Karl could barely sleep as he waited for the big day. They had packed through most of the night and then lay in bed holding each other for what felt like only a couple of hours.

  But Karl couldn’t stop thinking, no matter how hard he tried to sleep. He knew that if he could have gotten rest, he would have had a double life thanks to his Mark of Sæhrímnir tattoo, which would allow him to be revived in a spectral blast of bacon. But there was no getting even a wink of sleep tonight.

  He kept thinking about traveling on the open seas, something he wasn’t a huge fan of. There were a plethora of monsters all around Gotland. Karl was all too aware of the mythologies surrounding the seas and the rumors the Vikings whispered at the taverns. He didn’t feel afraid, just anticipatory, as if he knew something was coming. It was only Kara’s warm presence wrapped around him that helped him get a little bit of shut-eye.

  In the morning, the slave girls helped Karl and Kara gather their things and head down to the newly improved pier. While they got ready, one of the young male pages informed Karl that it would take a couple of hours to get the crew ready to go and all the supplies loaded up, so they had a little time to kill.

  Karl took advantage of this after eating a hearty breakfast with Kara and plenty of coffee to keep him awake by heading to the place he felt most familiar with—the kitchen. Sigrid had been working hard all morning to make sure they had plenty of dried fish, bread, and ale for the eight-to-twelve-hour trip from Gotland to Sweden.

  Karl had been bitten in the butt before, coming in unprepared for any sort of threat. He would not be this time.

  “You make me a snack?” Ratatoskr asked as he came bounding into the massive kitchen that had been dramatically upgraded after their big battle with Viktor.

  Kara was beside him, bursts of flour dusting her apron as she helped Karl prepare the traditional Hardtack base. “I don’t think this would go well in your engine stomach,” Karl said, smirking as they made the stiff dough. It felt like he was shaping clay more than kneading bread.

  Ratatoskr muttered something about farting methane in Karl’s face as he jumped away to gather whatever meal he could from the slave girls he usually picked on. As he did so, he had to avoid the kids who ran freely in and out of the hall and into the streets.

  Karl caught Kara’s eyes looking at the kids, and she was smiling. The sight—and the idea of becoming a parent with her—filled him with a deep joy he had never experienced before.

  Karl had just enough time to cook up this salty Hardtack dish thanks to his Andhrímnir’s Cookbook, which showed him exactly how to prepare it. It called for special lightning salt crystals that came from tide pools after a storm. Sigrid, who usually charged him extra for those rare ingredients, gave it to him free of charge for saving Visby twice from destruction. He crushed them with the handle of a butcher’s knife, causing little blue sparks to shoot through his fingers. Once ground, he rubbed them over his hands, then took the dough Kara had made and began kneading it, folding it thirteen times. Each time he folded the dough, he pressed more of the storm salt between the layers.

  After folding it, he cut each portion into ten equal squares. Once they were all organized, he and Kara laid them on a dry iron skillet sitting on the coals of one of the large hearths. Thanks to his godlike cooking skills, the outer crust turned pale gold in rapid time, and it sparkled with little lightning crackles under the surface. Once they were done, he and Kara brushed them all with a special salt glaze, their heads close together as they worked in harmony.

  “I think they’re done,” Karl said, beaming with pride when they finished the last square.

  Kara kissed him on his cheek as they stood overlooking their masterpiece in the kitchen.

  Item: Stormsalt Hardtack x10 (Dei) — Effects: +50% Max HP, +40% Damage vs Monsters, +30% Stamina Regen. Salt infuses your entire being so water refuses to touch you, allowing you to walk on wet decks without slipping and stay perfectly dry (don’t try swimming). Duration: 2 hours.

  His cooking had also improved, as had Kara’s, granting him more Health.

  Health (+20): lvl 11 (0/120)

  Health is now 160/160

  Glory (+60): 2,125

  Level: 37 (80/380)

  As Karl placed the last of the Stormsalt Hardtacks into his Dwarven Bag, his werewolf senses picked up on a sparkling plasma ball that erupted from the other side of the hall.

