Chapter 21

A dull murmur rose from the Frost Giant lines at Sigurd’s declaration.

Jarl Stenberg's face twisted in pure confusion, features turning dark with anger.

“Have you gone mad?” He roared over the din, “There’s an army of the Undead right in front of us!”

“They are no longer your concern,” Sigurd told him. “You have been challenged, Vali Stenberg. What is your answer?”

Holmgang was a custom that hailed from the time that the Frost Giants plied the seas, sailing in their fleets to raid and plunder distant shores. If ever there was a dispute, a challenge, or an insult, the two parties would fight on a small island to settle their grievance. Though their seafaring days were long passed, Holmgang was still practised on land.

One could not simply refuse this challenge, and failing to appear and defend oneself put them outside of the law. To kill someone in a duel was not considered murder, and it was winner take all. Rank and position – even that of a Jarl – did not offer any protection.

“To call upon such antiquated, savage customs,” Stenberg spat, “and you have no reason to, besides. I have never wronged you or taken anything of yours! What slight–”

“Your entire existence is a slight!” Sigurd snarled, “An insult to our traditions and the memory of our ancestors! You and the other Jarls have led our people down the path of weakness and decay, and it is long past time to set things right again.”

His voice echoed in the silence that followed. Men and women looked to one another. Did they understand? Or had they all lost their way just like their decadent leaders?

“Weakness?” Stenberg replied, "The tribes have grown under our rule! We have never been stronger than before.”

“You mistake numbers for strength,” Sigurd said. “And your faith in numbers has led you to scheming and politicking. The little strength that you possess allows you to rule over a weakened people. You have forgotten what true strength is; the resolve and spirit of our ancestors that brought the favour of the gods upon us. Have you forgotten the teachings that were left in our keeping?”

“Teachings? You mean those old and dusty myths?”

“Our mystics channel the power of our ancestors every day.”

“The myths have nothing to do with our ancestors!”

“Our ancestors followed those very teachings!” Sigurd told him, “Our people are out of time, Stenberg. The gods have sent the army of Niflheim against us: their judgement for our falling away from the true path. This is our last chance.”

Jarl Stenberg gave him a sharp look.

"What are you talking about?"

Sigurd pointed behind him, towards the Undead lined up across the field. The Jarl’s gaze followed the line of his arm, and his cheek twitched.

“You…are insane,” he said. “Delusional! I do not need to stand here and listen to the ramblings of a madman!”

“The accusation has been laid against you,” Sigurd told him. “If you walk away…”

Stenberg glanced over him with a sneer, then turned to walk away.

“Hákon!” He called out, “Put down this rabid animal!”

Stenberg’s Champion stepped forward. The other Frost Giants came to form a semicircle around them. It would normally be a ring, but they were probably wary of the army across the field.

“Our equipment is not a match,” Hákon noted as he came forward.

“He doesn't need any damn equipment!” Jarl Stenberg shouted from the sidelines.

Hákon snorted at the Jarl’s voice, waiting for Sigurd to reply. The champion of the Stenbergs was adorned in the plate mail of a Blackguard. A tall kite shield covered two-thirds of his body, and he held a fine bearded axe casually against his leg.

“It will make up for the difference in our skills,” Sigurd returned with a grin.

Hákon barked out a laugh.

“Very well,” he said. “You are the challenger: name your rules.”

“The old way,” Sigurd replied. “There can be only one.”

The Stenberg champion nodded slowly before lowering himself into a defensive stance.

“I believe I’ve already struck the first blow,” Sigurd said. “I await your reply.”

Hákon advanced grimly, looking out over the rim of his shield. As he came close, the kite shield shifted slightly and his bearded axe darted out. Sigurd bent his body to avoid the sudden strike. By the time he recovered, Hákon’s weapon had already disappeared back behind his shield.

Blackguards were defensive warriors, so this much was not a surprise. The styles employed were varied, however, and they were complemented by a Blackguard’s skills and spells in addition to their Martial Arts. Fighting against them was distinctly different from fighting a regular warrior. From the first strike, at least, Sigurd understood that Hákon was a shrewd combatant, worthy of serving as a Housecarl.

