“It’s a wise plan,” Kara said, nodding at him.

  “I’ve done something like this before,” Björn said with a grin, but his smile faltered when Mýra grimaced.

  “Let’s get to it,” Karl said.

  Egil and Björn broke off with their men, leading them in opposite directions. Each group crawled low on their bellies, staying hidden along the outskirts of the fields.

  Now alone, Karl and Kara moved with Mýra, Glær, and Ratatoskr. They too crouched and crawled through the tall grain, which rose to chest height and concealed them well.

  “You sure this is going to work?” Karl whispered to Mýra as they crept forward.

  “Are you doubting my alchemy?” Mýra hissed back.

  “Not at all,” Karl said, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “Just nervous your potion might kill us when Magnus reacts to it.”

  The Huldra frowned, her cow tail flicking in agitation. As always, her movements drew his eyes against his will to her tight-fitting green skirt. Perhaps noticing, she gave a dark little laugh and crawled ahead, directly in front of him.

  “I think she’s taken,” the Trickster mocked from Karl’s shoulder.

  “Shut up,” Karl muttered, glancing at Kara apologetically and avoiding looking at the Huldra’s butt. She only rolled her eyes. Glær, crouched beside them, remained stoically silent.

  The grain rustled around them as they pushed through. Once they reached the middle of the field, Mýra stopped.

  “This should be good enough,” she whispered, pulling out three small tonics—each one a different shade of black. “Whatever you do, don’t breathe this in. And make sure none of it gets into your mouth.”

  “What happens if we do?” Kara asked, grimacing as she held her potion.

  “Trust me, you won’t like the effects,” Mýra said. “Each one has a different property, and all of them are… bad for your Health.”

  “How long do we have to hold our breath?” Karl asked.

  Before Mýra could answer, screams erupted on both sides. They had taken too long. Björn and Egil’s parties had already set fire to the granaries.

  Mýra cursed and immediately dumped out the black-violet potion in her hand. The liquid rushed into the soil as if the earth itself were greedily drinking the poison. Karl held his breath and poured his black-green potion into the ground to Mýra’s left, while Kara poured her black-amber potion to the right. The liquids fused beneath the soil, turning it from black to a pulsing, shadowy essence that spread across the fields like an oil spill.

  Karl’s lungs burned as he held his breath. The rotting fumes hit his face like a slap. He had no idea how long to hold it, and nearly gasped in shock when a little boy came running through the fields, laughing.

  “You can’t catch me!” the boy shouted, oblivious to the hidden group. He was looking backward, running from friends playing tag—but the moment he inhaled near Mýra’s potion, his body began to glow with a golden hue. The plants around Mýra exploded in growth, their roots turning black and jagged. The monstrous vines lunged toward the boy, drawn to his glow. He screamed and scrambled away as the vines tore through the field, devouring the healthy green crops and striking at the Viking guards running toward the burning granaries. Anyone who got too close began glowing gold, marking them for death by the murderous plants.

  The potion Karl had poured caused mass decay of the grain and vegetables in a wide arc around him—except for Mýra’s killer vines. Kara’s black-amber potion, however, seemed to do nothing yet.

  “Can we breathe now?” Ratatoskr asked—then began choking.

  Karl’s head snapped toward him, horrified. The Trickster had turned into a vegetable. His fur was now green, his limbs resembled roots, and his face looked like a cabbage.

  Karl screamed and stumbled back from the monstrous sight.

  “Am I that hideous?” the Trickster asked. “I can’t be worse than you in the morning. And why is my Health going down?”

  Before Karl could answer, Mýra handed him what looked like a bandana and gestured for him to cover his face. She did the same for Kara. Karl instinctively wrapped it around his mouth and nose. Mýra didn’t bother—she seemed unaffected.

  “The potions are more powerful mixed than I realized,” she said. “You can breathe now, but don’t take that mask off unless you want to end up like the Trickster.”

  “Is this permanent?” the vegetable squirrel asked, leaping back onto Karl’s shoulder in disgust.

  “No,” Mýra said. “But we have bigger problems.”

