“For the nerves,” she murmured. “Don’t drop it.”

  Item: Calm Draught (Rare) — Reduces Stress build by 50% for one hour.

  Karl uncorked it instantly and drained it in one swallow. The taste was sharp with mint. Warmth spread through him, easing the tremor in his hands. By the time he looked up to thank her, she was gone, already striding ahead with Björn.

  “Where’d she⁠—”

  “Don’t ask,” Björn interrupted, his voice rough but amused. “You wouldn’t survive the explanation.”

  Moments later, Mýra reappeared from the treeline astride a bear the size of a wagon, its fur dusted white with snow. “Come, my bear,” she said sweetly. Björn leapt up behind her without hesitation. The beast rumbled as it took on another rider. Egil watched the pair with open unease, muttering something about “unholy unions.”

  They traveled until the first light of dawn gilded the hills. Smoke still trailed on the horizon behind them from the ruins of Klintehamn. Karl didn’t look back.

  By the time they reached Visby’s outskirts, the village still slept beneath a pale sky. No one greeted them, though. The streets were empty, the air cold and still. Even the gulls at the harbor were silent. Karl was grateful. He couldn’t face questions or those looks. Not now.

  Glær halted before the gate, stamping once. Karl slid down stiffly, legs weak. Kara touched his arm as she dismounted.

  “We made it,” she said quietly.

  “For now,” Karl murmured. His voice was little more than breath.

  The streets of Visby were still half asleep as they entered, the air thick with sea fog and the faint smell of wet ash from the hearths. Lanterns guttered along the alley as Karl and his battered company trudged back toward the tavern. The wooden sign creaked in the wind, swinging with a soft whine.

  Inside, warmth and food embraced them. He could hear eggs sizzling at the back, which instantly made his mouth water. Against all odds, Thorstein was awake, helping Sigrid knead bread for the morning rush. Their easy laughter broke off the instant they saw the group.

  The old bear’s nose twitched. He inhaled sharply, and his eyes met Karl’s. That single look carried it all.

  “Sit,” Thorstein said simply, motioning toward the nearest long table. His tone left no room for pity.

  Sigrid ushered Harald Bluetooth and his five surviving adventurers to another table. Their faces were hollow, eyes sunken from shock. The smell of burnt leather and dried blood clung to them even as Sigrid brought plates of omelets and sliced fruit.

  Thorstein served Karl’s table himself, the same thick hands that could crush skulls now steady as he slid platters across the wood. “Eat,” he said. “You’ll think clearly with a full stomach.”

  Björn was the first to break the silence. “Kara almost had him,” he said, already halfway through his meal. Bits of egg tumbled from his beard, and Ratatoskr darted down from Karl’s shoulder to snatch them. “If that blasted lightning hadn’t⁠—”

  Thorstein’s claw tapped once against the table, quiet but firm enough to silence the room. “And this ‘him,’” he said, eyes narrowing toward Karl. “This is your bully? From before?”

  Karl didn’t look up. He nodded once, staring at his untouched plate. The steam from the eggs blurred his vision. Across from him, Kara picked idly at her food with her left hand. Her severed right rested in her lap.

  “We did get something out of it,” Kara said, her voice low but steady. “A forge automaton fell in the fight. Enough parts and runes to reinforce Visby’s defenses.”

  Egil raised his mug, grinning through his exhaustion. “Well done, Jarl. Glory in defeat is still glory.” He drained the ale and poured more without waiting for praise.

  Karl tried to mirror the grin but couldn’t. The question rose unbidden, cracking through the fragile quiet. “What do we do now?”

  Silence followed.

  Even Sigrid paused, her hand hovering over a tray of bread. Björn’s mouth opened, but a sharp pinch from Thorstein’s claw beneath the table stopped him cold. The Werebear didn’t look up, but Karl caught the silent message: Speak confidently as a leader.

  Kara leaned forward. Her blue eyes met his. “You already know what needs to be done,” she said softly. “You just don’t want to say it.”

