“So… does this mean you two are going to make out?” the Trickster asked, his voice uncharacteristically calm.

  “Yep,” Kara said.

  She lunged at Karl, tackling him into the snow and pressing her lips against his. Glær snorted in disapproval but dipped his head in quiet respect.

  Kara didn’t care. She kissed Karl deeply, and when she finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  Karl’s heart thundered in his chest. “Anytime,” he said softly, before she went back to kissing him.

  25

  NEVER DRINK WITH A VIKING

  When they finally got back to Visby, the moment they crossed the threshold, the guards along the stone walls ran back and notified Thorstein, who came running out with Egil, Björn, and Mýra, followed by a trail of Jarls—many of them noticeably drunk.

  “We got the bastard!” the Trickster yelled triumphantly from Karl’s shoulder.

  The Vikings erupted into cheers. Many of the men rushed to Karl and lifted him and Kara onto their shoulders. Karl hadn’t expected that and was taken aback—but what was he going to do, ask them to put him down? These were Vikings, and he had just slain one of their enemies. If he had to guess, they were going to drink.

  He was right.

  The young men carrying Karl rushed past the other Jarls—and a somewhat annoyed Björn, who looked envious of Karl’s celebration. But then Björn’s face tightened when he saw Kara’s healed hand. It was impossible to tell what was going through the legendary Viking’s mind.

  They carried Karl and Kara past the giant chasm of farm terraces, where Knut was currently traversing the wooden bridges to take down his targets. They brought him to where a group of girls were dancing around a pole decorated by Mýra in the middle of the town.

  They threw both of them into the middle as the pretty girls danced, laughed, and sang. The rhythm was somehow hypnotic—maybe even magical—as Karl received the strangest buff.

  Buff Added: Charisma of a Champion — For the next 20 minutes, anything you ask of anyone will be obeyed without hesitation and with a smile.

  Karl shared his thoughts with Kara, and the two of them laughed.

  Don’t get too creative, she said in his mind.

  “Drinks for the champions!” Egil shouted, rushing in with his large bushy red hair, flowers woven into his beard. His messy hair stuck out wildly.

  Sigrid, with the help of Thorstein, brought out two glowing mugs frothing with ale.

  Surprisingly, Ratatoskr, who sat on Karl’s shoulder, didn’t look at the alcohol with envy. Instead, he stared off, watching the beautiful girls dance, lost in tranquility as he held the Pearl of Still Waters Karl had given him.

  Karl took his ale horn, and Kara was about to take hers as well when Björn strode in and snatched it from her hand, earning a nasty look from Glær.

  Mýra lurked back at the edge of the crowd, her arms folded as she watched her boyfriend be up to no good.

  For a split second, Karl thought Björn was going to dump the ale on him out of petty jealousy. Instead, Björn sat down in the green bed of flowers Mýra had previously summoned to grow, even though it was still a freezing spring.

  “You may have won an archery competition and knocked out one of those bastards,” Björn began, his face still locked in a dark growl, “but let’s see if you have what it takes to drink like a man.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—” Karl began, but before he could protest or command Björn to stop, the Viking grabbed him by his glowing antler helmet and drew their foreheads together in a rough show of brotherly challenge.

  “About nine out of the twelve Jarls agreed to join us,” Björn muttered, his breath heavy with alcohol. “Two are still with Viktor, even after your archery competition and what you achieved today. We can peel one or more of those Jarls if you show your might in drinking.”

  “Oh,” Karl said, exhaling in relief. “I thought you wanted to fight me because you were⁠—”

  “Jealous?” Björn said, pulling back and letting out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I still am,” he added with a smug grin. “But when I saw Kara’s hand—which you must have earned by giving up something significant in that well—I realized I’m not sure I would’ve done the same. That’s when I knew you were the right man to be Jarl.”

  Then, raising the ale horn to his lips, he smiled widely. “At least until you die, that is.”

  Which hopefully won’t be very long from now, Fenrir growled within Karl’s mind.

