Back at the inn.

Everything was relatively peaceful. Just four bodies were stacked on top of each other in the middle of the inn, with a headless one slightly far away—no big deal.

Helga, Bjorn, and Balin remained in their seats, observing the aftermath of the chaotic brawl. Cedric and his guard companion lingered near the entrance like good little lambs, their eyes fixed on the two men sitting at the table, afraid to disrupt the solemn stillness and suffer their wrath.

Aron and Olaf sat at a round table, nursing cold beers like old comrades. The tension lifted briefly as Olaf broke the silence.

"Why didn't you kill them?" Olaf inquired, his eyes probing Aron's.

Aron's gaze shifted to the pile of bodies. The fight ended with surprisingly no one dying—neither Aron nor Olaf had killed any of the four men.

"I need the mage for something, but the guy with the big shield—I don't really know why I didn't kill him… I guess I was too focused on the mage that I forgot," Aron answered honestly. All he cared about at that time was the mage; he had plans for him.

"And you?" Aron turned the question back to Olaf.

Olaf stroked his long beard, pondering for a moment. "I guess it's a habit."

"Habit?" Aron was confused.

"Yes... I've trained many warriors over the years. When I see the potential for growth, I hesitate to end it. These two," he gestured towards the fallen foes, "have potential. That's why I spared them."

Understanding flickered in Aron's eyes. "I see."

"Worry not my friend, whoever tried to harm my sister will suffer, I promise you that"

Aron took a sip from the mug and said, "They call themselves The White Falcons. I saw their emblems on the mage's clothes."

"White Falcons," Olaf mused. "Thank you, friend."

Aron, curious about Olaf's course of action, probed further. "What will you do?" He wanted to know and understand what kind of man Olaf is.

Olaf sighed. "As much as I'd like to exterminate them, I can't. Unfortunately."

"Why?"

"Aron, my friend, I hold the title of Earl, and with that comes responsibility. Even if Larton is a free town, I can't go around killing anyone who crosses me. One or two men is fine, but a whole faction will only backfire badly on me and my king. Many still view us as savages."

"Pathetic," Aron's cold voice cut through the air. The inn's occupants felt a cold breeze running down their spines.

His crimson gaze went through Olaf; the latter felt like he was exposed to Aron and couldn't hide anything.

Aron, with the same cold voice, continued, "A pathetic excuse, Olaf. You fear how others see and judge your actions? PATHETIC!"

The two guards, Helga, Bjorn, and Balin sensed something squeezing their hearts. Something about Aron's voice was making them uncomfortable.

"If you have the strength, ACT! The strong don't concern themselves with the opinions of the weak."

Silence hung in the air. Aron's words resonated deeply with Olaf. He lowered his gaze to the mug and pondered on Aron's words. This was the first time in a very long time that someone dared to speak to him like this. Aron was speaking to him as an equal, something that Olaf hadn't experienced since he became an Earl. And what Aron said was true; he couldn't refuse his words.

It was the goal of him and his king. Before, they were just barbarian tribes in the north. All the world saw them as savage raiders, and for a long time, they were exactly like that—raiding and pillaging towns and villages.

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Until the previous king, who was at that time just a tribe chief, decided to unite some of the barbarian tribes and forge what is known today as the Kingdom of Volskar.

The kingdom was formed only 30 years ago, and Olaf at that time was his right hand and the commander of the army, a position that he still holds until now with the new king, who like his father wanted to rise with his people and join the rank of nobility.

Thus, the idea of painting a good image to the rest of the world was heavily rooted in Olaf's mind. He, like most of the old generation, wanted the best for his people.

He focused on this so hard that he waived many things easily as a joke just to keep a good image on the higher class—things that if someone did to him in the past would result in that man's ribs severed from their spine, a brutal ritual his tribe was known for, and Olaf himself was responsible for performing the ritual.

'I grow soft,' Olaf closed his eyes, admitting defeat. His years of seeking an entrance to nobility made him forget his roots.

'May the ancestors forgive me.'

"But worry not, Olaf," Aron's voice snapped Olaf from his thoughts. He glanced at Aron with a puzzled look on his face. "I'll deal with them instead of you."

"What do you mean?" Olaf asked.

