Chapter Twenty-Two: Valhalla is Calling

As the busyness of the spring plowing gradually faded, the sweltering heat of summer quietly descended. The villagers hid in their homes, enjoying the rare leisure that followed their toil.

The High Priest ordered the priests to close the newly installed doors of the Lord's Hall. He secretly sprinkled some strange leaves into the hearth, his face illuminated by the firelight, flickering with a mysterious and eerie glow.

Looking at the members of the "Huscarl" knight order within the hall and the handmaidens Lady Jarl had brought from her own home—with Onie absent—he began his long-planned performance.

"As the twilight of the gods approaches, the world will fall into unprecedented chaos."

The High Priest's voice was low and powerful, as if it could pierce through distant time and space to reach the golden halls of Valhalla, which the Norse people so yearned for.

"The sun will grow dim, the stars will fall from the firmament, and the earth will sink into the boundless ocean. The giant wolf Fenrir will break his bonds and devour the sun; the World Serpent Jörmungandr, in the deep sea, will release venom to pollute the waters and stir up monstrous waves; the World Tree Yggdrasil will be gnawed by the dragon Níðhöggr. All of this will lead to the destruction of the entire world."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, and continued: "However, in this final battle, the heroic warriors in Valhalla will play a crucial role."

The High Priest's voice was filled with awe, as if he could truly see the scene: "They will march with Odin to engage in a desperate struggle against Fenrir, Jörmungandr, Hel—the daughter of the trickster god Loki—and the giants. Although the outcome of this battle is fated, Woden, who once sacrificed an eye to drink from the Well of Wisdom, has long foreseen it all."

"Hel is the Queen of the Underworld and the Goddess of Death. She is the daughter of Loki and the giantess Angrboða, and the sister of the wolf Fenrir and the serpent Jörmungandr. She is half beautiful and half rotting, symbolizing the boundary between life and death. She rules over those who die outside of battle and reigns over the underworld, Niflheim. She will lead her army of the dead to fight against the gods of Asgard."

"The fire giant Surtr will lead his army of fire giants to invade Asgard; the world will be consumed by fire, and all will return to nothingness. Yet, as the old world perishes, a new one will be reborn from the ruins. After the battle of Ragnarök, the surviving gods and humans will rebuild their homes in a new heaven and earth, continuing to thrive..."

"Can Lord Robert still ascend to Valhalla?" Sina asked.

"Lord Robert is a noble and a warrior chosen by the Valkyries, so of course he can ascend to Valhalla! But you are not necessarily so! Especially you, Sina; you are not a priestess whom Woden deems worthy of Valhalla, nor are you a Jarl, nor have you shown sufficient courage and heroism. You will likely only have your soul return to Hel..."

Watching Sina, who was exceptionally interested in the story, the High Priest curled his lips into a devious smile, about to continue his deception to achieve his long-held goal.

Onie emerged from a room, coughing and waving away the smoke, interrupting his momentum.

"Old man, what are you doing again?" Onie's voice was filled with intense dissatisfaction. "You are not allowed to add poisonous leaves to the hearth here!"

"Ke-he, cough, cough..." The High Priest was choked, a look of annoyance on his face, and just as he was about to say something, he was choked by the thick smoke himself.

Onie rolled her eyes; she had no interest in listening to the Ragnarök story, which she had already heard until her ears were calloused. She signaled for someone to open the doors and windows to let the air circulate.

"My Lady, there is news!"

The scout she had sent, disguised as a freeman of "Thromsfors Town," hurried back to report: "The Jarls of the other territories have already set sail for Viking raids."

"Good!" This news was like a spring breeze brushing across a lake, stirring the ripples of the plans Onie had long been harboring. She knew that the best time for war had arrived, just like a hunter waiting for the prey to enter the trap.

"Send word to the lords to issue a mobilization order and have them assemble here!" Her eyes shone with excitement. Although it would take them some time to arrive, Onie was already impatient to prepare for the battle.

"Lady Onie, can you take us with you? We can fight too!" Sina and the other handmaidens, frightened by the Ragnarök story, looked at Onie with longing. The Huscarl knight order would certainly accompany Onie to the battlefield to gain experience, but they were different.

Onie thought for a moment. She felt the High Priest might take advantage of her absence to raid her home. After considering this, she nodded and agreed to the girls' request: "Then you shall march with the supply train!"

...

The appointed time finally arrived. Onie wore a reddish-brown gown, her hair and the hem of her skirt fluttering gently in the breeze. She wore a scale armor over it, every scale appearing to shimmer with a cold glint under the sunlight. The specially made, ornate scale hauberk fit her well, highlighting her majesty.

A deep blue, almost black, wide cloak hung behind her like a dark cloud, creating a unique, gentle contrast with the scale armor. She held a riding crop tightly in her hand and was mounted on her "clipper donkey." The donkey looked rather peculiar, like an enlarged version of a rabbit's head, baring its large teeth and sporting long ears, giving it a comical appearance.

Onie reached out and stroked the donkey's head, finding its fur soft and comfortable, and couldn't help but pat it a few more times. The clipper donkey seemed displeased with Onie's teasing, shaking its head repeatedly to avoid her touch, and turned to stare at her with its large, expressive eyes, looking quite disdainful. Watching the donkey's funny antics, Onie patted its neck and couldn't help but laugh.

Harold sat on a wooden cart pulled by draft horses, looking somewhat clumsy. Onie had tried to teach him to ride, but every attempt ended in a fall. Despite her reluctance, Onie decided to bring him along.

Once Harold was away from her, he would become manic and even violent. The household had been nearly turned upside down because of it; when he had a fit, it took at least three people to restrain him. Considering she might lack some deterrent power, Onie decided to have Harold act as her bodyguard. In this way, at least on the surface, she would have an additional force to rely on.

Before her, about a hundred Huscarl youths on horseback were lined up neatly. These youths were all selected from various territories; they were young, brave, and full of vigor and enthusiasm. With their worldviews not yet fully solidified, they looked at Onie with absolute adoration. In their eyes, as someone who had led the townspeople through the winter without a single person freezing to death despite the food shortage, she was undoubtedly the embodiment of wisdom.

They had sheathed longswords hanging at their waists, and on their saddles hung two bows and three quivers of arrows—a short bow and a longbow, both finely crafted composite bows.

Opposite these youths were the Viking warriors of Skalvik Town. They stood on the other side, numbering about two hundred. A few individuals among them had graying hair, but their gazes remained firm, filled with the will to fight. These Viking warriors were burly, armed with battle-axes, spears, swords, and shields, looking fierce and ready to plunge into battle at any moment.

Onie looked at an elderly warrior with white hair and deep wrinkles, her heart filled with hesitation. She kicked the donkey's belly to move forward and said softly, looking down at him: "Old man, this war is very dangerous. You should stay safe in the territory!"

However, the old warrior smiled, his voice raspy yet still full of strength: "Please, let us old men join you, Lady Jarl. I am tired of this aging body. I wish to gain the favor of the Valkyries and ascend to Valhalla in the final days of my life! When Lord Robert was alive, I had already been on many Viking raids, but I could never die; the enemies were too weak, and no one could kill me. Besides, fighting should not be the exclusive domain of the young!"