Bifrost Arrival: 20:35:03

  The other Jarls had already heard that Karl had wiped out the rest of the Blessed Bastards—save for Viktor—and that the final battle would come later that day. Word had also spread about Glær’s death and how Karl, in his wisdom, was preparing both an epic feast and a ritual to bring her back to life. Spirits were high, thanks in part to Egil’s poetic retelling of their victories.

  “Does everything have to be a poem?” the Trickster asked after Egil finished his tale of how Karl and his friends had taken down the Bastards and prepared for their showdown with Viktor.

  “No,” Egil said, crossing his arms as they stood at the archway leading out of Hof Visbýr. “It just sounds better that way. And as Karl likes to say, it’s cooler.”

  “Karl likes to say a lot of dumb things,” the Trickster muttered.

  Karl chuckled at that as he and Kara sat together on a wooden bench. She leaned against his shoulder while they watched the long rows of fire pits where Sigrid and her helpers were frantically preparing food and drink for hundreds of soldiers.

  As terrified as Karl was of the coming battle, he felt a strange peace with Kara by his side. Without her, he might have run away. She was steady as a boulder amid a storm, even as they prepared to face a god.

  The warmth of the fires and the hum of the hall lulled him to sleep. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest, but as he drifted off, he noticed the Trickster had left his Pearl of Still Waters beside them, pulsing waves of calm like some magical radio.

  When Karl woke a few hours later, he felt slightly better than before. But then it hit him: he couldn’t be revived this time. His bacon tattoo had already been used in his last battle with Viktor. Without a full rest, he was on his last life.

  Let’s not think about that, Karl thought, pushing the dread down. He lifted his head from the bench, wood grain marks etched across his cheek.

  Kara was still asleep beside him, her brow furrowed as if caught in a dark dream. Karl hesitated, aware of the slave girls bustling about with dishes and ingredients under Sigrid’s sharp commands.

  He wanted badly to reach into Kara’s thoughts to see what troubled her—but he stopped himself. It would be dishonorable. Instead, he leaned down and carefully scooped her into his arms.

  Thanks to his increased strength, she was light to him, his muscles rippling as he held her. She looked peaceful despite her exhaustion as he carried her to the back of the hall, where his bedroom waited. Lying her down on the fur bed, he smiled and tucked her in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

  She was still wearing her armor, though now it gleamed. Karl realized she must have cleaned it earlier while they were talking with the others.

  She must’ve used my Nøkk’s Hand Soap, he thought with a small smile. Even amid chaos, she had found time to polish her armor.

  Karl left Kara behind, the image of her sleeping softly lingering in his mind and filling him with quiet happiness.

  As he stepped out of his room, the great hall was alive with motion. Dozens of cooks crowded the space, using every available table and counter. He assumed the tavern was just as full, all of them preparing for the massive feast ahead. Pulling up his Visby system stats, Karl checked on the state of his town.

  Resources

  Population: 312

  Happiness: 48%

  Morale: 30% (Mourning Glær)

  Food Stores: 52/100 (Magnus + Terraced Fields producing +30/day)

  Wood: 0

  Stone: 0

  Iron: 0

  Gold: 0

  Man, that morale took a huge blow, he thought as he scanned the numbers. Glær’s death had left its mark, even with Egil recanting his encouraging poems.

  System Message: “Health and Stamina regeneration decreased by 50% for all Visbians.”

  Karl frowned at the glowing message. “What would happen if we brought Glær back to life?” he asked aloud.

  System Message: “Health and Stamina regeneration doubled under the blessing of their new god.”

  He sighed, tapping his foot against the wooden floor as he stared at the red text before him.

  Your people are fickle, Fenrir said in his mind. They worship a weak elk god that could be killed.

  Don’t forget that I killed you, Karl thought back.

  Barely, Fenrir replied. You could lead them through fear instead. Embrace your true potential. If you had spent your time strengthening me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Karl thought of Solar Eclipse—his final ability. He could have darkened the battlefield and increased his Health, Stamina, speed, and strength, becoming unstoppable—devouring all who threatened Visby.

