Settlement Menu: Visby

  Jarl: Karl Svensson

  Settlement Level: 3

  Resources

  Population: 312

  Happiness: 78% (Relieved; proud of new terraces)

  Morale: 68% (Hungry, but hopeful)

  Food Stores: 22/100 (Terraced Fields producing +10/day)

  Wood: 0

  Stone: 0

  Iron: 12

  Gold: 0

  Economy (Health)

  Farms reborn; life claws its way from the wound.

  Progression: Expand terraces, enrich soil, channel meltwater flow.

  Current: Terraced Farmland (Food growth +10/day)

  Bonus: Villager Pride +10% Efficiency on farm tasks

  Penalty: Output limited by chasm depth (Tier I cap reached)

  Next Upgrade: Verdant Chasm (Tier II Agricultural Upgrade) — Requires Freyja’s Blessing, 500 Gold, 100 Wood, 50 Stone

  STATUS EFFECTS

  Spring Thaw: +10% villager work speed, crops ready to plant

  Walls Restored: +15% Morale; +5% Defense in Visby

  Terraced Farmland: +10 Food per day; +10 Morale (Villagers proud of “Hanging Gardens”)

  Food Shortage: Stabilizing; hunger easing, but vigilance required

  +15% Morale to villagers when Karl is present

  Tribute caravans bring +10% more gold from Visby

  Rumors of the “Wolf-Jarl” persist, raising Raid chance by 20%

  As his red menu disappeared, Ratatoskr patted his swollen belly and sighed. “Still doesn’t solve the food problem, my Jarl. When we resort to cannibalism, may I recommend starting with Harald? He and his gang are delightfully plump.”

  Karl shot the squirrel a look. “You’re not helping.”

  “Then I’m staying on theme,” Ratatoskr chirped, curling his tail around Karl’s neck like a scarf.

  Ahead, Harald Bluetooth and his men approached from the tavern, their furs glinting with frost. Harald’s grin was wide enough to split his beard.

  “Jarl Karl!” he bellowed, clapping his hands. “Allow me your blessing to hunt on behalf of Visby. My men and I can fill the granaries that those forest fools failed to.”

  The villagers perked up at the words. Even Björn straightened. For the first time all day, hope rippled through the air.

  Karl hesitated. He cast a glance at Kara beside him. She met his eyes knowingly.

  He’s looking for a quest, she said through the link. As Jarl, you can grant them now—like the Tjelvar once did.

  Is there a cost?

  There always is. A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. But it might be worth it. Morale could use a miracle.

  Karl nodded slowly, straightening his shoulders. “Very well, Harald,” he said aloud. “You have my blessing.”

  New Quest: Bellies Before Banners

  “The terraces are blooming, the villagers are smiling, and for once, no one’s gnawing on furniture. Still, green shoots won’t feed an army—or a raid. Harald Bluetooth and his merry band of misfits are itching to earn coin, and Visby’s larder could use some meat that doesn’t taste like moss. Send them hunting to bring back enough game to keep the stew pots full through the next siege.”

  Primary Objectives:

  Hire Harold Bluetooth’s Band (–1,500 Gold)

  Supply them with Iron and Leather (–10 Iron, –5 Leather)

  Rewards:

  Food Stores: +25 (Visby Feasts Tonight)

  Morale: +8 (Guards well-fed, fewer jokes about cannibalism)

  Unlocks Contract Type: Guild Hunts (Tier I)

  Item: Harold’s Tooth (Epic) — Establishes a continuous minimap link between user and all active party members within 500 m. Displays ally positions, Health, and aggro markers in real time.

  “That’s… super expensive,” Karl muttered before he could stop himself. “Twelve hundred gold?”

  A ripple of discomfort passed through the gathered men. Harald and his crew shifted their weight, glancing between each other and their new Jarl.

  “What did you expect?” Ratatoskr said from Karl’s shoulder, tail flicking. “They’re mercenaries, not missionaries.”

  Karl cleared his throat, face warming. “Forgive me. Quest accepted.”

