“It’s good,” she said. That was totally an understatement. When Karl inspected it, the stew told another story.

  Item: Stormbreaker Stew (Legendary) — Restores +150 Health, +100 Stamina. Grants +60% Lightning Resistance for 24 hours. When consumed during battle, 25% Movement Speed to all allies within a 30-foot radius for 10 minutes.

  He was a god-level chef. Finally.

  Even the System acknowledged it.

  Title: Protector of Visby, God-Tiered Chef, Mythological Serial Killer, Viking Raider, Troll Hunter, Dwarf Exterminator, Unicorn Slayer, Brokkenator

  “This will definitely help,” Karl said, overcome with satisfaction at his mastery, especially with the added increase in his satiation and Health regeneration buffs and the lessening of vomiting rainbows, which was always a plus:

  Effect: +10% Stealth in dark areas or forests. Each kill results in 20% Satiation and adds +5% Health Regen per second for 5 seconds. Animals and lesser monsters won’t attack unless provoked or under magical influence. Chance to find +10% extra gold from humanoid corpses, and receive 1 Gold for every kill. Reduced prices for goods and services in Visby by 50%, improved reputation. 5% chance to vomit a stream of rainbow sparkles after any meal. Dwarves and machines drop 1-2 ingots per kill.

  But with mastery came another realization: the time was near for the feast/ritual, which meant the end was almost here.

  “I’ll be back to help,” Karl said, taking Kara’s hand and grabbing the ingots from the table as they left Hof Visbýr—ignoring Sigrid’s shout behind him as they hurried out.

  There was still a chance to save them after all, though they were running out of time.

  38

  RAINBOW PARTY

  “You want to run around with a kite?” Kara exclaimed as they dashed through Visby’s very lively streets, jam-packed with people.

  “No, not a kite,” Karl said, as the Trickster snickered on his shoulder. “It’s just what he did.”

  “So your grand plan is to try to get shocked by Viktor’s lightning?” the Trickster said.

  Karl scowled. “You know who I’m talking about,” he said.

  He ignored the rest of the Trickster’s antics as they raced to Knut’s blacksmithing house. Hakon’s son was there, staring at his dimly lit forge. The blacksmith’s son looked almost vacant as he stared into the fire, but his eyes perked up as Kara, Karl, and the Trickster rushed in.

  “I already finished it,” Knut said.

  “What are you talking about?” Karl asked as he caught his breath.

  “The mount for—” Knut began, then his eyes met Kara’s, and he saw how weary she looked. “Never mind,” Knut said. “How can I help you?”

  “Here,” Karl said, dumping out the fourteen Elven Steel ingots and the ten Damascus Steel ingots.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Knut asked, leaning forward to look at the ingots on his workbench.

  “Hold on,” Karl said, withdrawing the wooden Roman spear from his inventory.

  They had found it exactly where Thorstein had said it was. It had been tied to the outer palisade, apparently a novelty to the guards that patrolled it thanks to the weird Roman symbols on its shaft.

  Item: Roman Splinter — 100% guaranteed to redirect any attacks toward the spear to help you die faster. No dodging allowed.

  As Karl handed him the spear, Knut frowned. “This is one of the worst weapons I’ve ever seen.”

  “I know,” Kara said, rolling her eyes with a hint of levity despite the heavy burden of losing Glær.

  “It’s not about that,” Karl said. “Can you melt these down?” He pointed to the ingots. “I want to make this spear a conductor.”

  “A conductor?” Knut said, grabbing one of the ingots and turning it over in his hand.

  “For when Viktor and his men come,” Karl said, explaining. “Right now, this wood can really only absorb incoming attacks. So, say you tried to attack me—it would almost assuredly strike this wooden spear. But you see the durability?”

  Knut set the ingot down and lifted the spear closer. “It’s only 50 out of 50 for durability,” Knut said.

  “Exactly,” Karl said. “And it’s not going to attract any lightning, since it’s made of wood.”