  But then he remembered the cost. The boy and his family he had nearly killed. The innocents who had died when his hunger took over.

  He couldn’t become like Viktor, destroying everything in his path without remorse. He thought of Kara tearing through the Vikings to reach Viktor—all those men had families, friends, dreams. They had already died once, only to be torn apart again in this brutal world.

  That’s what Karl would become if he gave in: another ruthless tyrant, throwing lives into the meat grinder for victory. He couldn’t trust the rage that came with Fenrir’s power. It would make him kill indiscriminately, as his people’s flesh restored his strength just as much as his enemies’.

  Karl grimaced and shook the thought away. There was only one thing that could bring him peace.

  Cooking.

  He walked into the kitchens and grabbed a Skyberry Tart left out from the previous day, shoving it into his mouth. The sugar and Stamina boost hit instantly.

  Sigrid was a whirlwind of red hair and sweat, juggling five dishes at once as she barked orders at Thorstein and a dozen slave girls.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” she snapped, voice sharp with exhaustion.

  Karl chuckled.

  “We’ve got a feast for hundreds to prepare! I need every hand I can get! Jarl or not, get your butt in the kitchen!”

  Karl smiled as he joined the chaos. It felt good to be back in the kitchen again, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time.

  Sigrid had the other slave girls and several visiting chefs from the Jarls working with the Visbians, preparing a massive variety of food. Many baked honey bread, others made frost-enhanced blood pudding, and some carved jerky from sea serpent muscle.

  There was also, of course, plenty of ale.

  Karl wanted to accomplish two things with his time in the kitchen: create a feast large enough to give his people and friends a buff against lightning damage, and make something that actually tasted good.

  He summoned Andhrímnir’s Cookbook and flipped through its endless pages of recipes. Several “Feasts of Yggdrasil’s Root” caught his eye, but one stood out more than the rest—a dish called Stormbreaker Stew, a legendary meal made from reindeer heart, charred leek, and thick broth. It could feed dozens, even hundreds, if he had enough help. The recipe promised +50 Health, +40 Stamina, and +60% Lightning Resistance. However, it required Cooking Level 10.

  Karl was only Level 9.

  If he reached Level 10—becoming a god-tier chef—the stew’s lightning resistance would last the entire battle, a potential game-changer. He checked his stats.

  Health: lvl 9 (30/100)

  I only need seven more hours, Karl thought as he flipped through the pages again. They had all day, and this stew would take time anyway. If he cooked for seven hours, he could hit Level 10 and craft this godlike meal. Any advantage, however small, could help against Viktor. Besides, his stomach was growling—he hadn’t eaten much in over a day, too focused on taking down the Blessed Bastards.

  Even though the stew would feed hundreds, he could have eaten the whole thing himself.

  After giving Sigrid a quick word, she ordered her servants to gather ingredients. They would need constant deliveries, and it would cost plenty.

  “This is probably going to cost two thousand gold,” Sigrid said, glancing at Karl’s long ingredient list.

  “That’s fine,” Karl replied, handing her a pouch of coins, the pain of which was softened slightly by his income from his tavern.

  Wealth (–2,000, +110): 10,585 Gold

  He activated his Nøkk’s Hand Soap, scrubbing until his hands sparkled clean. Then he shared the recipe list with everyone nearby who wasn’t already busy. Thorstein, whom Sigrid was leaning on nearby, gave him an approving nod.

  “You’re thinking like a Jarl,” Thorstein said.

  “You’re only saying that because you’re hungry,” Karl replied, earning a laugh from the Werebear.

  As a steady stream of ingredients came in, Karl took charge, showing the slave girls how he wanted things prepared.

  “Prep them like this,” Karl said, grabbing an iron root. The gnarled, gray tuber was almost rock-hard. He scooped up a handful of snow and scrubbed the dirt from it, then placed it on the cutting board and sliced it into thin coins. Once laid flat on the stone near the hearth, he smashed them into coarse shavings.

