rewards when I was unfazed. I turned him down so he sent me here in his displeasure.”
“You turned down the Aesir?!” Frida hissed, her tone scandalized. “Why?! This competition is everything you’ve ever wanted! You can fight to your hearts content! Kill to your heart’s content.”
“It’s never been about that, mother,” Erland said, with the tone of someone who has said this countless times. “I don’t fight for other people. I will be no one’s slave.”
“We don’t want to enslave you!” she said, burying her face in her hands and revealing more gray in her hair than Erland was familiar with. “The farm is a lot of work! You know I can’t have children anymore! If you would just come back—”
“We’re not doing this again,” Erland cut her off, standing up. “I’ve told you both—”
“Erland?!” a shout echoed through the house, and Erland’s eyes closed in resigned anger. “What are you doing back here, boy?!”
“I was just leaving,” Erland called back, moving around the center table only to find his way blocked.
Torsten Grim was a boulder of a man. His was the build of a true strongman, barrel-chested with thick features. His ice blue eyes glared out at Erland from his heavily shaded brows, expressing unmasked wrath. His eyes darted to the remains of Erland’s lunch, causing his dark, slightly shaggy hair to sway.
“Just here for a free meal, doubtless slaved over by your mother, eh?” Torsten growled, making no move to leave the doorway. “Sapping our resources while providing nothing, as usual. Then you have the gall to commit murder in our town.”
“If they didn’t want a free trip down Helvegr they shouldn’t have fought me,” Erland replied, squaring his shoulders. “You made an investment and it backfired. You wanted free labor, a slave obligated to do anything you said. You got me.”
“If you wish to cast yourself as a slave I can make that a reality!” Torsten roared, launching himself towards Erland with his hands extended. Erland yelled back, trying to bring his hands up in time, but his father was simply too fast.
Just as Torsten’s hands were about to clamp onto Erland’s shoulders, time stopped, and Baldr appeared.
“I’ve come to see if you’ve reconsidered my offer,” he stated, looking like the cat who caught the canary.