  “Loser’s on dish duty!” Björn called out, making all the Vikings laugh and cheer. With a nod at Karl, he raised the ale horn and immediately began chugging it.

  “Oh gods, he’s serious,” Karl thought with dread as he began drinking.

  The honey-brewed ale burned his throat as he gulped. It didn’t come without side effects, which appeared the moment he finished his first ale horn.

  +25 Strength, –10 Intelligence for the next hour.

  “Just an appetizer,” Björn said, calling for Egil to bring another. He led the way into the second round, which Karl did not want to join. Karl glanced toward Thorstein for help, but the Werebear was out of earshot—sitting at a bench with Sigrid, laughing with her as they watched the children playing.

  Because no help was coming, Karl drank again.

  Resistance to fear, pain, and the concept of good ideas for the next hour.

  Strangely, as Karl finished his second horn, he didn’t think it was a bad idea to keep drinking. He smiled goofily and took the third, while Kara burst out laughing, seeing ale run down his short beard.

  Every joke told within earshot has a 15% chance to cause psychic damage for the next hour.

  Karl began to feel numb in his face as he lifted the fourth horn. Before drinking, he paused when one of the Jarls—one still loyal to Viktor—lunged at a young shieldmaiden in a drunken attempt to do something vile.

  Glær stepped in, pivoting to back-kick the Jarl far away from the young woman. Because of his heroics, the people cheered for the white elk, praising him for his honor.

  User can exhale a 10m gout of flame for the next hour.

  Björn laughed and spat out a burst of flame into the air, which caused all the Jarls and men to cheer. Karl did the same and received another notification—he had won over the tenth Jarl.

  “Why stop now?” Björn said, asking for another round.

  But Karl’s mind was already gone. He had never drunk that much in his life, and before he knew it, he was completely blacked-out drunk.

  When Karl woke up sometime later, he was in a pile of glittering vomit that sparkled with rainbows.

  “There he is,” Björn said, slapping Karl in the back as Karl vomited incessantly into the terraced chasm.

  When Karl saw the endless drop before him that he had somehow appeared in front of, he threw up even more and scrambled back with his Divine Speed, terrified.

  “Try not to get him killed next time?” Thorstein said, grabbing Karl by the back and keeping him from potentially jumping off the cliff by accident.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault that he gallivanted over here,” Björn said, chuckling as he held his girlfriend’s hand.

  “Here, take this,” Mýra said, handing Karl a white potion that smelled strongly of eucalyptus.

  Karl drank it and was immediately smacked with sobriety, which the System notified him of a second later.

  Buff added: Completely immune to alcohol and Hangover effects.

  “I wouldn’t have let you die,” Kara said, sitting beside Karl. She then helped Karl to sit up and grabbed him with her right hand.

  “Well, we got the alliances that we wanted despite your rainbow vomit,” Egil said as he looked over the chasm, his legs dangling. He had a paper in his hand and was scribbling notes on it: it was the Jarls they had secured along with the dozens of Viking warriors they could each provide.

  “What’s next, Jarl?” Björn said as he continued sipping from an ale horn. Karl was flabbergasted that he continued drinking.

  As Karl looked into his sparkling rainbow vomit while holding Kara’s hand, then at the happy villagers who continued to dance, drink, and have fun, he felt the satisfaction of having completed step one of the kill-all-the-Blessed-Bastards plan.

  “Now we move on to step two,” he said, his voice darker now. While they had just finished the defense, it was now time to move on to offense.

  Later that night, after Karl had finished hundreds of dishes since he lost the drinking competition—which he did beside Kara, who happily joined him and worked with both hands—many of the Vikings were still partying, which did wonders for the town’s morale.