  “We’ve got a genius over here,” the Trickster said as he jumped off Karl’s shoulder, probably to find something to eat in the blacksmith’s house.

  “But,” Karl said, “if you melt down those ingots and apply them to the spear, and we place it on top of Hof Visbýr, it will become a magnet to all the lightning strikes coming in.”

  “A magnet?” Knut asked.

  “Never mind,” Karl said, sighing. “Can you do this for me in the next hour or so?”

  “You really think this is going to work?” Knut asked, setting the spear on the ground as he stood to inspect it further.

  Kara folded her arms as she stared at the spear, but he could tell her mind was worried, too. There was a small chance that Glær could come back, though it was not definitive.

  Everything they were banking on seemed to be built on small glimpses of hope.

  “It’s what we’ve got,” Karl said, his shoulders dropping.

  “I’ll do my best to have it finished,” Knut said. Then, as his eyes lifted to Karl, they softened. “For my father,” he said quietly.

  He reached out his hand for Karl’s, and Karl returned the gesture, the two of them clasping arms.

  “And one more thing,” Karl said.

  “Yes?” Knut asked as the two of them broke from the grasp.

  “I don’t want all this lightning staying up here,” Karl said. “I feel like that would be a waste of energy.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Knut asked, crossing his burly arms.

  “I’m going to need you to make a lot of chains,” Karl said. “And by a lot, I mean one very long chain that connects to the palisade.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not for their wedding,” the Trickster said as he emerged from Knut’s home with what looked like an old piece of bread in his mouth.

  “Hey, are you eating my food?” Knut shouted, his face burning with anger.

  “There wasn’t much left,” the Trickster said, standing up to slap Knut’s calves. “You need to eat more. You’re looking a bit thin.”

  Karl cracked a small smile at that. “Those Dwarven runes on the wall,” Karl said. “I checked them as I was retrieving the spear. They act as modifiers for the wall’s defenses, accepting any magical essence. If it’s filled with frost abilities, the walls become like ice—dealing ice damage. And if lightning—” Karl nodded toward the spear.

  “Ah, I see,” Knut said. “That’s going to take a lot of steel, though—much more than I have here.”

  “Oh, Karl can pay,” the Trickster said, leaping back onto Karl’s shoulder. “Here you go.” He tossed Karl’s entire pouch of gold at Knut.

  “I’ll give you the squirrel too,” Karl said, taking the pouch back and handing over the exact amount Knut asked for.

  “I thought you were against slavery,” the Trickster muttered, scowling.

  Even with Karl’s 20% shop discount—thanks to his high Honor—it still cost him a fortune.

  Wealth (–1,500): 10,085

  “I should have it done by then,” Knut said, though his expression showed how overwhelmed he felt by the massive task.

  “I’ll help him,” Kara said, her eyes flickering toward Karl’s.

  Karl hesitated. He wanted to be there for her, but he knew that keeping her busy—just as cooking had helped him—would be better than letting her feel useless.

  Karl and Kara stepped a few paces away from Knut and pressed their foreheads together.

  “We’re going to make it,” Karl whispered.

  Kara’s eyes brightened as she stared into his. “Where’s the boy I once found hiding in the woods?” she asked.

  Karl followed her question with a quick kiss. For a moment, it was heaven.

  “It seems like no matter the time of day, or the monsters we face, or the gods that try to kill us, you always find a way to make out,” the Trickster said, huffing in disgust from Karl’s shoulder.

  Karl and Kara both snorted lightly before kissing once more.

  “Do you really think this is going to work, big guy?” the Trickster asked as Karl returned to the feast to help set the tables and check on Mýra’s progress.

  “It has to,” Karl said, glancing toward the sky.

  For the first time, he noticed the Bifrost shimmering in the sunlight. The long stretch of rainbow road was descending from the heavens, vanishing at a fine point somewhere thousands of meters away—but it was getting closer.

  It wouldn’t be long before it touched down in Gotland, even though it looked no larger than Karl’s thumb in the sky.