  “Hot potato, Karl!” the Trickster snickered. Karl was only able to dodge the plasma ball thanks to his divine speed.

  Kara did the same. The bluish-purplish plasma ball soared past them and slammed into a metal cauldron that Sigrid was cooking in for that day’s stew. It exploded upon impact, sending purplish plasma tendrils across the floor.

  “Are you insane?” Kara asked as they whipped their heads around to glare at Ratatoskr. “Just trying my new rune,” the Trickster said, scrambling toward them on his metal claws before jumping onto Karl’s shoulder.

  “What are you talking about?” Karl asked.

  “Do you remember your plasma ball rune fragments?” the Trickster said as the slave girls hurried past them to clean up his mess, with Karl apologizing to them.

  “Well, I found a dead elf while you guys were having your furry honeymoon, and I found another fragment. Tasted great, by the way. See?” He held up the completed plasma ball rune, which glowed with Viking symbols.

  Karl picked it up in his hand and examined the rune.

  Item: Plasma Ball Rune (Rare)

  Hurl a condensed plasma spike that explodes on impact, dealing AoE damage and burning the target for 5 HP/second for 6 seconds. Radius: 3m. Burn chance: 100%. Cooldown: 3 minutes. Glory Cost: 200

  “So you just stole from me?” Karl asked as he questionably gave it back to the Trickster, whom he did not trust with it.

  “Of course,” the squirrel said as he pocketed it into his back, where there seemed to be a slot to put the rune into. “I think it’s only fair, since you, you know, turned me into this metal machine,” he said, slapping his butt cheeks, which made a metallic grinding sound. “It’s kind of amazing, actually. I can fire acorns from my tail that explode, and now I can fire plasma ball runes as it fits into my butt.”

  Karl frowned, and Kara shook her head.

  “I’m making you regret turning me into this, aren’t I?” the Trickster said.

  “Slowly,” Karl said, as they helped clean up the mess the Trickster had made while the little creature snickered.

  With the snacks now made, Karl, Kara, and the Trickster said goodbye to Hof Visbýr, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time, but he never knew, given this was a crazy and dark world. They made their way from the Great Hall, only to be greeted by a huge crowd of all their villagers.

  Karl waved toward the Vikings and the kids running up, while the shieldmaidens came and encouraged Kara, many of them looking as if they had seen a famous K-pop star and were gushing over her; most of them had the same blue paint around their eyes that she had. They looked like brides who had been crying and ruined their makeup, which looked really beautiful on Kara. She was starting somewhat of a fashion trend here in Visby.

  Even the little girl Freya, whom Karl had healed of muteness, came running up to them as they walked through the procession of villagers cheering them on. She, too, had blue makeup around her eyes and a messy imitation of Kara.

  “You’ll be back and have all your babies here, right?” she asked with a heavy tone of seriousness. Kara laughed, and that made him flood with joy.

  “Of course, little one,” she said, cupping her hand over her face. “Just make sure you practice the sword drills I showed you.”

  “I promise,” she said, giving a toothy grin before looking at Karl and the Trickster. The squirrel shifted uneasily as the little girl looked up to Karl as if he were her father. “Please don’t let her die. I really like her,” she said before giving Karl a hug on his leg.

  Karl’s heart flickered with pain as he thought of Kara’s death, but he tried to play it off. “I’ll do my best,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a promise.

  The hundreds of Vikings surrounding them as they walked toward the pier all gave various shouts of encouragement. But it was all a blur to Karl as they approached the sleek longship that would take them across the Baltic to Sweden. As they approached the ship—which had a single mast and a square, black wool sail—Karl noticed it also had a giant sigil of a white elk.

  Karl frowned and chuckled with Kara as they saw Glær being hoisted up by Egil as he stood next to Thorstein and Sigrid.

  “Before you ask,” Egil said, “this was Glær’s idea.”

  Glær, his head being attached to the metal mount, shook his head bashfully but said nothing to deny it. Thorstein chuckled as he wrapped one of his Werebear arms around Sigrid.