"I have some unfinished business with the White Falcons. I promise you in one month they will cease to exist." Aron then suddenly glanced at the window.

'Time to go.'

He rose from the table before adding one more thing to Olaf. "Don't worry about your sister and the inn; I'll have some men keep an eye on things. I'll give you my word."

Aron didn't wait for Olaf to respond and started to make his way to Balin. To everyone, it seemed that he spoke his words as if they were facts; his tone, aura, and the way he carried himself screamed dominance.

Aron pulled out a gold coin and placed it on the counter in front of Helga. He then glanced at the dwarf and spoke, "Balin, when you have time, come to my place. I want to offer you a deal."

Balin nodded slightly; he instantly noticed that Aron didn't say 'if you have time' but said 'when you have time.'

In other words, 'I expect you to come.'

"Sure lad, I'll come."

Aron smiled, then he turned and started to walk to the four knocked-out men. However, his way was cut off by Olaf.

The two men just stood there in silence, gazing at each other's eyes. From the side, Helga, Balin, and the two guards were nervous, expecting another fight to break out because the way Aron spoke to Olaf may seem out of disrespect, making Earl Olaf angry by such action.

However, the only one who didn't think like this was Bjorn.

Bjorn is the youngest of his brothers and sisters, and he's the only one who still lives with Olaf. He spent more time with his father than his siblings, a time that he spent observing his father in every way possible.

However, even with his knowledge about his father, he couldn't possibly predict Olaf's next action, something that left him and his aunt stunned.

Olaf reached out to his left wrist and took out a thin metal band; then he presented it to Aron.

"This is my Arm Ring; it's a symbol of honor and loyalty in my culture. I, Olaf Eiriksson, Earl of the Kingdom of Volskar, named by the spirits of the ancestor Thor, give my Arm ring to you as a token of Brotherhood."

"..."

Bjorn's heart skipped a beat; his jaw dropped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing—his father giving Aron his arm ring?.

This is a huge thing; he almost yelled, questioning his father's action, but he kept his mouth shut. Interpreting this important moment for his father is something he wouldn't do.

Aron glanced at the Arm ring; the ring was open-ended, made from silver with various runes engraved on it, with two bear motifs at each end.

Aron reached with his right hand and held both the ring and Olaf's hand strongly and spoke. "I, Aron the nameless Draakthor, accept it and from this day on, I'll be calling you Brother."

Olaf's grin widened, showing all of his teeth when Aron accepted it, but his joy was over the roof when he saw Aron taking off his left gauntlet and wearing the Arm ring. The two shook their hands strongly before Olaf spoke some last words.

"I wish you good fortune, Brother. Don't forget to visit me in the north one day."

Aron nodded, promising to visit. He then made his way to the four men on the ground and grabbed the mage by the collar, dragging him along the floor. Seeing her master leaving, Nightfall immediately flew from Balin's hand to Aron's back.

Aron took a quick glance at the two guards standing close to the door, remembering them from the first time entering Larton. However, he didn't say anything and walked past them with the mage in his hand.

When Aron left, Bjorn walked to his father. He flashed a smile and said, "So I have an uncle now?"

"Yes, my son."

Bjorn let out a heavy sigh and shook his head; his father's actions may appear insignificant to others, but to the Northmen, giving the Arm ring is sacred. But that's not all; Aron didn't just receive the Arm ring of a common Northman—no, he got it from an Earl, and there in Volskar, Arm rings show someone's states.

So now Aron has the power and the influence of an Earl in Volskar. Even if they didn't know him, every man and woman is bound to respect the Arm ring of an Earl.

"So what now, Father? Should we continue searching for that interesting fellow?" Bjorn asked.

Olaf shook his head. "No need, son. I've found what I'm looking for."

Confused but respectful, Bjorn waited for more explanation. However, Olaf didn't seem like he was going to say more. He shifted his gaze from the door to the two guards.

"You two, call your captain here, NOW!" The thunderous authority in Olaf's voice sent the guards scrambling; they rushed out like their arses were on fire.

'Draakthor? …hmm. What's that?' Olaf scratched his chin, wondering. 'That's a strange word; maybe the wise one knows it…I'll ask him when I return.'