Chapter Thirty-Six: Mischievous and Malevolent

"Ony..." Harold’s gaze was unfocused, staring blankly at Ony. His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to offer an explanation, but the words were stuck in his throat, unable to escape.

His face was deathly pale, and his eyes flickered with panic and bewilderment.

"Troll!" Ony suddenly shouted, her voice laced with surprise and confusion.

She did not seem to recognize Harold, perhaps because he was wearing a bear-head cloak and his face was covered in a thick, bushy beard.

"Crack, crack, crack..." Harold’s heart shattered into pieces upon receiving such an assessment.

Suddenly, his expression shifted.

"Ugh, vomit bag, blech—" Ony, acting like a cat that had caught a whiff of durian, suddenly pried open the collar of Harold’s tunic and, sticking out her tongue, retched violently.

Harold froze, staring at her in shock and disbelief.

He felt a sudden warmth against his arm and chest—it was the vomit.

A dark shadow fell beneath his left eye, and his mouth twitched a few times. Yet, he said nothing; he simply endured it in silence, even reaching out to pat her back.

Once Ony finished retching, she went limp like a corpse, her head falling backward, swaying with the inertia as the draft horse turned.

Harold reached out to gently scrape the vomit from his clothes, flicked his hand toward the outside of the cart, and let out a sigh of relief.

...

Ony slowly awoke in the morning light, her sleep heavy from the effects of a hangover. Her throat was as dry as a desert, the thirst so intense it pulled her directly from her dreams.

"Water..." She sat up. Her bladder was painfully full, and she was both thirsty and urgent. Her head throbbed as if someone had struck her with a club. She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to banish the alcohol-induced headache.

Looking around, she realized she was back in her familiar room, and her clothes had been changed.

She tried to trace the fragments of last night, but her memories were like pearls scattered from a broken string, impossible to piece together.

She vaguely recalled that after the victory at the town of Slomsfors, she had been in high spirits and asked the supply train for a cup of ale to celebrate.

But after that... her memory was a blank slate.

Ony couldn't help but wonder about her own tolerance; when had she become so unable to handle alcohol?

She could only blame the jolting of the supply wagon, which had inadvertently stolen her sobriety.

Suddenly, she remembered her duties and her heart skipped a beat: "I've neglected important business!"

Ony tapped her forehead, her thoughts gradually clearing. She thought of the captured soldiers, and then suddenly noticed that her hand was being tightly held by another.

She turned her head to look, only to see Harold fast asleep, his hand gripping hers firmly.

She tried to jerk her hand away, but found his grip surprisingly strong and difficult to break.

"Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty! Let go, hurry, hurry!" Ony was so frustrated she wanted to curse.

Accompanied by the dull snoring coming from Harold, she carefully climbed out of bed, prying open his calloused fingers one by one until she finally regained her freedom.

Ony’s gait was unsteady; as if influenced by the earth’s rotation, her steps tilted uncontrollably to the right.

The hangover blurred her world, and the pain from bumping her shoulder against the wall brought her a bit more clarity.

She clutched her shoulder, letting it slump as she endured the sharp ache, struggling to maintain her balance.

"My Lady, are you alright?" The maidservant, seeing this, hurried over to support her. Ony waved her off, saying firmly, "No, I can walk myself!"

Clutching her shoulder, she struggled to the door. Wait, what was it she wanted to do again?

She seemed to have forgotten something very important. What was it?

Never mind, it didn't matter!

Under the eaves sat the captives brought back the night before. Their eyes were filled with bewilderment and unease, awaiting an unknown fate.

Ony walked over, squatted down, and propped her chin on her hands, a silly grin on her face as she stared blankly at the captives.

These were people!

The alcohol made her feel an inexplicable sense of joy, as if all her troubles had drifted far away.

The Viking warriors noticed her arrival and immediately saluted her: "Good day, My Lady!"

Ony waved her hand dismissively without looking at them and asked, "You didn't sleep all night?"

"Yes, My Lady. Without your orders, we didn't know how to handle these captives. We were worried they might disrupt order, so we kept watch until now," the warriors replied.

Ony nodded, satisfied. "Well done. I will remember your contributions; when the spoils are distributed, I will personally reward you with an extra share!"

"Thank you for the reward!" The warriors were overjoyed and responded gratefully.

Ony began to assign tasks: "Take them and knock on doors. Group them by household; every family must accommodate one family of captives!"

She intended to temporarily house these new subjects in the residents' homes, organized by family unit.

She pointed to a man squatting under the eaves and added, "Except for the men—I have other arrangements for them!"

These men might cause trouble for the households that took them in; their combat strength and potential for rioting forced her to keep them under centralized guard.

She worried that if any conflicts occurred, such as loss of life, the residents' selfish instincts would lead them to strongly oppose this temporary housing policy.

She needed to handle these potential risks carefully to ensure her territory could smoothly integrate these new residents.

"Understood, My Lady!" The warriors, promised a reward, immediately sprang into action. They woke up a woman and her child.

Because they were bundled by family, the children stayed close to their mothers, making the distribution convenient.

The warriors led them to knock on the nearest house: "The Lady Jarl has ordered that you must accommodate some women and children in your home!"

"The Lady Jarl's order?" The resident hesitated, looking at Ony, who was watching from not far away. "Very well!"

As one house after another was knocked upon, the warriors negotiated door-to-door, and the number of people under the eaves dwindled.

There were some who initially opposed the placement, but once the warriors invoked Ony’s name, they fell silent. Leading the territory through the winter and winning its first great victory had given Ony’s authority a solid foundation.

Her legs felt numb, so Ony stood up and counted the heads—only about forty men remained.

It seemed the Jarl of Slomsfors had led quite a large number of Vikings out to sea. If they were to engage in a head-on battle in the future, things might turn out badly for her.

This hunch strengthened Ony’s resolve to fight asymmetric battles; she didn't just want to fight—she wanted to win beautifully.

"Follow me!" She led the Viking warriors to take the dejected male captives to the wooden cabin where she used to live, which had now been turned into a blacksmith’s shop.

She settled the forty-plus men on the large communal sleeping platform and finally let out a sigh of relief.

Looking at the unfamiliar yet familiar interior, she wondered how long it had been since she lived here. Half a year, perhaps? Memories of her father, Feld, flooded her mind, creating a feeling as if a lifetime had passed. She was no longer that farm girl, but an acting lord.

As she walked back, she said to the Viking warriors following behind: "Everything is settled here. After you eat breakfast, go get some sleep!"

"As you command, My Lady!"

Watched by the warriors, Ony disappeared from their sight. She returned to the hall, slumped onto the Jarl’s throne, and leaned to one side, resting her cheek on the back of her right hand in contemplation.

The maidservant brought a cup of honey water. "My Lady, would you like a drink?"

"Thank you!" Ony nodded, took the cup, and had a sip. Her expression suddenly changed.

It would have been better not to drink it; she had completely forgotten about that issue.

"???" The maidservant looked on, bewildered, as Ony, clumsily holding up her skirt to avoid stepping on it, trotted toward the latrine.

"My Lady? My Lady?"

Recalling last night’s conversation, she stopped at the door of the latrine and asked the maid, "By the way, that... what’s-her-name... Anna, Marlin, where are they being kept?"

The maid looked confused, clearly not understanding what Ony was asking about.