  Björn and Mýra were there too as they waited at the foot of the wooden plank, where about twenty men were finishing the loading of tar and extra wool cloaks.

  And strangely, on the ship, carrying a leather satchel and waiting ominously, was Vigfús. The Viking tattooist kept his blond hair in a tight bun to showcase the numerous tattoos on his neck. His skin looked similar everywhere, as he had tattoos literally everywhere. Even on his eyeballs were Odin’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn.

  Karl frowned with confusion as he looked to Thorstein. “Is he coming with us?”

  Thorstein nodded. “Glær here was a bit worried that he couldn’t come with you,” he said, patting the white elk’s head, who hummed with appreciation. “At his request, he asked that you each get a tattoo over your hearts so he can keep an eye on you from afar.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet,” the Trickster said as he jumped up onto the glowing white antlers of Glær. “I’ve always wanted a tramp stamp.”

  Kara smiled as she approached Glær and held his face in her hands. “I promise we’ll be safe,” she said, resting her nose against his. Glær rolled his eyes as if he didn’t believe it, but he nestled against her anyway.

  Karl realized that this was going to be the first time in this life that Glær would be without Kara.

  “It should be a fun tattoo,” Björn said as he handed a paper to Karl, which had the details of the tattoo along with what the design would look like. He instantly noticed Mýra’s penmanship, which he wasn’t surprised to see, as she had a special soft spot for Glær and all animals.

  Tattoo: Glær’s Guiding Antlers

  Location: Over the heart; Glær’s head pointing up, antlers branching toward the collarbones.

  Enchantment: Allies with this tattoo appear as glowing antler-icons on your internal parchment-map. Range: Unlimited.

  Drawback: When an ally drops below 50% HP, you suffer −10% Accuracy for 10 seconds. When Kara drops below 50% HP, you suffer −25% Accuracy.

  Cost: 2,000 Gold

  “To save time,” Egil said, “he’ll be tattooing you on the journey.” Karl didn’t argue as Hvitserk, who was already on the ship helping the crew get everything ready, looked anxious to go back to Sweden.

  They had no idea how long the fractured unity would hold, so they needed to get back right away.

  Even Knut was there—the former werewolf/blacksmith’s son—staring at them with dark eyes. His arms were folded as he nodded toward what looked like the rainbow engine attached to the back of the longship, a reward for defeating Viktor and his bullies.

  “The wind and any storm you might encounter will help you go faster,” Knut said as he looked at his craftsmanship. “I hope you like rainbows.” Karl smiled and thanked the blacksmith.

  As Karl and his friends got onto the ship—which hosted about thirty people now, including one steersman, one navigator, a helmsman, four rowers, two sail handlers, ten warriors, a cook, and a lookout—Karl, Kara, and the Trickster, along with Björn and Mýra, stood at the edge of the ship as several Æsirbound-priests came up and blessed the ship.

  Karl winced and salivated as the priests slit the throats of several roosters and sprinkled the blood onto the longship, along with making an invocation of Njörd, the god of seafaring, and performing a litany of magical rituals while delivering them little shrines of the gods, including Ullr.

  As they blessed their travel, Karl eyed the navigator—who was known as Loddsagi—and the rest of the crew, who were all blessed by Njörd. He remembered the System blessings that would be granted to them, which meant there was a good chance they would get to Sweden in half the time, which was nice, as Karl was not looking forward to sea travel.

  But as he recalled the blessings, the System brought up the negative effects of having Njörd-blessed, which he could only hope would not become true.

  Blessings of Njörd

  Trade Wind’s Grace: Summon a favorable wind to speed up your travel on ships by 50%. Gain a 5% chance to uncover hidden treasures when exploring near coasts or seabeds.

  Vengeful Seas: During naval travel, there is a 10% increased chance of encountering storms or sea monsters. You also develop a deep unease when away from the sea, reducing Stamina regeneration by 15% in landlocked regions.

  “We’ll be fine,” Karl told himself, as he tried not to think about the increased chances of seeing sea monsters with so many Njörd-blessed on board. He forced himself to think of his standing with the archery god, Ullr; he’d been so distracted with dying that he hadn’t really progressed much in his divine blessings. Maybe in Sweden, he could.