  Karl sighed, anxiety filling his lungs. He’d fought a god, crawled through cursed ruins, survived monsters from nightmares—but this, facing Viktor again, felt worse. The bully who had once cornered him in school halls now wielded divine lightning. And worst of all, Viktor had seen exactly where to hurt him.

  Kara.

  The memory of her nearly struck down burned behind his ribs.

  Karl rose from his seat. His shadow stretched long across the tavern floor, flickering in the candlelight.

  “We need to slay the bastards,” he said, his tone thankfully calm.

  The System agreed.

  New Quest: Slay the Blessed Bastards

  “Revenge isn’t noble, but it is motivating. You lost the fight, your town, and roughly 200 Glory points to a high-school sociopath. Now it’s time to return the favor, preferably with fewer lightning bolts to the chest.”

  Primary Objectives:

  Eliminate Snösikte (0/1)

  Eliminate Magnus Jordhane (0/1)

  Eliminate Signe Silversång (0/1)

  Eliminate Sten Vakt (0/1)

  Eliminate Nils Skymning (0/1)

  Eliminate Håkan Vrid (0/1)

  Slay Viktor (0/1)

  Bonus Objectives:

  Spare at least one subordinate who surrenders (prove you can win without being a monster) (0/1)

  Keep Kara alive through all six encounters (0/1)

  Resist killing the Blessed Bastards in Werewolf Form (0/6)

  Rewards:

  Item: Shard of Mani (Legendary): A tiny sliver of the moon god’s power, condensed into a dagger.

  Title: Stormbreaker of Gotland: All lightning damage reduced by 50%. Leadership Aura +25%. Fear Resistance: Total.

  Dwarven Companion Evolution: The companion you choose is elevated beyond mortal limits.

  Settlement Upgrade: Hall of the Wolf King base upgrade. Settlement produces +50% Food, +50% Gold, +50% Ale & Coffee.

  Bonus Rewards

  Item: Bifrost Reactor Blueprint (Epic): Converts weather energy into defensive fields or ship propulsion (rainbow colored effects).

  Lunar Fertility Rite: 100% Conception Guarantee. Any children produced will inherit: Fenrir affinity, Valkyrie affinity, and an unknown elder-blood trait.

  Moonlight Absorption: Unlock the ability to absorb lunar energy directly, empowering every attack with moonlight and the ability to become invisible at will at night.

  The quest hung in the air over the table. Everyone saw it. Their eyes tracked the words, then slid to Karl.

  Ratatoskr whistled and waved a paw through the letters. They rippled and blinked away. “Easy fix,” he said. “So—want to march right back and hit them while they snore? No one expects the breakfast raid. We can get you to having wolf kids faster if we do!”

  Karl shook his head, his face incredibly hot with embarrassment as he caught Kara’s bewildered eyes, who looked rather amused by the Lunar Fertility Rite. “We’re not ready.” He forced the words past a throat that still tasted of smoke. “We don’t know if he regrouped or how many he has waiting. And…” He hesitated, hand brushing his ribs where the tattoo warmed the skin. “I want another life up my sleeve if he gets me again.”

  “Wise,” Thorstein said. He pressed a steaming cup into Karl’s hands. Sigrid hovered behind him, worry softening her face. The coffee’s heat bled into Karl’s fingers. He drank and let the bitter strength cut through the fog.

  Thorstein leaned in, voice low. “We can’t do this alone. Word’s already reached us that your bully has spoken to other Jarls. If his companions are what the stories claim, he’ll court allies too. He’ll try to turn this island against you.”

  “And I bet the System will toss him a fun little quest with your name on it,” Ratatoskr added, mouth full of Mýra’s scrambled eggs. She pretended not to notice, scratching Glær’s jaw while the elk angled for more.

  Karl didn’t want to believe it. The System answered anyway.

  System Message: “Equal opportunity is the spice of war! If you can hunt him, he can hunt you. Survival of the fittest, etc., etc. Try not to be the etc.”

  He sighed and drank again, letting the burn settle in his chest.

  The food cooled on the plates as Sigrid refilled the mugs. The room listened for Karl’s choice and found only the pop of the hearth and the soft wind from outside.