  Bifrost Arrival: 13:12:28

  They found Mýra, Björn, and Egil inside Björn’s longhouse, a stone’s throw from Hof Visbýr. It was modest but freshly spruced up thanks to Mýra’s frequent stays—garlands hung above the doorways, and even the small pigpen outside was wrapped in vines and flowers. It had clearly been touched by a woman’s care.

  “How’s everything going?” Karl asked as he stepped inside.

  Glær’s head lay still on the table, eyes turned upward. Mýra’s hands were covered in blood, and papers were scattered across the room. Björn stood with his arms crossed, face twisted like he was about to be sick. Egil was furiously scribbling notes.

  “I’ve got everything situated,” Mýra said, nodding toward Glær’s head. “The hearts are in place, and I’ve applied the salves and ointments to help keep everything from… falling out.”

  Björn looked like he might turn green.

  Karl noticed a few words on Egil’s frantic notes—the title read Frankenglær.

  “You must tell me more about this Frankenstein story,” Egil said, not looking up. “I must know how it ends.”

  “If we survive, I will.” Then, he turned to Björn. “Has everyone attuned to Freyr’s Blessing?”

  Björn nodded, looking away from Glær’s head. “It was the first thing we did last night—or, well, this morning.”

  Satisfied that the plan was progressing, Karl explained the lightning conductor spear.

  “We’re still going to have to fight our way through it,” Björn said, clearly unconvinced.

  “It beats having hundreds of Thor-blessed flying over Visby with a lightning god behind them,” Karl said.

  “Either way, morale will be important,” Björn added, forcing himself to look at Glær’s head.

  “He’ll come back alive,” Mýra said firmly.

  “If he doesn’t,” Björn warned, “then our men will break ranks. We need to keep morale high.”

  “How much more time do you need?” Karl asked.

  “Just one more hour,” she said.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Björn said, putting a hand on Karl’s back and quickly ushering him and the Trickster outside—likely desperate for fresh air after the stench inside the longhouse.

  “Do you have any plans for how we’re going to stop Viktor from completing his tenth quest?” Björn asked.

  “No idea, honestly,” Karl said as they weaved between the villagers crowding around, eager to see what was happening with Glær at Björn’s longhouse.

  Karl’s presence pushed them back slightly, but they still strained to catch a glimpse of their fallen god.

  The two men looked back up at the rainbow road descending from above.

  “We’ll be at a severe disadvantage,” Björn said, his neck craned up. “If we fall, that’s a long way down.”

  “I know,” Karl said, already feeling the fear in his gut. He wasn’t fond of heights.

  “Luckily, my Bifrost power still works—even with that coming down,” Björn said, summoning a small thread of the rainbow bridge in his hand as a demonstration. It shimmered briefly before he dispelled it. “There’s no guarantee I can catch you if you fall—or if one of us does—but it’s something.”

  Karl took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the descending rainbow. He’d been so focused on defending Visby and protecting his people that he hadn’t yet considered how to defeat Viktor.

  “All we have to do is keep him from defeating Thor,” Karl said.

  “Sounds easy,” the Trickster muttered. It definitely did not. “What could go wrong?”

  An hour later, the Visbians were practically falling over themselves to see Glær paraded through the streets. Even though Glær was dead and mounted on a metal frame—which Karl realized Knut had crafted earlier at Mýra’s request—everyone seemed ecstatic to see their god half-brought back to life.

  Though Glær was still very much dead, his presence alone seemed to uplift the people. Karl checked the Visby stats, and sure enough, morale was rising as they watched their god lifted high and paraded before them. Children ran through the festival, laughing between slave girls who carried out steaming pots of stew.

  Karl and Kara guided Glær’s mount in what they expected to be a solemn procession, but the crowd had other plans. Flower petals burst into the air alongside coins, and fruit was even thrown before them. The Trickster dropped down to snatch up food and coins before leaping back onto Karl’s shoulder, but no one seemed to mind. Through their Pack Link, Karl could sense Kara’s unease—her fear that it wouldn’t work.