  Once the priests had finished, it was time to sail away.

  It became almost impossible to hear what Thorstein was saying as everyone cheered and celebrated their Jarl’s departure to unite the Vikings in a great battle against King Arthur. But Karl could pick up on what the Werebear was saying thanks to his werewolf senses.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” the grizzly Werebear said as he squeezed Sigrid tight to him.

  “Keep her safe,” Sigrid said, eyeing Karl with a motherly look that made it seem like she would beat him if he did not.

  Glær said nothing but gave them an extra glowing peace that waved over them from his antlers. Although he looked longingly at Kara and would probably not feel peace until he had their tattoo locations over their hearts.

  “Oh, and if you get the chance,” Egil said as the ship kicked off among the thunderous applause, “bring me back some Skallgends from Sweden!”

  “We’ll try,” Karl said as he waved.

  And just like that, Visby disappeared as the four rowers began pulling the ship away from the dock, sending them to lands unknown.

  4

  KRAKEN CALAMARI

  Rainbow vomit spewed from Karl’s lips as he hung over the longship railing. Every time the glittering puke burst from his trembling lips, he regretted the unicorns he ate, which cursed him with this effect.

  “You really have a weak stomach, Karl,” Björn said as he leaned next to him, his muscular forearms crossed.

  Karl shook his head as he wiped the glittering bile from his lips. “I prefer the land,” he said, before turning around to the crew, all of whom quickly looked away to spare their Jarl embarrassment.

  The wintry waters were rough as the wind kept sending large waves slapping against the hull of the ship. Karl couldn’t help but think of the curse of Njörd, which the helmsman and crew were inevitably bringing on, even though they were gaining a favorable wind to speed up their travel time.

  “We should be there in about four hours, my Jarl,” the helmsman Stiri said, a squat man with almost as many tattoos as Vigfús. “Thanks to your Bifrost Reactor there, we shaved off a couple of hours.”

  Karl looked at the strange rune-enhanced reactor that spat a long trail of rainbow behind the longship. It allowed the rowers to withdraw their oars, letting the sail and the wind power it.

  “Maybe you need some salt to help wash it down,” the Trickster said as he crunched into one of Karl’s Stormsalt Hardtacks while dancing on the railing.

  “Keep away,” Karl said, frustrated as he snatched the sack of snacks from the squirrel. “You can’t even eat those anyway. Isn’t salt bad on metal?”

  The Trickster replied with a methane fart that creaked from his butt cheeks before scampering away.

  Karl sighed as he turned his gaze back to Vigfús. The man was finishing the Glær tattoo over Kara’s breast, which was thankfully covered from the rest of the men; they seemed a little too eager to see her get her tattoo.

  Mýra was not so prude. She was used to the more seductive nature of her former Huldra self. Karl looked away, though, doing his best to keep his eyes only for Kara.

  Björn likewise got his, and even the Trickster, though the little squirrel was defiant about receiving it. Karl and Björn had to hold the squirrel down so Vigfús could ink a small section over his chest.

  “I don’t want the tramp stamp!” Ratatoskr emphasized for the fiftieth time, squirming beneath Karl’s hands.

  “Keep him still,” Vigfús muttered in annoyance.

  “It’ll be good for you,” Karl said with a smirk, doing his best not to breathe in the foul gas the Trickster was emitting on purpose.

  Karl took his turn last to receive Glær’s Guiding Antlers over his left breast. His defined pecs glinted in the morning light as Vigfús jabbed the blue ink into his chest. Thankfully, it was not as bad as Sleipnir’s Stride over his calves; it was just one location and not two. But still, as Vigfús drew the antlers over the collarbones, the needle dug into bone, making Karl wince in pain.

  “I don’t see how you like this,” Karl said as he gritted his teeth, his Moonlight Meter jumping up. He had to keep calm, steady breaths so he wouldn’t burst into a werewolf and accidentally slaughter the tattooist.

  “Once you get one,” Vigfús said, “it’s hard to stop.”