Sigurd’s steps drew him in a circle as he moved to Hákon’s right. He abruptly shoved his left hand forward, punching the blade of his long-handled greataxe straight at Hákon’s head. The Blackguard used the rim of his shield to drive Sigurd’s attack to the side. His bearded axe came up to hook the haft of Sigurd’s weapon below its head. Sigurd felt pressure against the end of his weapon, and he chuckled.

Hákon’s eyes widened in the shadows of his helm as he realized his error. The Blackguard tried to slam the boss of his shield into Sigurd’s face, but Sigurd simply brought the haft of his weapon up to bar the way. He twisted his grip, locking their axeheads together as he silently activated Ability Boost and Greater Ability Boost.

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A roar filled the air as Sigurd stepped back and pulled. Refusing to surrender his weapon, Hákon was dragged out in a wide arc. With a savage tug, Sigurd ripped the weapon from his hand and sent him tumbling away. Shouts from the spectators rose as Sigurd’s greataxe wound around in an overhead swing.

“「Fortress」!”

The axe’s momentum was abruptly arrested against Hákon’s shield, but Sigurd was not deterred. He worked his weapon around again, in time with the Blackguard’s Defensive Art. Hákon didn’t wait for the attack to land. His form blurred as he dashed under the descending blade.

“「Shield Slam」!”

Sigurd caught the attack against his midriff, and Hákon added his full momentum to the blow. They crashed to the ground, sending snow and ice flying into the air. Hákon rolled away with his momentum.

“「Lesser Strength」.”

“「Corrupt Weapon」.”

He rose to his feet, finding that Hákon had used the opportunity to retrieve his weapon from the snow. After casting the last spell, its blade pulsed with dark energy.

“Finally realize I’m not some unblooded brat you can just bash around?” Sigurd asked.

“You’re not an unblooded brat,” Hákon answered, “but I can clearly bash you around.”

The Blackguard raised his shield again and advanced. Sigurd did not wait this time, taking a corner off of Hákon’s shield. Hákon’s body twisted as his arm was thrown out to the side, but he kept coming to score a blow on the outside of Sigurd’s thigh. Instead of recovering from his swing, Sigurd slammed the haft of his greataxe into Hákon’s temple as he staggered by. Hákon rolled away with the strike, returning to his feet and shaking his head.

“What are you doing, Hákon?!” Jarl Stenberg raged from the side amidst the clamour of the crowd, “Finish him off!”

Sigurd’s face twisted into a vicious smile. Stenberg had a point, but he probably wasn’t actually aware of it.

They exchanged another series of blows before parting again with more cuts and bruises. With the next attack, Sigurd closed the distance to Hákon in the blink of an eye, axe raised overhead. Hákon raised his shield to intercept the blow and had his leg kicked out from under him. Sigurd’s weapon arced down after Hákon as he fell.

The axe stopped when it touched his breastplate. Hákon had used Fortress again. The weapon descended a second time, and the Blackguard rolled aside. Sigurd stomped after him, blows hammering the ground as Hákon fell back deeper into the field from Sigurd’s furious assault. Hákon finally rolled back up to his feet, eyes wide – he probably didn’t like what he saw.

“EEEEYAAARGH!!!”

Sigurd’s roar split the air, and his axe swept out in a colossal, underhand swing. The ice cracked, split, and exploded, sending a spray of jagged chunks towards Hákon. Each piece struck him with the force of a boulder, and he was blasted backwards by the shockwave as pieces of ice rained over the field. Uncaring of the outcome, Sigurd hurled himself after his opponent.

The remains of Hákon’s ruined shield flew out at Sigurd, and he caught it in his teeth.

“Fucking Berserker,” the Blackguard panted.

In response, Sigurd broke the shield, spitting the pieces out.

Relinquished of his shield, Hákon assumed a different stance, leaning forward in a half-crouch. He circled tentatively as Sigurd continued to unleash his attacks, dodging some of them, guiding others away with his axe and blocking the rest with Fortress. Rather than tiring out, Sigurd’s momentum only grew, and Hákon could barely get any of his own attacks in. Blows rang out over the valley, echoing off the mountain peaks. The Frost Giants had long gone silent, shocked by the fury on display before them.