  Morale: 85% (Everyone’s practically drunk and happy)

  The morale was also bolstered by Egil, who, throughout the night, waxed poetically about Karl’s archery competition and how he bested the Ice Archer without breaking a sweat. The poet then went on to describe, in heroic detail, how Karl took down a Viking fleet with the aid of a whale he had supposedly controlled. While none of this was completely true, Karl let it slide, as it roused the hearts of the men. He could see that as Egil eloquently recited Karl’s adventures, it brought a sense of purpose to the poet. Whenever Egil was not writing or speaking about his latest poem, he seemed lonely, and it was impossible not to notice his jealous glances toward Thorstein, Björn, and even Karl—each of whom had someone to hold.

  The only one who didn’t seem to mind was Glær, who was practically worshiped not just by the children at the festival—who danced around him and threw flowers at his hooves while he silently stood like some god—but also by many of the elderly and older Vikings, who looked reverently upon the white elk. It didn’t help that Glær would also let his antlers pulse with a calming magical aura, which became somewhat addictive to the villagers. They seemed to have plenty of anxiety these days, with monsters and rival Jarls constantly raiding them.

  Karl smiled warmly as he dried off another plate, glancing at the Trickster, who still held the Pearl of Still Waters that gave him calmness. Ratatoskr sat in one of the wheel spokes of a nearby wagon, resting peacefully. Karl made no move to disturb him—it was well deserved. He had no idea what it must be like to lose loved ones as the Trickster had, but he could guess what it felt like. He briefly thought he had lost Kara when she became a werewolf and ran away.

  “I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Kara said, moving a piece of her blonde hair out of her eye and setting down the dish she’d been drying. She inched closer to Karl. As usual, Karl’s heart almost stopped; the incredibly beautiful shieldmaiden always took his breath away.

  “For what?” he said, his voice stammering as he stopped working.

  “For taking me on an adventure,” she said. To help clarify, she opened her mind to his, showing him her perspective from the Dwarven dungeon. In her memories, Karl felt her excitement as she watched her Glory meter rise toward her Valkyrie goal.

  “It helps,” she said, rubbing her left arm with her right hand—the one she looked fondly at. “I can’t stop thinking about my sister.”

  Since their Pack Link was still active, a memory of Frigg—long before the Cult of Eternal Night had gotten her—flashed in Karl’s mind. Frigg and Sigrid were cooking in the tavern kitchen, her sister looking so at ease as she prepared a fish meal with steaming vegetables. Through Kara’s mind, Karl felt her pain in his chest, of how she felt guilt for killing her sister.

  “It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Karl said, wrapping his hands around hers.

  Kara didn’t say anything. Instead, she cast her eyes toward the festival, which seemed the opposite of her in that moment—full of warmth and joy.

  “I needed the distraction,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the distant fires. Thanks to Karl’s werewolf senses, he could smell the salt and see the glistening tears forming at the microscopic level in her eyes.

  “I’m glad I could provide it,” Karl said, giving her a warm smile as she looked back at him. In sync, they resumed their dish duties, each moving quietly and enjoying the symphony of drunken laughter and the crackling of fires throughout the festival that kept the Vikings warm.

  “You could have gotten a better blessing, you know,” she said, her blue eyes fluttering to look at him as she placed another bowl on top of the many giant piles around them. “We could have used it for gaining an upper hand to take down Viktor and his gang.”

  Karl frowned, shaking his head. “I have zero regrets. You deserve to have your hand back. I wish I could have given you more by taking away your werewolf curse.”

  Kara smiled, holding his hand with her right hand.

  “Besides,” Karl said, “you’re the best weapon that I have against him. Making you stronger will only make us all stronger.”

  Kara embraced him with a strong but gentle hug before giving him a kiss.

  “While you were drunk,” Kara said, “we received intelligence that Viktor is planning on maxing out his divine blessings from Thor before he strikes again. He was going to attack Visby had it not been for your idea to hold all the Jarls together for a feast, since he doesn’t have as many men at his disposal. One of the two Jarls allied with Viktor let it slip in his drunken state.”

  “The one that Glær kicked?” Karl asked, remembering the event.

  Kara nodded. Before she could say anything more, Thorstein limped over from the festival with Sigrid happily in his furry arms. Neither of them seemed to mind the dirty looks a few of the visiting Vikings gave them.

