Chapter 2: The First Treasure

The peaceful, empty darkness shattered.

Not by light, but by sound. A cacophony of rough, unfamiliar voices, the thick scent of woodsmoke, sour sweat, and something vaguely like stale ale. Then came the sensations. A dull ache throughout his body, the prickle of straw against his bare back, and a gnawing hunger in his gut.

Thomas Vance's consciousness, or what was left of it, snapped into a brutal new reality. He forced his eyes open.

His vision was blurry. Above him was not a studio ceiling, but a soot-blackened wooden roof, supported by massive, rough-hewn beams. He tried to move, but his body felt weak and alien. This wasn't his body. This body was thin, felt fragile, and feverish.

A cold sense of panic began to creep in. Where am I? What happened?

He turned his head with difficulty. A few steps from him, a group of stern-looking men and women gathered around a flickering bonfire in the center of the room. They wore rough leather and wool. Their faces were hard, their beards thick, and at the waists of some hung axes and short swords.

These are Vikings. Real Vikings.

Loki's breath caught in his dry throat. Shock was quickly replaced by cold, survival-driven analysis. He didn't move. He just listened.

"...a curse. The sickness took him so fast," growled a burly man with a thick red beard and worn leather armor. He was the largest, clearly the leader. "Just throw his body in the bog before the sickness spreads."

"Gorm, he was one of us!" a sharp female voice retorted. Loki glanced over. A young woman with intricately braided blonde hair and sharp, ice-blue eyes stood defiantly against the burly man. She carried a small round shield on her back. A shieldmaiden. "He deserves a proper burial ritual."

Gorm spat into the fire. "Rituals need wood. We're almost out of wood. We need every piece to get through winter, Freya, not to burn a sickly corpse!"

So their names were Gorm and Freya. And they were talking about him. Or rather, the body he now inhabited.

It was then that Gorm turned and lumbered towards him. "Enough. I'll dispose of him myself."

Just as Gorm's rough hand was about to grab his collar, Loki forced his new body to act. He sat upright.

Complete silence fell over the longhouse.

Gorm froze in place, his eyes wide with shock. Freya gasped. All conversation ceased. They all stared at him as if they had just seen a ghost.

And for Loki, something even more astonishing happened. A transparent blue panel appeared before his eyes, glowing with an otherworldly light that only he could see.

{Conqueror Jarl System Activated}

{DNA Analysis... Soul Synchronization... Complete.}

{Welcome, Jarl Loki Thorson.}

{Beginner's Gift Pack Unlocked!}

[Forgotten Jarl's Treasure Map (Quality: Legendary)]

[Ability: Appraiser's Eye (Level 1)]

[5 Initial Attribute Points (Unallocated)]

Loki's heart stopped for a moment, then began to pound with wild hope. A system. This was his greatest advantage. This was his weapon.

"He... he's alive?" whispered one of the Vikings.

Gorm recovered from his shock, his face flushing with anger and a hint of fear. "Demon! This must be evil magic!"

Loki ignored him. His mind raced. He needed to take control of this situation. Now. He looked at Gorm, then at the large axe hanging from the man's waist. With a thought, he activated his new ability.

[Appraiser's Eye] Item: Frankish Battle Axe Quality: Poor Potential: Zero Notes: Poorly made from low-quality iron. Clumsily decorated to mimic Norse craftsmanship. The blade will crack after a few hard impacts. Value: 3 Silver Pieces, if you're lucky.

A faint smile touched Loki's lips. This was his chance.

"You're the leader here?" Loki asked, his voice hoarse but steady.

Gorm sneered. "Of course. And I say you're a bad omen."

"A great leader," Loki began, his voice quiet but clearly audible throughout the silent room, "should at least be able to distinguish between a valuable heirloom and cheap junk."

He pointed at Gorm's axe. "You're so proud of that axe, aren't you? You probably tell everyone it's an inheritance from your father, forged by dwarves. But in reality, it's a piece of Frankish scrap. The iron is poor, and the blade will break if you try to chop a slightly harder tree."

Gorm's face went from red to ashen. Murmurs of surprise spread among the Vikings. Such specific knowledge was impossible to guess.

Freya looked at Loki with a new gaze, a mixture of confusion and admiration.

Loki knew he had won the first round. Now for the finishing blow. He manifested the Treasure Map from his system inventory. In the real world, it appeared in his hand like a fragile, old parchment scroll. He tossed it onto the floor between himself and Gorm.

"Your clan is starving," Loki said, now standing with difficulty, his body still weak but his eyes burning. "You lack wood. You fear winter. And you fear other, stronger Jarls." He looked around, his gaze locking on every Viking in the room. "I can give you more than just food. I can give you a future."

He pointed to the map on the floor. "There is a path to the long-lost treasure of Jarl Ulfberht. Enough to make you all rich."

Gorm stared at the map doubtfully. "Nonsense! You think we'll believe..."

"Give me three men," Loki cut him off, his voice sharp and full of authority. "And until sunset tomorrow. If I don't return with proof of the treasure, you can burn me on a pyre as an offering to whatever gods you please."

The offer was so bold, so insane, that no one could argue against it. It was an absolute gamble with his life. In the tense silence, Freya stepped forward, her gaze fixed on Loki.