  The System shimmered confirmation across the air, and Harald whooped loud enough to wake the dead. His men joined in, cheering and slapping each other’s backs, already dividing the coin in their minds. To help offset it, he gave Harald and his men the loot they had gathered from the hunting massacre, but it only put a dent in the cost.

  Wealth (-1,200): 5,636 Gold

  “May Freyr bless your hunt,” Karl said flatly, handing over a bundle of iron ingots and cured leather from their last haul. The Vikings grinned, their laughter echoing through the snowy square before they stomped off toward the gates.

  Egil watched them go, arms crossed. “Mercenaries help in a pinch,” he said, “but they’ll drain our coffers faster than a thirsty Dwarf at a mead tap. Or Ratatoskr in the kitchen.”

  The Trickster snickered but did not refute the statement.

  Thorstein nodded, rubbing his furry jaw. “It’d be wiser if we hunted ourselves. But right now, we need all the help we can get—especially if the rumors are true.”

  “Rumors?” Karl asked, following them toward the tavern. But Thorstein didn’t answer right away. He was already halfway across the room, greeted by Sigrid, who proudly handed him a sandwich so large it could have been mistaken for a siege weapon. The Werebear’s laugh rumbled like thunder as he took a massive bite.

  “Indeed,” Egil said instead, sliding onto a bench and flipping open a leather-bound tome. His eyes gleamed over the rim of his spectacles. “Why don’t you cook while I tell you? It’s gruesome, but you’ll want a full stomach for this one.”

  Karl groaned. “Is it going to give me nightmares?”

  “Most assuredly,” Egil said, far too cheerfully.

  Kara stifled a laugh beside him.

  Resigned, Karl set down his cloak and followed her toward the kitchen, where the smell of smoked meat and woodfire clung to the rafters. Sigrid waved them over, flour dusting her cheeks as it so often did.

  “All right,” Karl said, rolling up his sleeves and reaching for a pan. “Let’s hear it.”

  Whatever tale he carried, Karl had the sinking feeling it would change everything.

  11

  STRESS EATING

  Roasted grain and ink filled the aroma of the tavern kitchen. Smoke curled lazily toward the rafters, carrying the scent of salt, ash, and berries. Karl stirred the pot, the black rice bubbling like tar while Kara worked beside him, her one good arm deftly shaping skyberry tarts.

  Each time her knife met dough, it made a soft thunk—a sound that somehow reminded him of bones.

  He tried not to think about the ones Egil was describing.

  “They sacrificed fifty people,” Karl said quietly, his stomach twisting as he ground the brittle Draugr bone in his mortar.

  Egil didn’t even look up from his notes. “Oh, don’t worry. They didn’t eat them.” He said it like that was supposed to help. “Whoever this new Jarl is, he had them ritually sacrificed. Power for power’s sake, nothing personal, it seems.”

  Karl grimaced and sprinkled the crushed bone into the molten ember flakes he’d been simmering earlier. The recipe from Andhrímnir’s Cookbook glowed faintly at the edges, golden runes pulsing along the parchment as if aware of his disgust.

  “Is that all?” he asked hesitantly.

  Ratatoskr, perched on a hanging ladle, swung upside down. “Oh no! He unlocked a serious bonus for it. Or so the survivors claimed.”

  Karl’s gut churned. He swallowed hard, trying to keep bile down as the squirrel chattered on.

  Egil finally leaned forward, his tone shifting to one of grim fascination. “They say he’s trying to max out his Blessings of Thor. Last I heard, he completed the Trial of Hammers—stood beneath one hundred lightning strikes from the Livingstone Guardians at Thor’s altar. Nearly died, but when he rose, the ground cracked. Every swing of his weapon now sends a lightning blast through the floor.”

  He flipped a page, voice dropping. “Now he’s hunting a sky serpent. None have survived that quest. So before setting out, he sacrificed fifty souls.”

  Karl stirred the pot again, though his hands trembled. “How would that even help?”

  Egil shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the table. “That wasn’t Thor’s doing.”

  “Indeed,” Ratatoskr said, his tail drooping. “There are other powers one can call upon. They grant blessings, too, but theirs come wrapped in teeth.”

