Dozens of people dressed in foreign fabrics moved about. Whether they were hauling fish and equipment from boats, peddling their trade in the streets, or simply patrolling the town, the people of this town remained human. The absence of mythical creatures and presence of humans almost led to the impression that this was just like any old town back in the world above.

But his brothers had been correct. This place was different.

The roofs were adorned with clay tiles stacked in strange, angular ways. The people looked, talked, and acted differently. But what really got Leif’s attention was their apparent leader.

A man stood by the dock wearing long flowing robes colored a vibrant green with a white hem, obviously giving orders of some kind. Distance made it hard to hear anything unless it was a scream, but the earlier scouting by his brothers revealed that he wouldn’t have understood the man anyway. Just another language to learn; they’d sort that out later. That in itself was hardly worth noting.

What was interesting, though, was the treasure being pulled from what looked a trading ship of foreign design. There wasn’t much to look at, only a small bag barely the size of a head that was carried with care and reverence. The apparent leader shouted more and tore the bag from the sailor’s hands before giving them even more commands.

The town itself was not overly large, perhaps housing a few hundred residents. Easily small enough for his crew to take over. And if that pouch contained anything half as valuable as their behavior implied, it would be lucrative too.

Silently, Leif crawled backwards form the forested hill far from the town. His eyesight had improved dramatically since waking up in the longship four days ago. After his ears had time to recover from the damage they sustained, he discovered the same went for his hearing. He was easily a dozen ship lengths from the town, and yet he could still see with enough sufficient clarity for scouting.

As the town receded from sight, Leif led the way for a few minutes in silence before speaking up.

“We will need everyone to move the longship before we can attack. Convey to everyone to start final preparations. I will test our bows.”

His brothers nodded at him as they made their way further south, splitting up just outside of their camp. It had grown substantially in the past few days, his crew’s skills on full display. They’d first built a longhouse for sleeping in before setting up working stations for each of their crafts. While ship repairs needed no covering, other more weather sensitive activities needed protection from the elements. For those, they built either a simple lean to or a full blown four walled structure depending on the need. They’d spent their time and resources well these days, now that a steady supply of food gave them the energy to do anything.

Gunnbjorn had repaired the ship so well that it was indistinguishable from the original, despite the damage it had sustained during their journey. A testament to his skill that he could accomplish so much in so little time.

The sea serpent meat they’d managed to carve off before fleeing was long since consumed, the scales used to accent Leif’s armor. They had many more scales and would be able to make more sets like this in the future, but that would have to wait until they had more time. For now, he’d just have to act as the vanguard. Not terribly demanding since that was where he usually ended up anyway.

Overall, His crew had been working their talents well. They’d sadly lost their most knowledgeable tanner in the journey, bidding farewell to Arne and Knud both with a simple and short ceremony just yesterday, but fortunately none of them were entirely ignorant to the craft. A few hides had been wasted before Gertrud got proficient with it, but there was plenty of game to hunt to replace that which was lost. Roar had nearly finished fixing up their iron gear with his quickly built forge, and his brother Odger had been working on a special creation for them.

With evidence of their increased strength piling up before them, it was about time to make use of it. And so, Leif had asked the man to design for them a bow with ten times the strength. The first attempts had been too rigid to work while the second set had remained too flimsy or brittle. But by now, bright blue eyes brimming with confidence shone at him beneath a mane of golden hair.

“You seem confident this time, Odger. Show me why.”

The brothers had their own workshop in the camp, well ventilated to ensure that the forge wouldn’t build up too much heat or smoke. Though his crew members had welcomed the heat with open arms after the endless winter they’d all escaped, several of them spending their breaks in the workshop just to bask in the warmth.

The craftsman in question was nothing if not confident. Baring his teeth, he reached behind him to grab what could only loosely be described as a bow. Already strung, Leif noticed. Either the man had been expecting him or he wasn’t strong enough to unstring it.

“Had to get my brother’s help with this one. Thanks to some of the extra metals we brought with us combined with what we could find, we made an alloy that should do the trick. It’s stronger and harder than any wood you’re likely to find, but not so hard that it can’t be bent. I used it to reinforce some of the better wood we found around here, so I think the combination will be both strong and flexible enough to work.”

“You think?”

Leif couldn’t help but prod considering the man’s confidence. A slight smile from the craftsman while he scratched his trimmed blonde beard awkwardly told a more complete story than his words ever could have alone.

“Using it myself, I couldn’t pull it back too far thanks to the added thickness of the string and the sheer weight of it all, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Leif grunted a response as he took hold of the heavy bow. It was large, more so than any ranged weapon he’d ever seen. Even while strung it was nearly his height. It was a wonder that anyone could even string the thing with how massive it was, let alone fire it. He silently assumed that it took both brothers to string it, hence why it was so ready to go. Odger handed him a massive arrow, the standard ones being wholly insufficient for a weapon of this size, and they made their way out of the workshop.

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It wasn’t the first time that the pair made their way back towards the shore, and while they’d drawn some attention at first, most members of his crew had long since bored of watching bows crumble and shatter in his hands. Not to say that the crowd had decreased, though. If anything, it had increased. They just didn’t pay much attention to Leif during these exercises.

So, the crowd they’d gathered must have instead accumulated to see the looks of frustration and disappointment on the craftsman’s face. In their defense, Roar didn’t take defeat lightly and tended to make a show of it. Still, Leif hoped they’d be the ones disappointed this time, the sentiment seeming to echo in the form of a grumbling man walking slightly behind him.

