The days passed remarkably quickly, four days had passed since the attack on the river village, in a total of two weeks that made up Ivarr's great mission, and his men were beginning to feel the burden this weather imposed on them. your shoulders. A grief that would surely lead to doubt, an evil worse than the sharpest sword in the hands of the most skilled swordsman.

They traveled at night, always at night, in order to follow the constellation indicated by the witch. Every day the ship would dock at the nearest beach, camp would be built, and the men would rest from their relentless search ahead. One of these days, in the middle of the camp, Ivarr stared at the horizon, directly at the river in front of him, deep in thought.

He thought about his strange mission, about his father but mostly about the sword. The witch's words resonated in his mind

"The true gods don't like intruders"

"But were not the Aesir the real gods?", thought Ivarr, Their superiority was clear in Midgard, with their followers being superior to the rest. This was clear, both in the conquests of England and the Ireland where he now found himself.

But the witch's words echoed in his mind, not because of their content, but because of the certainty with which the old woman had said it, a certainty that was only seen in fanatics, those who swore they had seen the impossible.

"Captain", said a familiar voice beside him, "Are you alright?"

It took a few moments before Ivarr turned and recognized his first mate, Guthrum, who carried a worried expression on his face.

"Are you okay?", Guthrum asked again.

"Yes, Guthrum, I'm fine," said Ivarr, in order to settle the matter.

"What happened?"

Guthrum took a couple of steps away, returning to his second-in-command posture in deference to his superior. "Olaf says he found something captain, something he says is very strange."

"Strange, that was the word that best described this mission", thought Ivarr. "Show me the way", said the captain.

An order that the first officer immediately followed, leaving the conversation aside, moving straight through the camp. And Ivarr followed, always close to the loyal mate, who kept up a hurried pace.

The camp was relatively vast, covering the small beach and going into the coast, covered by dense forest. Fifty men made up Ivarr's crew, all veterans and competent warriors, whose bravery had already been proven, time and time again in Ivarr's presence. They all greeted him as his captain passed them, a gesture of respect that Ivarr made back, a respect deserved after years of fighting side by side. And they fought everything from other Scandinavians, English Saxons, Welsh Britons, Scottish Picts and Irish Celts. Ivarr trusted these men with his life, and the reverse was also true.

After passing through his men, he continued to follow his first mate, who strangely passed through the camp, straight into the dense forest that circled the river's shore. They went on for a few more seconds, the tree branches almost tangled up in Ivarr's braided mohawk, all the while Guthrum, always conversational Guthrum, remained silent.

They covered a few more yards, until they found two men squatting down, examining something in the undergrowth.

"Olaf, Wiglaf!", Guthrum shouted, greeting the pair, "show the captain what you showed me."

Olaf, hearing his superior's voice, rose to greet him, putting his right fist to his chest. Olaf was a big man, taller even than Ivarr, and older too, having already lived forty winters, which showed in the white streaks of his beard. His mighty battle axe was leaning against a nearby tree, and its owner looked worried. By contrast his cousin was considerably smaller, a young man with only 20 winters on his face, but he was the best tracker Ivarr had ever heard of, and although he disagreed with the young man's "cowardly" methods, he had no doubt that his bow always had its use, and his loyalty was unquestionable.

"Captain!" they both cried out in unison. "I thought you would like to see this", continued the veteran."

Olaf pointed to the ground he was just examining, and like Olaf, Ivarr and Guthrum bent down to take a closer look at what the old warrior was so interested in.

"My cousin Wiglaf was the one who found this captain", the veteran old warrior explained, "he went to check for more and I went to call you"

It was a trail, barely perceptible to the eye, but with the help of the experienced hunter that was Wiglaf, it was clear as day. Which was strange, since all the expeditions Thorghest had sent to investigate places that could be conquered reported that there were no residents in this region. Strange, thought the Danish captain It seemed to be common ground, the green leaves of summer, strewn across the fertile land, full of plants As insects scurried their paws, oblivious to the Nordic giants watching them.

However, after a few seconds it became clear what was wrong, a small, unnatural piece of wood lay on the ground, hidden among the living leaves that covered the earth. Ivarr lifted the small piece of wood, which was tied by a rope made of vines, close to his face so that he could see it better. When it was closer, he noticed that it was not just a piece of wood, but that there were several pieces, all handmade, demonstrating the same shape. They were probably made of tree bark, to deducing from the smell, and in their center was the same strange symbol.

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There were three circles, forming a triangular shape, and behind them was a ring. It was a strange symbol, Guthrum didn't seem to understand what it meant, but Ivarr had a good idea. He had seen similar things with his clan seer, the one who communicated with the gods, and Ivarr knew the name of this object.

"It is a talisman", declared the captain, never taking his eyes off the collar, "a druidic talisman"

"A talisman?, Guthrum asked, confused. "It can't be a talisman, I would know one if I saw it."

"Apparently not" joked Olaf, who was watching everything.

Before his first mate hacked Olaf with his handaxe, Ivarr stopped him by putting his hand between them, signaling them to stop.