  Karl exhaled through his nose, bitter. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

  The risotto hissed as it thickened—Níðmar rice, simmered in Kraken ink and kelp ash until it gleamed with a sheen like oil. He caught his reflection in it and thought, not for the first time, that his eyes seemed darker than before.

  Kara set down a tray of golden pastries and turned toward him. “Whoever that Jarl is,” she said, her tone steady but her posture tense, “we’ll need to prepare. If he’s hunting sky serpents, he won’t stay content for long. Rival Jarls like him will look to Visby soon—with envy.”

  She handed him one of the skyberry tarts. Her left hand extended the pastry while her right—what remained of it—was tucked behind her back, hidden in quiet shame.

  Karl took a bite. Sweet, fermented berries burst across his tongue, chased by sugar and frost. For a moment, the world narrowed to taste and warmth.

  Then her fingers brushed his lips.

  She didn’t pull away. Her touch lingered, soft and deliberate. The tavern lights caught in her pale hair; her scent—pine and steel—wrapped around him until thought fled entirely.

  Their eyes met, and the air between them grew heavy.

  Kara leaned in first. Her lips were warm, tasting faintly of cloudberries. The kiss deepened, causing the world outside to fall away.

  Moonlight Meter: 50/100

  Karl pulled back, heart pounding. “Why is the meter going up?”

  You awaken the wolf, Fenrir purred, laughter thick with hunger. How else shall I seed the world with more of my kind?

  Kara stepped back, her breath uneven. “We should be careful,” she whispered. Her blue eyes flickered with fear and something else she couldn’t name.

  Karl stared into them and, for the first time, hated the curse more than the hunger.

  By the time the tavern lamps burned low, the scent of roasted berries and molten resin hung thick in the air. Karl wiped sweat from his brow and leaned over the table, surveying the results of his work. Hours of chopping and mixing had left his hands stained red and gold, but the effort had paid off.

  Item: Skyberry Tart x4 (Rare) — Restores +40 HP / +30 Stamina. Grants +10% Luck, +5% Crit Chance, and +15% Stamina Regen for 20 min. Additional +6% Crit Chance when consumed during combat.)

  Item: Níðmar Risotto x2 (Rare) — Restores +40 HP / +30 Stamina. Grants +30% Poison Resist, +15% Magic Resist for 20 min.)

  He made sure to keep a healthy distance between his food and his new poison.

  Item: Blóðruna Coating (Rare)

  Description: A runic mixture of powdered Draugr bone and molten ember-resin. When smeared along steel, the runes crawl like fireflies, whispering old curses in tongues best left untranslated.

  Effect: Coats one weapon or five arrows for 90 sec. Each strike deals +30 shadow and +30 fire damage, reducing enemy healing by –50%. Killing an enemy restores +10 HP (absorbed through rune glow).

  Weight: 0.15 kg.

  Worth: 650 Gold.

  Because he had been cooking for four hours, his Health tree dramatically increased.

  Health (+40): lvl 8 (10/90)

  Health is now 130/130

  Glory (+80): 1,005

  Level: 28 (130/290)

  Another soft glow rippled across his interface before fading, this time involving Kara.

  Relationship Progress: Kara (2/3 Dates)

  Karl smiled faintly. For once, the System had given him something that didn’t involve blood.

  But even with a good night like tonight, the images of the hunting massacre and the nameless corpses refused to fade. Neither did the thought of the new Jarl—the one sacrificing people for Thor’s favor. He couldn’t help but think of Kara’s memory of the skull-horned warrior with curved horns, massive in size, as he raided a village.

  And Agnetha. From his world. Somehow alive, here.

  He pushed the thought aside as he cleaned the counter. “Goodnight, Kara,” he murmured when she headed home with Glær trotting loyally at her side. She gave a kiss that sent his heart racing before leaving him for the night.

  Ratatoskr scampered up onto his shoulder as Karl returned to his home, the warmth from the hearths smothering them instantly.