  A shape of a plan rose in his mind, though, not clean lines yet. If the island might turn, then he had to turn it first. He would need to bring the Jarls in first. Make them choose him or Viktor. Then, reinforce Visby until a siege looked stupid. If needed, dip a toe into divine quests or Mímir’s well to seek greater advantages. Then, when the ground was theirs, cut down Viktor’s Six one quiet strike at a time.

  Egil slid his notepad across the table. “Draw it,” he said, ink bottle already uncorked.

  Karl took the quill. Coffee steadied the line as he sketched out his thoughts.

  Ratatoskr bounced on the bench, saliva glimmering on his teeth as he read of how Karl intended to gain the Jarls’ alliances. “Oh, I’m going to love that.”

  PART III

  BASTARDS

  19

  COOKING FOR LIFE

  Karl woke in the late afternoon, the light slanting gold through the shutters and cutting across his face. Sleep had come in flashes, chased away each time by the image of Viktor’s hammer descending toward his chest. His pulse hadn’t slowed all night. Every sound—every creak of wood or gust through the window—had his muscles locking, waiting for the blow that never came.

  You really are exhausting to watch, Fenrir murmured.

  Karl groaned and rubbed the side of his head. “Can you just let me sleep?”

  Where’s the fun in that? the wolf god whispered. I’ve waited too long to see you fall. But I’ll admit… something is entertaining about your struggle.

  The voice faded to a hum as Karl pulled on his tunic and boots. Ratatoskr lay sprawled beside him, belly up, paws twitching as if dreaming of stolen pastries. Karl scooped the squirrel carefully and set him on his shoulder before stepping into the corridor that led to the main hall of Hof Visbýr.

  Warmth hit him first—sweet and earthy, while cinnamon wound through the deeper scent of roasted coffee. The sounds of morning work echoed off the timber walls: the scrape of brooms, a hum of women’s voices. Candlelight flickered across polished beams, gilding the carvings of ravens.

  At the high table, a fresh cinnamon roll shimmered with a golden glow on a plate, its surface dusted with sugar that caught the light. Beside it steamed a cup of coffee, dark enough to smell from across the room. Karl smiled despite himself; it was such a simple mercy after these last few days.

  Kara was already seated nearby with Glær resting beside her chair, antlers faintly glowing in the dim light. She looked tired but composed, with blonde hair tied back, and her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. Another cinnamon roll—her second, judging by the crumbs—sat on her plate.

  Ratatoskr hopped down to sniff at it. “Are you sure you want that?” he asked, voice dripping with mischief. “Wouldn’t want your waist to pop your armor seams.”

  Kara arched a brow. “Careful. I might just eat you instead.”

  The squirrel yelped and darted up her arm, making her laugh. That flicker of joy was enough to make Karl happy.

  He joined her at the table, easing onto the hearth-warmed bench beside her. For a moment, the world shrank to this little moment of coffee with Kara. She leaned close and kissed him once, letting her soft lips linger on his. Her lips tasted of sugar and the magical effects of the desert; the spell burned pleasantly down his throat, snapping his mind awake.

  Item: Sigrid’s Sunwake Roll (Epic) — Special Effect: Restores 25 Stamina instantly and grants “Focused Wakefulness” for 60 minutes: Fatigue ignored, Cooking Speed +10%, Morale Aura +5% for nearby allies.

  “Good morning, my Jarl,” Kara said, smiling at the effect the enchantment had on him. “Ready for a big day of cooking?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Karl said. He tore into his roll, the crust flaking under his fingers as he scarfed it down. It tasted pleasantly rich with butter. He rubbed Glær’s head in thanks.

  The brief peace steadied him. He needed it. Today, they would begin something huge. The Feast of Jarls would decide whether Gotland united or fell apart. A single misstep, or drunken insult, and they’d be alone against Viktor’s lightning and his six blessed killers, not to mention any Jarls Viktor could conjure.

  The plan was simple on paper. He and Kara would cook beside Sigrid to prepare the mead and feasts. Egil and Thorstein were already bound for nearby towns to deliver formal invitations. Mýra, delighted for once, would use her floral magic to fill the hall and streets with living vines and blooming arches.