  “There are a hundred more ale goblets,” Sigrid said, giving Karl a playful grin.

  “We’ll have some of the slaves get to it,” Thorstein said, waving her off gently with one of his claws. Karl grimaced at the comment. He still wasn’t used to how casual they were about slavery. Thankfully, they hadn’t done any human sacrifices lately.

  “Has Kara told you about Viktor?” Thorstein said.

  “That the feast was a good call? Yes,” Karl said.

  “There’s something else,” Kara said, and the way she spoke made Karl’s heart spike with fear. “One of our scouts reported that Viktor achieved his fifth quest today. He can now summon a lightning bolt once every ten minutes that can effectively kill you on strike.”

  Karl sighed, looking at the mountain of dishes and feeling overwhelmed. “So this whole festival was a waste of time then?”

  “Not exactly,” Thorstein said, leaning over the table in front of Karl, likely to ease the tension on his limp leg. “We’re going to need all the men we can get. With the ten extra Jarls you secured today, we can have more men working on Visby’s upgrading projects for defense.”

  “There’s no point in focusing on defense if we’re just going to be crushed when he becomes a god,” Karl said, almost shouting at Thorstein. Heat rose in his chest as his Moonlight Meter ticked up thanks to his growing anger. Kara put a gentle hand on his back to comfort him, which helped a little, but he couldn’t shake the anger that they’d wasted time throwing a big party while Viktor continued to grow stronger.

  A dark, terrible thought occurred to Karl as he paced between the piles of dishes. “I could leave,” he said quietly. “I could take Kara with me, and we could go back to Sweden so that Viktor can take over without having to⁠—”

  Thorstein slammed his claw on the table, rattling several dishes. “It is better to stand and fight. If you run, you’ll only die tired,” he said, shocking Karl. “Do not run away from your problems, nor your enemies. You must face them. If you don’t, they’ll find you when you are least ready and overcome you. Even if you die facing them today, it will be with honor.”

  Not to mention Viktor will probably just slaughter everybody here to test out his new powers, Fenrir sneered in Karl’s mind. Although the wolf god was trying to provoke Karl into fighting so he might die and set Fenrir free, he was probably right.

  Karl’s Moonlight Meter dropped as he let out a heavy breath. He looked at Kara for support, not knowing what to do.

  “We have five days,” Kara said, unintentionally fingering one of the links of mail in her armor. “One day for each divine quest he takes. If we use our resources wisely, we can lure each of the Blessed Bastards into individual traps. That way, we can weaken Viktor’s power.”

  Panic immediately swelled within him. That wasn’t much time to go on the offensive.

  “If we’re lucky,” Thorstein said, “he’ll have no support as he takes on his last quest against Thor himself. He might just die in the process. Only one other person has ever maxed out their divine blessings, thanks to its dangerous nature.”

  Karl could already guess who that person was before he asked. “Who?”

  “Emperor Maximus,” Egil said, appearing behind them with the Trickster on his shoulder. Both looked exceedingly calm. “It’s rather an amazing story. He did it all without any sleep, and he⁠—”

  “I think we need to start deciding how to kill them all,” Björn interrupted as he and Mýra joined the group, arm in arm as always. Mýra didn’t look at the group. Instead, she stared at a flower she made grow from her finger, watching it softly.

  “Five days to take out five more bastards,” Karl said, taking a deep breath. It was going to be a very long but short week. But as he looked at Mýra admiring her little flower, an idea came to mind. He thought of the next Blessed Bastard they had to take out: Magnus. It was as if Mýra could feel Karl’s eyes on her; her gaze flashed to meet his, frowning in distrust.

  “What?” she said, her voice sharp.

  Karl smiled. “I have an idea.”

  26

  OVERCROWDED

  Surprisingly, Karl slept really well that night. Ratatoskr did too. Instead of clawing Karl in the middle of the night, the Trickster slept unnaturally well; the squirrel didn’t even mutter his dead children’s or wife’s name.