  “Please don’t eat my snacks while I sleep,” Karl said, stifling a yawn as he lumbered to his room.

  The squirrel gasped, feigning offense. “Me? Never!”

  Karl sighed, unbuckling his armor. It reeked of blood and sweat, the metallic tang thick in the air. He folded it carefully before placing his new goods inside his treasure chest. The runes etched on the lid glimmered faintly as he cataloged what he’d gathered.

  Item: 14x Elven Steel Ingot (Rare)

  Item: 10x Damascus Steel Ingot (Epic)

  Item: Plasma Ball Rune Fragment 2/3 (Rare)

  Item: 2x Ice Troll Hide (Epic)

  Item: Beta Heart 2x (Epic)

  Item: Beta Pelt 4x (Epic)

  He wished he had found some more Plasma Ball Rune Fragments from his looting, but he hadn’t hunted any Dark Elves recently. Perhaps he would find more if he went hunting for some. But thoughts of more violence only made him more tired.

  “Such lovely organization,” Ratatoskr said, diving headfirst into the pile. Gold coins scattered like rain as he rolled among them, cackling. “I’ll miss this bed of treasure once you sell it all for that rotten-tooth Harald.”

  Karl pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t mix the stacks again.”

  The Trickster ignored him completely, burrowing through the pile until only his tail was visible.

  Karl stripped down to the night tunic the housemistresses had left folded at the foot of his bed. The fabric was soft, faintly perfumed with lavender. His cheeks warmed at the thought of them tidying his room—and washing his underwear.

  As he settled beneath the furs, trying to get comfortable, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much money he was going to be spending with Harald, and how much more he probably would spend just to keep Visby up and running.

  So this is what paying taxes feels like, he thought dryly, shifting restlessly in his bed. The pressure of wanting to just run away grew ever more.

  Sleepless, his eyes were wide awake as he watched the hearth crackle low, casting dim light over the carved wolf-heads that adorned the beams of Hof Visbýr. Despite the stress, for just a moment, there was peace.

  Then Ratatoskr began to twitch.

  The squirrel muttered in his sleep, voice trembling. “Yggdrasil… Fjallnara… Acra… Yska…” The names came broken, strangled by pain. Karl froze. He remembered them now—Ratatoskr’s wife and children, slain by Vedrfolnir the Hawk.

  Fenrir had forced the Trickster to relive the trauma in full detail during their fight against him.

  Karl stared at the little creature curled at the foot of his bed, his laughter gone, while his tail trembled. Annoyance faded into guilt. As he looked at him, suddenly the squirrel’s recent indulgence in shrooms and drinking made perfect sense. If Karl had suffered something similar, he, too, might dull his mind to forget.

  Outside, snow whispered against the shutters while Karl tossed beneath the furs, drifting in and out of half-dreams until the world around him dissolved completely.

  He was back in his old school.

  The sterile white walls, the flickering fluorescent lights, the sound of pencils scratching on desks—it all came rushing back. Agnetha sat two rows ahead, her perfect braid glinting in the sunlight. Viktor and his posse snickered behind him, crumpling paper balls and flicking them at the back of his head.

  “Why was Gustavus Adolphus so revered?” the teacher asked from the front, chalk squealing against the board.

  Karl opened his mouth to answer, but Viktor’s whisper cut through the classroom. “Because he was taller than Karl.” Laughter followed—cruel and familiar.

  He tried to ignore it. But the sound wouldn’t stop. Paper hit his neck. A spitball landed in his hair. Someone made a howling noise.

  And then Karl did.

  He felt the shift before he saw it. His bones cracked, claws ripping through his fingers and his teeth lengthening until his mouth could no longer hold the scream. He turned, half-human, half-beast, and tore through the rows of desks. Screams filled the air as blood spattered the whiteboard. Desks toppled like dominoes from his unstoppable wrath. Viktor’s face was the last one he saw before everything turned red.

  Karl woke with a gasp.

  Moonlight spilled across his bare chest, silver and cold. His tunic lay shredded across the bed, leaving him, as always, very unclothed. His heart thundered against his ribs like it wanted to escape.