  Björn had practically run to the Masonry Hall at dawn, boasting he’d raise Visby’s defenses to the next tier by sunset. Real stone walls with Dwarven reinforcement. He swore it had been his idea all along, of course.

  Karl hadn’t corrected him. The man seemed less aggravated when he had something to put his hands to.

  Karl’s thoughts drifted to the Dvergr tool they’d won—Brokk’s Spare Hammer—which now hung over the forge, its runes glowing faintly. Even from the tavern, he could feel its heartbeat-like pulse from far away, increasing their crafting speed.

  But that power came at a cost. Stone was scarce. The foreign merchant who’d arrived two days earlier had already caught the scent of desperation, which Karl obligingly paid.

  Wealth (–1,000): 5,666 Gold

  Karl sighed, staring at the parchment of figures spread beside his plate. The loss stung, but it was necessary. Having zero walls was an invitation for war.

  As for Harald and the five adventurers who had survived, they were already preparing to head back into the wilds. The hunt they’d failed the day before still hung over them, and with a feast meant to feed hundreds, failure wasn’t an option now.

  Karl had given them permission to take a dozen other Vikings along this time—enough to make the work faster and the risks smaller. They needed meat, roots, fish, anything that could be turned into stew or roast before sundown. By the end of the day, if the gods were kind, Harald’s quest would finally blink complete and give them the supplies and rewards they desperately needed.

  At the table, Ratatoskr was less concerned with logistics. The squirrel had somehow earned his own cinnamon roll from one of the serving girls, who seemed to find him adorable rather than insufferable, gods know how. He dove straight into the icing face-first, tail twitching as white cream coated his whiskers and red fur.

  “So,” he said between mouthfuls, “are you going to use those Skill Points anytime soon? I also happened to notice you’re sitting on Brokk’s Memory Core and the Moltenplate Blueprint.”

  Karl froze mid-bite, a ring of pastry still halfway to his mouth. “You didn’t destroy it, did you?”

  Ratatoskr looked up with a sticky grin that did not inspire confidence. “Have you no faith in me?”

  Karl’s stomach dropped. “No.”

  “Good answer,” the squirrel said quickly, licking sugar from his paws. “Because I was just going to give you some advice—helpful, non-explosive advice.” His tone made that claim doubtful. “You can combine the Memory Core with the Moltenplate Blueprint to upgrade your current armor. Considering you got flambéed by your old bully, it might help not to die next time.”

  Karl sighed, finishing his coffee. The cinnamon roll had gone dry in his mouth as he brought up the status screen in his mind. Each piece of his Dökkálfar Archer set flashed dull gray.

  Item: Dökkálfar Archer Tunic — Durability 0/70

  Item: Dökkálfar Archer Bracers — Durability 0/50

  Item: Dökkálfar Archer Greaves — Durability 0/55

  Only Hrimnir’s Crown still glowed faintly, having a decent amount of Durability left. Everything else was useless slag until repaired.

  “I don’t have time for that,” Karl muttered. “I’m cooking all day.”

  Kara set down her cup and reached across the table. “Let me see them.”

  He hesitated, then pulled the items from his inventory—the blueprint and the molten core pulsing with faint orange runelight—and placed them in her left hand. Her right arm, still severed at the wrist, rested in her lap, wrapped in clean linen.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” she said, studying the items with the keen eye of a smith. “I can handle it. My blacksmithing’s high enough, and I’ll be more use at the forge than the kitchen anyway.”

  Karl opened his mouth to protest, as he would rather have her close, but the Pack Link stirred. Kara’s voice brushed through his thoughts, warm yet teasing. Don’t worry. We’ll have time for that later.

  The image she sent with it—of them kissing in his chamber the night before—flashed through his mind so vividly he nearly dropped his coffee.

  Joy replaced any argument he could make. Letting her work would be good. She needed something to ground her, too, and he needed his armor back. The thought of her excitement at the forge made him smile despite the lingering anxiety of Viktor’s threat.