After yet another Fortress-augmented parry, Hákon grabbed Sigurd’s axe, fixing it under his arm. He pulled himself forward, switching his bearded axe to his free hand.

“「Unholy Strike」!”

The weapon struck Sigurd in the hip, cleaving through armour and finding bone. Dark energies wracked his body. He staggered, then lurched forward to smash his helmeted head against Hákon’s. A savage backhand crossed the Blackguard’s face, and his head snapped to the side. The grip on the greataxe loosened, and Sigurd stepped in behind Hákon’s sprawling form.

Sigurd brought the haft of his weapon under Hákon’s chin, pulling it against his neck. The Blackguard’s hand came up to oppose him, but then Sigurd bent backwards and lifted the seven-metre-tall giant off of his feet. When his legs stopped kicking, Hákon was cast to the ground. Sigurd fell to one knee, gripping his weapon for support.

“He’s down!”

He heard someone shout through the hammering in his ears.

“He’s down! Kill him!”

Sigurd looked up towards the Frost Giant line. Jarl Stenberg, along with several of his Housecarls, walked towards him.

“What are you doing, Stenberg?” Sigurd asked as they approached.

“Getting rid of a nuisance,” he answered.

“Your Champion is dead!” Sigurd said through ragged breaths, “By the laws–”

“Shut up! All that matters is that you’ll be dead.”

“You dare? The servants of the gods are watching!”

“Yes, yes,” Jarl Stenberg said, “and you’ll be joining them soon. You lot: put an end to this raving lunatic.”

Sigurd struggled to rise as they stepped forward, weapons brandished.

“That’s quite enough,” a silvery voice chimed into the air.

The housecarls stopped as a figure in crimson armour appeared before them. Jarl Stenberg leaned over from where he was standing to peer at her.

“A Dwarf?”

“You fool!” Sigurd shouted, “Do you not recognize a Valkyrie when you see one?”

“I see nothing,” the Jarl said. “Only a corpse that stands before another corpse. What are you waiting for? Get rid of them!”

The housecarls moved forward again.

“Our lore describes the Valkyrie’s appeara–”

“Right. And next, you’re going to be going on about Ragnarök and the Einherj–”

“「Einherjar」!”

Blinding light flooded the valley, driving the twilight shadows away. Sigurd held out a hand to shield his eyes. When his vision returned, the light had coalesced into a glowing figure of brilliant white. Jarl Stenberg and his housecarls were gone. All that was left of them was a huge crimson blotch staining the ice, fragments of blasted equipment, and a fine red mist that scattered in the wind.

“…Einherjar…”

The word was whispered a hundred times. There was no horror at the end of Jarl Stenberg and his men.

“Einherjar…”

Awe filled their voices, for a legend had appeared before them.

“Einherjar!”

The air trembled with rumbling Giant voices. Weapons clashed against shields, booted feet stomped, and hafts struck the ground. The rumble crescendoed into a roar that rose over the mountain peaks and into the twilight.

Taking wing, the Valkyrie flew over the assembled Frost Giants, who raised their weapons towards her in a fervid salute. When she settled above them, a hush fell over the air.

“I am the Valkyrie, Shalltear Bloodfallen,” her voice rang out, “and I have come to deliver a message to you, the Jotun of the Azerlisia Mountains. Ragnarök, the fate of the gods, has passed.”

A dull murmur came from the Frost Giants as they looked at one another in confusion. The Valkyrie continued, stilling their voices again.

“Ragnarök has passed! The gods have passed. The prophecies have passed. No longer are you bound to prophecies and fate. For this is the new world now! A new world with new ways! A new world where the legends will be those of your own making!”

Weapons and fists were lifted into the air. Eyes shone with the Valkyrie’s message of a brave new world. As fervour rose into the air, the Valkyrie spoke again.

“The new world awaits!” Shalltear Bloodfallen declared, “New sagas await! Glory awaits! And who better to lead you to glory than the god of death!”