  Magnus stood atop the palisade, a glowing green plow in hand, staring in horror at the corrupted fields. He looked like he might cry at the devastation—but then his expression hardened. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered. Then his eyes locked on Karl, blazing with fury.

  “You will be sorry,” he growled, leaping from the wall in a show of strength and crashing into the entangled vines and decay below.

  Though the sight was terrifying, Karl felt confident with Kara beside him and with Mýra and Glær at his side. But that confidence faded when Magnus released a long, piercing whistle. From behind him thundered dozens of enraged deer and bears, their eyes wide, pupils dilated like they were on berserker drugs.

  Their intent was clear—kill.

  Mýra moved first, commanding her black vines to ensnare the charging beasts. Some deer fell, strangled by thorns, while new tendrils rose from the soil to halt the oncoming bears. Glær charged forward, ramming his glowing antlers into a bear three times his size, piercing its hide while radiating his calming aura.

  “Start firing!” Kara shouted. She drew her Baldr-blessed sword and leapt into the chaos, slicing through the frenzied deer and blasting two others with her Baldr light beam. Each graceful strike restored Karl’s Health and Stamina by ten points.

  Magnus coordinated the animals with precision, his divine blessings fueling their frenzy.

  “I’m sorry, my furry friends,” Magnus said, tears mixing with rage as he charged Karl with his massive glowing plow.

  As much as Karl didn’t want to, he drew his Hököga Bow and nocked an icy arrow. Frost coated the arrowhead as he charged it for three seconds, boosting its damage by fifty percent. “Can you distract him?” he asked the Trickster.

  “Only if you accept my beauty for what it is,” the Trickster mocked, leaping from Karl’s shoulder. He darted through the deadly vines, a tendril lashing from his paw to slap Magnus across the face. The hulking man cursed and turned his fury toward Karl.

  Karl fired, activating his Dual Shot skill. At this distance, both arrows struck true, embedding into Magnus’s chainmail and increasing total damage by fifty points.

  Because Magnus was within range of one of Mýra’s potions—the same that had cursed the Trickster—his body began to resemble that of a plant. He cried out in agony, but the transformation only made him more terrifying, especially as he called down Freyr’s Healing Rain to restore his Health. Unfortunately, the rain was advanced enough to drain Karl’s life and feed it into Magnus instead.

  Health: 130/140

  Health: 120/140

  “Look out!” Kara shouted, shoving Karl out of the way just in time to spare him from a charging brown bear. The beast thundered past, trampling the spot where Karl had stood. Kara lunged to gut the bear, but two massive bucks rammed her aside with their combined strength. The bear turned back toward Karl, bellowing in rage.

  “Oh my god,” Karl thought as he scrambled backward. His divine blessings and enchanted speed activated, propelling him to his feet in a flash. He drew and fired another Dual Shot straight at the bear’s face. Both arrows struck, piercing its eyes and dropping it with a mighty roar.

  Strength (+10): lvl 11 (60/120)

  Wealth (+1): 7,318 Gold

  Glory (+20): 1,510

  Level: 32 (310/330)

  Focused on survival, Karl didn’t notice Magnus’s approach. The hulking man slammed his massive plowhammer into the ground less than a meter away. The shockwave sent Karl flying backward. Though he was now out of the Healing Rain’s range, the impact felt like being hit by a train.

  Health: 99/140

  “Why did you have to kill my plants?” Magnus growled, smacking Ratatoskr aside with his glowing plow.

  Mýra tried to stop him by summoning a black tendril from her potion, but Magnus was too fast. He twisted and smashed it into the dirt, pulverizing it. Then he retaliated, launching a tendril of his own from his hand. It wrapped around Mýra’s neck and yanked her toward him so he could choke her with one hand.

  “You’re supposed to be on my side,” Magnus said, his voice low and heavy with sorrow.

  Karl forced himself back to his feet. He was tempted to unleash his werewolf abilities, but resisted. Instead, he drew another arrow and activated Glacial Arrow. He was seconds from releasing it when Magnus turned, holding Mýra in front of him as a shield.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Magnus warned, raising his plowhammer toward her face. “If that’s a Glacial Arrow, it’ll kill her too. Her life is already feeding mine through the Healing Rain. You’d take us both out.”