  To lift spirits, they gathered at Hof Visbýr, where the Jarls took their seats while hundreds of warriors and families crowded around long outdoor tables. Despite the winter cold, the bubbling Stormbreaker Stew, the blood puddings, endless bread, and flowing ale kept everyone warm.

  The warriors roared and raised their mugs when Karl and Kara entered the hall. They set Glær’s body before the long hearth dividing the room, and the two of them sat at the head table as usual.

  They dug into the reindeer stew Karl had made. It was delicious, and everyone—from the lesser Jarls to Sigrid herself—praised the meal, especially its resistance to lightning. Karl forced himself to eat, and through their link, he knew Kara did the same. Neither was hungry, but both needed the buffs.

  Karl half listened as Egil, after filling himself with stew, jumped onto a table near the hearth and began reciting a poem about how Karl would slay Viktor atop the Rainbow Road.

  For dramatic flair, Björn—likely already drunk—summoned his Bifrost bridge mid-performance.

  “It’ll be Viktor’s head we shall mount!” Egil shouted triumphantly as he paced on the rainbow road. “On this promise you may count!”

  Karl cringed but cheered along with the others. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mýra pacing near the kitchens. She looked nervous. But if anyone was strange and skilled enough in nature magic to bring Glær back, it was her.

  Hours slipped by. But even so, Karl felt every minute dragging them closer to battle, his anxiety growing with every second.

  Bifrost Arrival: 09:40:02

  One thing at a time, Karl thought, ignoring Fenrir’s hungry anticipation deep within his soul. In nine hours, a battle would begin—one that could end, or extend, every life around him.

  When everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the real moment arrived. Now was the time to see if Glær could be brought back to life.

  “If you’ll all come with me,” Mýra said, grabbing Glær by his dull antlers.

  Karl and Kara stood to follow her outside, joined by the other Jarls.

  Outside, Karl saw that his stew had been an absolute hit—every cauldron scraped clean, every stomach full. The crowd erupted in cheers at the sight of Karl and Kara, but at the glimpse of Glær, they practically fell over themselves like teenage girls at a K-pop concert.

  “They really think he’s a god,” the Trickster muttered from Karl’s shoulder. Then, softly, almost to himself—but loud enough for Karl’s lunar senses to catch—he whispered, “I pray he comes back.”

  Me too, Karl thought.

  They reached the edge of the farmlands, where the great chasm split through the earth. The soil there was still warm and vibrant thanks to Magnus, who gently tended to a patch of potatoes at the ledge, sweat pouring down his brow. He hadn’t eaten. He must have worked through the feast. Karl was suddenly glad they hadn’t killed him. The two men exchanged a silent nod.

  “Everyone, activate your Freyr Blessings,” Mýra said, her voice trembling slightly. She placed Glær’s mount on top of a boulder she had positioned earlier.

  All at once, hundreds of Vikings activated their Bountiful Rain blessings.

  Blessing: Bountiful Rain — Summon a healing rain that restores +10 Health and +10 Stamina per second for 10 seconds. Increases the yield of nearby resources—crops, herbs, and ores by 50%.

  The combined effect, along with advanced Freyr blessings and Mýra’s reviving potions poured into Glær’s mouth, created a dazzling storm of energy. She prayed out loud for a miracle, all while ripping off her Huldra tail and wrapping it around Glær, which began to glow faintly gold.

  For ten long seconds, the healing rain fell, soaking them all. It was the most refreshing rain Karl had ever felt. When it finally faded, silence swept the crowd.

  Mýra leaned close to Glær, her ear near his mouth, eyes closed as she listened.

  But Karl already knew the answer.

  The two hearts—taken from the Beta werewolves and placed within Glær—remained cold. There was no beat. Only the stillness of death.

  Tears filled Mýra’s eyes as she looked up at Kara. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head lowering as tears dripped from her chin.

  Even her tail now hung motionless, the gold aura having faded.

  Three terrible truths settled in Karl’s chest: one, Mýra had sacrificed her magic for nothing; two, Glær was not coming back; and three, morale was utterly crushed.