  He sprinkled powdered amber into a mortar and pestle. “This helps with lightning resistance,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the pungent scent. The slave girls giggled but got to work following his example.

  The smell in the kitchen brightened when the reindeer hearts arrived by the dozen a little bit later. Fat, heavy, and dark, they thudded onto the table beside him. Karl restrained himself from eating one raw. He had to clench his teeth as he began cutting away the veins and fat while the others prepped more iron root and amber powder. Then he sliced the hearts into thick strips, then cubes, seasoning them with coarse salt and pepper.

  His throat burned with hunger the entire time.

  The Trickster scurried in, climbed onto Karl’s shoulder, and snatched a cube of meat to eat.

  “I’m trying to cook here,” Karl grunted.

  “Oh, but you want one too, don’t you?” the Trickster teased, dangling another piece.

  Karl snapped at it and ate it whole.

  “Oh my gosh!” the Trickster said, jumping back.

  “Don’t tease a wolf,” Karl said with a grin.

  The Trickster proved a constant nuisance as Karl chopped through heart after heart and prepped the leeks for charring. Hours passed. The Trickster’s nervous energy grew until he had eaten nearly a dozen blood puddings, earning a sharp scolding from Sigrid, who nearly struck him with a rolling pin.

  “Looks like you’re stress-eating,” Karl said, removing a batch of charred leeks from the grill.

  “I’m not,” the Trickster said—but Karl could feel the lie.

  “It’s about the hawk, isn’t it?” Karl asked.

  The Trickster froze, eyes wide. “I mean, out of all the things to give Viktor,” he muttered, “he’s giving him that? As a nuclear bomb? Could it not have just been an actual nuclear bomb instead of… him?”

  Karl chuckled darkly, but the Trickster looked at him seriously. “Anything to not relive that,” he said.

  Karl nodded. “I’ll need you to keep your head cool. Can you do that for me?”

  “As long as I get a fifth of the stew,” the Trickster said, nodding toward the dozens of cauldrons sprawled across Hof Visbýr’s hearth.

  “The stew pots are literally bigger than you,” Karl said, shaking his head as he dropped chunks of reindeer fat and tallow into the warm cauldrons hanging over the fires. The fat began to melt and sizzle immediately.

  He and the slave girls chopped garlic and juniper berries, tossing them in with generous pours of beer and bone broth. Soon, the hall filled with the rich, savory aroma.

  He made sure the heat stayed low and steady, adding the iron root shavings and powdered amber. The mixture crackled faintly, like captured lightning. The broth thickened as the magical ingredients blended. Karl moved from pot to pot, keeping everything on track.

  And like so many times before, this constant cooking gave him peace. He felt at home, though he couldn’t remember what that was like.

  With a warm realization, he understood that this was his home. Here, in Visby. With all of its terrors and idiosyncrasies. He smiled at the thought.

  After a few hours of getting every stew pot exactly the way he wanted it, he finally added the charred leeks.

  Thorstein limped over, sniffing the air. “Smells good,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Karl replied, watching the Trickster nervously dart between the hearths, trying to snatch any scraps the slave girls dropped.

  Thorstein grabbed one of the ladles and helped Karl stir, his snout wrinkling with approval as he kept the pot moving.

  “For a first-time Jarl, you’re doing pretty well,” Thorstein said with a warm smile.

  “I don’t feel that way,” Karl replied, frowning as he stirred. The stew was almost ready—just a few more minutes.

  “You know,” Thorstein said, “I’ve known many leaders in my time. There are always the average men who fill the gaps between those who are great or terrible.” He stirred thoughtfully. “They usually never face anything truly challenging. And if they do, they run—or are replaced by someone stronger.”

  Karl grimaced, thinking Thorstein was about to call him one of those placeholders, destined to be replaced by someone like Viktor.

  “But you didn’t run,” Thorstein continued. “You chose to stand defiant against your nemesis, even when it feels impossible.”