  Karl kept the arrow drawn, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  “Don’t do it,” Kara said through the Pack Link. She was slicing through a pair of raging deer nearby, while Björn and the others fought Vikings at the far edge of the farmland. Karl couldn’t tell how they were faring, but he knew one thing—if Mýra died by his hand, Björn would challenge him to a fight to the death. And Karl wasn’t sure he would survive it.

  Magnus seemed to realize this. His eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “Then please forgive me,” he whispered, and his grip tightened around Mýra’s neck, crushing it like celery.

  Karl panicked and activated Urðr’s Vision.

  Time slowed. He had almost no Stamina left and knew he’d collapse when it ended. With no time to spare, he sprinted toward Magnus, tackling Mýra free from his grip while the world hung frozen. The two of them crashed to the ground on the other side of the field.

  As the final second of Urðr’s Vision faded, Karl turned from the ground and fired his Glacial Arrow. At the last moment, he shifted his aim from Magnus’s cabbage-like head to his feet.

  Time resumed. A massive ice explosion erupted around Magnus, engulfing him in frost.

  28

  I’M SORRY

  Magnus stood completely frozen in a block of ice.

  Karl’s Stamina was wiped out—something that would have been disastrous if not for Kara and Glær, who had already dealt with the rampaging herd of deer and bears. Before Magnus could break free of his icy prison, Karl shoved one of his Bloodmead Glaze Rolls into his mouth, restoring both Health and Stamina.

  Item: Bloodmead Glaze Roll — Restores +50 HP / +40 Stamina.

  Mýra lay gasping beside him, her neck bruised dark purple as her hands clawed at her throat for air. Karl froze in shock, helpless as the Huldra wheezed and struggled to breathe.

  “No, no, no,” Karl sputtered, scrambling to figure out how to help her. But he was no doctor. What was he supposed to do?

  Behind him, Magnus shattered free from his icy encasement, dropping his glowing green plowshare. Karl turned to see Kara already holding her flaming sword at his throat, the fire licking dangerously close.

  “Say the word,” Kara said.

  But one look at Magnus’s broken, sorrowful face erased any desire Karl had to kill him.

  “Just… hold him prisoner for now,” Karl said. His eyes fell to the plowshare lying in the dirt. He yanked it away from Magnus, stripping him of his weapon—but as he did, the weapon’s effects activated.

  Effect: Heavy attacks cause small shockwaves that sprout healing spores. Allies inside gain +5 HP/sec for 10s.

  Karl must not have noticed the spores earlier, but now they were his only idea. He slammed the plowshare into the soil beside Mýra’s face. Green spores burst into the air, surrounding her and beginning to heal her. Her breathing steadied slightly, but it wasn’t enough. Her throat looked completely crushed, and no magic seemed strong enough to repair it.

  Mýra noticed this too. She pointed desperately toward her satchel lying across the black, oozing ground. The Trickster—still half-covered in dirt—rushed to grab it and brought it to Karl.

  He dug through the satchel, pulling out several vials and tonics. One glowed gold, casting the same light as the Vikings who had been marked by Mýra’s potion earlier. When Karl held it up, Mýra nodded urgently. He uncorked it and poured the contents into her throat.

  Almost instantly, her bruising faded. The purple hue disappeared, and the cartilage in her throat reformed. She gasped for air, finally breathing freely again.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes full of gratitude, though her tone carried its usual guarded pride.

  “No problem,” Karl said, standing shakily. His legs trembled from exhaustion. He checked the potion, unsurprised to see it was a very intricate healing tonic that healed the most severe wounds.

  “They seem to have them on the run,” Kara said, nodding toward the battlefield. Björn and Egil were finishing off the remaining Vikings. Many of Viktor’s men had been turned into plants, easy targets for Karl’s warriors. Most were trapped by the black vines that had ensnared them and tore their flesh apart with sharp, angry swipes.