"This one is different", Ivarr continued to explain, "it`s a druidic talisman"

"Druidic?" the three officers asked in unison. Olaf instinctively placed his left hand on his pendant, dedicated to Ullr, the hunter god, almost as if seeking comfort. Guthrum just remained incredulous at the recent revelation.

"I thought the Druids had all died, after that guy Patrick came here".

"Apparently not all, Guthrum" confirmed Olaf .

"That's what it looks like," Ivarr said as he stared intently at the talisman.

"That means we have a problem" Wiglaf stepped forward, forgoing silence, looking worried. The three older warriors turned to face him, curious as to how he had come to this conclusion.

"A talisman is used when someone seeks protection", the young hunter explained.

"That means..., Ivarr began to understand.

"That we are being followed" Guthrum concluded.

Olaf didn't answer, resigning himself to affirming, with his silence, the fear of the officers. Picking up his mighty battle axe and holding it, almost as if it were the most precious item around him. Guthrum imitated him, only more discretely, tapping the pommel of his handaxes, as if he were looking for them to make sure they were there. And they both stared at the forest, as if expecting an ambush, or worse, to jump out of the trees. The only one who remained calm was young Wiglaf, probably due to some sense of invincibility that youth gives to younger ones.

Ivarr, tired of this cowardly disposition, decided to put a stop to it.

"Calm down, you two!", he screamed, so loud that the birds took flight, scared, "It's just wood with symbols"

"It's probably just forest settlers, who use myths to keep snoops away," he continued.

And he put the necklace in his pocket, as if to end the argument. Both officers looked at their captain, both with a mixture of disbelief and a hint of fear, while Wiglaf was impassive, whether he wanted to show courage or mask fear, Ivarr could not tell.

Ivarr motioned to the camp. "Go back," he ordered, returning to his more rational self. "And no word of what we found, do you understand?"

"But Captain, protested Guthrum, "this is no longer about false gods in the forest."

"This is witchcraft", he continued, "It's black magic, we need to go back and find a Volur, someone who knows about this subject, we need…."

Ivarr raised his hand, in a universal “stop” symbol, which made his mate, however fair he was at his suggestion, stop and listen.

"We've come too far to go back, do what I say and that's it."

The three officers took a few seconds to respond, Guthrum opened his lips to protest further, to try to convince his captain of the bad choice he was making, but Olaf held his shoulder, preventing him from speaking.

"It will be done, my captain." That's all that Olaf said, who proceeded to to return to camp, as ordered.

Guthrum, seeing where the wind was blowing in this situation, must have found it more advantageous to raise the subject again when he had a better chance. So he did as the veteran and withdrew, with a nod of the head, out of respect for his captain. Ivarr watched him go, knowing the matter was not over, for as loyal as Guthrum was, he had always been more superstitious than the rest.

"You know he's right, don't you?"

Deep in his thoughts, Ivarr did not realize that Wiglaf had approached, and was taken aback by the tracker's words. He didn't wait for an answer, just continued on his way, following his captain's orders. But Ivarr had an idea, which began by taking the hunter's arm, holding him there for a few more moments.

"For you I have other orders", declared Ivarr in his commanding voice, "I want you to keep an eye on any people in this forest."

"What if I find these people?"

"Follow them, and let me know who or what you saw, just for me, understood?"

Wiglaf, now freed from his captain's strong arm, broke into a small smile, no doubt eager to demonstrate his skills again. And he nodded, as if he understood and it would be done. Ivarr dismissed him, letting him return to camp, along with his cousin. Meanwhile, the Dane remained a few moments longer in the scene, took the talisman from his pocket and began to look at it thoughtfully.

"It might be nothing, just some freaks who cling to the past"

"Or it could be magic, of the dangerous kind" He had been taught some things about Seidr magic by his mother, who had been a Volur, a Scandinavian witch. And he knew how dangerous that could be, for magic comes from the gods, it's a small trace of their power that humanity could have access to, and how destructive it was. And, of all places to find this piece of magic, right here.

Strange.

His ramblings were interrupted by a sudden noise from the woods, Ivarr turned on his heel with the grace of a swordsman, and with the same speed, drew his sword, his new sword.

The cursed sword

Its golden details gleamed with the rays of sunlight that penetrated the forest, through the gaps between the trees. Her jewels reflected the light that hit them, sending it back to the world, almost blinding Ivarr. Something so beautiful, and so equally lethal.

Ivarr waited for whatever made this noise to make the first move, ready to counterattack in the time of a gasp. But nothing happened, a few more seconds, and nothing. Ivarr realized that nothing would come for him, at least for the moment, and decided to fight this fight another time, sheathing his sword and returning to the camp.

And at every moment, throughout the journey back, Ivarr could feel eyes following him, as if they were escorting him out of their home. Picking up his pace, as he had with the witch, Ivarr arrived at the camp, being greeted by his crew, and remembering to keep his tone sober, greeting them back.

But even in the perceived safety of his men, his Drakkar and his sword, the eyes that still followed him kept focused on the newest intruder in the realm of the gods..