  He lifted the ladle to his mouth, took a sip, and hummed in pleasure before setting it back into the broth—completely unsanitary, but Karl let it slide. The Vikings always shared the same bowl of water to spit into and clean their hands anyway before meals.

  “It’s funny,” Thorstein said, watching the simmering stew. “Danger seems to gravitate toward you, no matter where you are. Whether you’re at home or here, it follows you. Yet you are no coward.”

  He looked at Karl, his face beaming with pride. “You faced Fenrir like a man—and for the most part, you’ve kept him at bay. I know it’s not easy to hold back the monster within. It’s a daily battle. A beast you must wrestle every second of your life. But it gets easier. You do grow stronger.”

  “Thanks,” Karl said with a small smile. Still, the words about danger following him lingered. His mind spun with thoughts on how to strengthen their defenses against Viktor. How were they supposed to survive a full lightning barrage?

  “Hey,” Karl said suddenly, catching Thorstein’s attention. “What did that Roman spear do again?”

  “The wooden splinter?” Thorstein asked, chuckling. “It is… strange. I think the system counted it as a gift for keeping you alive. The only real property it has is that in battle, it draws attacks toward itself, so the user isn’t hit. Like a magnet.”

  Karl frowned, remembering the weird enchantment now. “So it attracts lightning, too?”

  Thorstein hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Hmm,” Karl muttered, thinking fast. He reached for a parchment and began sketching an idea, his eyes darting toward the Damascus steel and Dwarven forges Mýra had left behind on the table.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Sigrid barked, glaring at him for abandoning the pot.

  “You’ve got something, don’t you?” Kara asked, noticing the paper in his hand as she lumbered out of his room, her blonde hair a mess from just waking up.

  Karl nodded, his heart flashing with delight in seeing her, along with the excitement of his new idea taking root.

  “At least finish the stew first,” Sigrid said, hurrying over to inspect his work. “At least finish the stew first,” Sigrid said, hurrying over to inspect his work.

  Karl cursed, almost forgetting to increase his Cooking skill to make the dish god tiered. Kara weakly smiled but joined his side.

  It surprised him that seven hours had passed already; it was faster than he expected. Thankfully, his Health increased thanks to his hard work.

  Health (+70): lvl 10 (0/110)

  Health is now 150/150

  Glory (+160): 1,910

  Level (+1): 35 (50/360)

  Skill Points (+1): 3

  Without hesitation, he spent a Skill Point to max out his cooking.

  Skill Points (-1): 2

  Cooking (+1): lvl 10

  Unlocks rare recipes using foraged or hunted ingredients. Meals provide stronger buffs (+15% to all buffs).

  Buff duration from meals increased by 50%. Reduces cooking time by 25%.

  Unlocks “feast recipes” that can buff an entire group (e.g., +5% group damage for 15 minutes). Can identify and neutralize spoiled or toxic ingredients, preventing poisoning.

  Meals restore large amounts of Health and Stamina (+40 HP, +30 Stamina). Unlocks recipes for “specialty dishes” with powerful buffs, like temporary resistance to cold or poison.

  Meals have a 50% chance to grant critical effects, boosting buffs by an additional +10%.

  Unlocks epic recipes that combine food with magical or rare properties. Meals can grant unique buffs, such as increased XP gain (+10%) or faster Stamina regeneration.

  Can prepare legendary feasts that grant powerful buffs for extended durations (e.g., +25% damage, +20% movement speed for 30 minutes). Can “flavor infuse” dishes to provide unique effects based on ingredients, such as fire resistance or enhanced night vision.

  Meals gain divine potency, granting +50% to all buff effects and +100% duration. Each dish has a 25% chance to become “Blessed,” permanently increasing one random Attribute by +1.

  Satisfied, Karl finished making the stew, which then qualified its effects to be truly divine.

  Sigrid nodded in approval as Karl stepped back. She took the ladle and sipped the broth. For a moment, Karl feared he’d ruined it—until her eyebrows relaxed.