  But any sense of triumph vanished as Karl looked beyond the field. Dozens of villagers stood staring at the burning granaries and ruined crops. Children cried while mothers clutched them, weeping at the loss. Their bounty had been turned into a wasteland. The realization hit Karl hard—many of them would starve tonight.

  He turned toward Magnus, whose expression mirrored his own.

  “It was so beautiful,” Magnus said quietly, staring at the devastation. He shook his head, forcing back his anger. “Do whatever you want… just make it quick.”

  Kara’s eyes flicked to Karl, waiting for his decision. Glær snorted beside Magnus, also waiting.

  End it, Fenrir’s voice echoed in Karl’s mind. You’re finally free to rid yourself of your childhood enemies. If you let him live, he’ll only regrow this field for Viktor.

  Karl opened his mouth to speak, but the words refused to form. Magnus’s face held only sorrow as he gazed upon the ruins of his life’s work.

  Though Karl felt some satisfaction at striking a blow against Viktor and defeating another bully, the victory tasted hollow. War, he realized, only brought suffering to the innocent. It didn’t matter who fought—it always ended in tragedy for those caught nearby.

  Wisdom: lvl 2 (10/30)

  Glory (+20): 1,530

  Level (+1): 33 (0/340)

  Skill Points (+1): 1

  “Mýra, please—drug him and bind him with your vines,” Karl said, earning a snarl from Fenrir.

  Mýra looked at Karl with disgust but obeyed. She walked slowly and deliberately up to Magnus, sizing him up. Then she delivered a swift kick to his vegetable groin, which made a crunching sound like crushing lettuce, causing Magnus to double over in pain.

  “I’m only slightly curious what that felt like in plant form,” Ratatoskr said, still resembling a vegetable himself as he hopped back onto Karl’s shoulder. Karl shook his head.

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

  Honor (+200): 2,700

  Pack Link: lvl 3 — Requirements: Fight side by side in 10 battles. Progress: 5/8.

  As much as Karl felt better about not damning another soul, Björn did not share those feelings. The man was furious as he, Jarl Einarr, and Egil rejoined Karl and the others a few minutes later.

  “You’re going to let him live after all this?” Björn spat, pointing at Magnus, who was bound and unconscious on Glær’s back.

  “Yes,” Karl said, clearing his throat to sound more confident.

  “Why would we do such a stupid thing?” Björn demanded. “I would blood eagle him myself. At least then there would be some use for his blood!”

  His anger sparked murmurs from the surviving Vikings nearby. Karl glanced toward the starving villagers staring at the ruined fields. He wanted to defend himself, to explain—but Egil stepped forward and placed a hand on Karl’s shoulder.

  “Sometimes the path of mercy is more fruitful than wrath,” the poet said. “I’m sure our Jarl decided out of wisdom.” Before anyone could disagree, he quickly added. “We should return to Visby before Viktor and his crew arrive.”

  Björn grunted in frustration, then turned to storm off toward his horse, where Mýra stood waiting.

  “We could always sacrifice him later,” the Trickster chimed in happily. “I’m sure we could find another Skadi to help with that, as the Æsirbound still meet in their creepy little sanctuary at the edge of town. I feel like Vigfús might be a good choice, as I’m pretty sure he’s a member now; he might even make a tattoo of Magnus for you afterward!”

  “We’re not sacrificing him,” Karl said as everyone began to pack up to leave. Björn and Jarl Einarr led the way in looting the slain Vikings, but were halted from pillaging Viktor’s town as the remaining survivors closed the gates. There must have been dozens more Vikings inside, as archers—many divinely blessed—rushed to the palisade walls and unleashed volleys of arrows.

  A part of Karl wanted to satisfy his werewolf bloodlust, to charge in and destroy everything as a beast. But he knew that if he did, the innocent villagers—those now staring in horror at the ruined farmlands—would be caught in the slaughter. It wasn’t him, after all, or at least he hoped it wasn’t.

  Besides, Viktor could return at any moment thanks to his lightning-fast travel. It was best not to be caught in that.