Once they were out by the shore and everyone gave him sufficient space, Leif nocked the enormous arrow, took aim at a specific wave in the distance, and then held up the bow while attempting to do a full draw.

Ordinarily, a longbow would have a significant draw weight when compared to the average man, but many a Viking coveted bows with even double that. He and his brothers were among that number. For them to break their bows when attempting a full draw was evidence to their new power, even if it was the string that snapped. The fact that the metal reinforced wood bent as he pulled with his full force further proved it.

The alloy that Odger and Roar had invented was nothing short of incredible. The bow likely wouldn’t be able to withstand swings from a mace like iron could, but with Leif’s strength behind it, it bent like his old bows did despite the added metal. He loosed like he would for any other bow after reaching his full draw and aiming at his target, and the crashing sound that followed echoed along the shoreline.

He missed, unsurprising considering it was the first time anyone had ever used the thing, but still the force of the arrow exploded into the water just a couple hands to the right of his aim. Water rushed up, spraying the ocean waves with a heavy mist before finally settling down. The crowd was anything but disappointed by the sight as murmurs filled the air.

“How quickly can you make three more?”

The answer was a day per bow with another day for the arrows. While it was unlikely that anything they could make would survive the impact while remaining aerodynamic enough to fly, it wouldn’t hurt to try. Besides, the added time would be enough to ensure that he wasn’t the only fully armored Viking in the raiding crew. A slight delay, but ultimately it was a beneficial one.

And so, four days passed quickly with their base ever expanding under expert care. All of the children of Erik the Red were equipped with one of the massive bows as well as sea serpent scale armor. Truthfully, their trusty hjǫrr were the weakest link in their gear at this point, something that would have been unthinkable just two weeks ago.

Leif knew this because of the sparring they’d done to get accustomed to their new strength. Everyone had to adjust their fighting style after the recent change, his siblings most of all since they had two new pieces of equipment to consider. Thorvald took to his newfound strength as quickly as expected with Freydis right behind him.

She’d told him nearly a week ago why she woke up first and comparably uninjured, but Leif wasn’t sure if he believed her yet. Her claim was that by wrapping her head in cloth she was able to blunt the damage to her ears and head, waking up sooner. Perhaps that would have helped some, but would it really make that much of a difference? It shouldn’t matter, and it shouldn’t bother him. They fell miles after all; they should all be dead. Did it really matter all that much that she woke up before him?

If the effort he put into his spars against them were any indication, then the answer was yes. It really did matter.

Pride had a habit of pushing people whether or not they should be pushed. It encouraged Thorvald to force Leif’s hand in the spar, risking injury before defeat. It forced Thorstein into a similar situation against all three of his siblings before finally submitting when wrestled to the ground, weapons tossed to the side. And it made Leif end each of his spars within moments to ensure they all remembered why he was Hersir.

Leif sheathed his sword as his brother narrowed his eyes. Thorvald hated being provoked like that, but the man had to learn. If an enemy could use a weakness like that to maim or kill his brother, then he’d just have to beat that habit out of him.

Thorvald lunged, not overcommitting like he did yesterday. Good. Leif moved into his brother’s guard impossibly fast, faster than any man should be able to, and yet Thorvald reacted. He was improving quickly, but so was Leif.

The younger brother pulled back the blade to place the tip in the rushing attacker’s chest, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Leif struck the flat of the sword with his palm as he moved further into his brother’s guard. The fight is already over. Again. And yet his brother refused to concede. Again.

His fist struck true into Thorvald’s gut, driving the wind out of his lungs slightly less than it did yesterday. The sword came down for Leif now, guarded by his other arm to prevent the same move as before. An unnecessary precaution considering where the fight is going.

Leif dropped low, hooking his arm up and under his brother’s leg, rotating to take them both to the ground. To his credit, Thorvald kept his sword without letting it injure himself on the way down. The man was not yet his equal, that much had been made abundantly clear for many years now, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been considerable improvement. Nonetheless, Leif once again placed his brother in a tight chokehold with his arms while pinning his brother’s sword arm with his knee. The fight was over; and, as always, it ended as soon as Leif got in close. His brother was an excellent swordsman provided he had the opportunity to fight against another swordsman. He was never good at brawling. Sadly for Thorvald, Leif exceled at both.

“Yield. There is no longer any point in this spar.”

Thorvald’s face gained color immediately, evidently becoming jealous of his red hair and beard. After a few moments of futile struggling, the man finally and angrily conceded.

“I yield!”

Leif stood up before helping up his brother. His hand wasn’t taken, of course. It never has been. But that wouldn’t stop him from offering it. The rest of his crew praised his brother’s efforts while occasionally providing him sage wisdom like “this is why you don’t challenge Leif.”

Normally, he wouldn’t spar with his siblings this publicly, but this had been a strange week. Everyone was feeling powerful, strong, and perhaps a little prideful. As a Hersir, his position was the one most coveted in the entire world below. It was important that every member of his crew knew that no matter how they had grown in strength, he’d grown more. It was critical not just for his sake but for theirs too. No one else was better suited to leading them. Not yet at least. And so, he had to hold on to this position to ensure they all survived.

“I dare say we have a good grasp on our newfound strength. Vikings! We raid at dawn!”

A resounding cheer filled their small camp. He had been breeding frustration in his crew intentionally. It was in their nature to seek destruction over their fellows. If it wasn’t, they’d never set sail with him in the first place. It was the role of the Hersir to unleash hungry Vikings on targets that couldn’t withstand them.

Come dawn, he would do just that. They’d had enough of sparring; it was time for bloodshed.