"I'm going with him," she said firmly.

Gorm, whose authority had been usurped in front of his own men, had no choice but to grunt his agreement. He pointed to two of his most cynical warriors. "You two, follow him. Make sure he doesn't run. And if he lies..." Gorm drew his thumb across his throat. "...finish him."

Loki nodded slowly, a cold sense of triumph spreading in his chest. He looked at Freya, then at the two reluctant guards. The first round had been won. The real game had just begun.

The morning air was cold and biting as Loki stepped out of the relative warmth of the longhouse. Freya was already waiting for him, her small shield on her back and an axe tucked into her waist. Behind her, two men stood reluctantly. One, tall and thin with a cynical gaze, was named Harek. The other, shorter and stockier, was named Olav. Their faces clearly showed that they considered this a journey to their deaths.

The entire remaining clan watched them from the doorway, a mixture of faint hope and certainty that they would never see the four of them again. Without a word, Loki began to walk, following the map in his mind, towards the dense forest.

Freya walked beside him, her steps light and confident. Harek and Olav followed a few steps behind, their grumbling barely audible.

"You're not afraid at all," Freya said, more as a statement than a question. Her sharp blue eyes observed Loki.

"Fear won't fill our stomachs," Loki replied curtly. He needed information. "Tell me about Jarl Harald."

Freya sighed, her gaze darkening. "His father was an ally of my father. After they both died, Harald took over. He's greedy. He demands ever-increasing tribute every harvest season. This year, after our harvest failed and sickness struck, he saw our weakness. He wants to take over this land before winter comes, without having to feed our people."

"And Gorm?" Loki asked.

"Gorm was a strong warrior in his youth," Freya admitted. "But he's no leader. He only knows how to swing an axe, not how to plan for the future. He thinks that by paying tribute, Harald will leave us alone. He's foolish."

Loki nodded inwardly. The situation was worse than he had expected. This wasn't just about survival. This was a political game where they were pawns about to be sacrificed.

After more than an hour of walking through the dense forest, the map in Loki's mind indicated they were close. The terrain began to ascend, and the trees became sparser, replaced by rocky outcrops. They arrived at a mountain slope, and there, hidden behind bushes, was a dark crevice in the rock face. The mouth of a cave.

A faint scent of wild animals and decay wafted from within.

"We're here," Loki said.

Harek stepped forward, his face pale. "A cave? It smells of wolves. This is their den!"

As if answering his call, a deep, low growl sounded from the darkness inside the cave. A pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared, then another pair, and another. A large, gaunt wolf stepped out of the shadows, its lips curled back to reveal yellowed teeth. Behind it, a dozen other pairs of eyes gleamed. They were hungry. Very hungry.

"By Odin," Olav whispered, his hand trembling as he reached for his axe. "We're going to die here."

Harek had already taken a step back. "This is crazy. We're going back now!"

Freya drew her axe, standing firm beside Loki, but even on her face, there was intense tension. Fighting a dozen hungry wolves in their own territory was suicidal.

But Loki didn't see the wolves. His mind raced, processing options. A direct fight was foolish. Fleeing meant losing everything. He needed another solution. A solution they wouldn't expect. He remembered something from science class in his old life. Fire. Smoke. Oxygen.

"Freya," Loki said, his voice calm and commanding, breaking the tension. "Keep them here. Don't let them get close, but don't attack."

He turned to Harek and Olav. "You two, stop trembling. Gather all the wet pine branches and damp leaves you can find. Pile them in front of the cave mouth. Quickly!"

"What?" Harek asked. "You want to make them angry?"

"Just do it!" Loki snapped, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Hesitantly, the two men began to work, while Loki took dry pork fat from their provisions and some dry branches. He made a makeshift torch. When a large pile of wet branches was ready, Loki lit his torch.

"Stand back!" he commanded.

He threw the torch into the heart of the pile. A small fire ignited, then quickly began to burn the wet leaves, creating thick, suffocating plumes of greenish-black smoke. The wind blew in the right direction, pushing all the smoke into the cave.

The growls inside the cave turned into coughs and confused howls. Several wolves that tried to come out were blocked by the thick wall of smoke. A moment later, a wolf staggered out of the smoke, its eyes watering and its movements uncoordinated. With a swift swing of her axe, Freya brought it down.

One by one, several other wolves followed, too intoxicated by lack of air to fight properly, and were easily dispatched. The rest, smarter, fled through another opening at the back of the cave. Within minutes, the threat was gone.

Harek and Olav stared at Loki as if he were a sorcerer. Freya looked at him with undisguised admiration.

"Don't just stand there," Loki said, stepping through the thinning smoke. "Let's claim our prize."

In the back of the foul-smelling cave, they found it. A large wooden chest bound with iron. Beside it, wrapped in well-preserved leather, was a set of tools.

With the help of a makeshift crowbar, they opened the chest. Harek and Olav's eyes widened. Inside, hundreds of old silver coins gleamed dimly. Enough to buy food for two winters.

But Loki was not interested in the silver. His eyes were fixed on the leather-wrapped bundle beside it. He carefully opened it. Inside was a complete set of blacksmith's tools: hammers of various sizes, tongs, chisels, all made of high-quality steel and perfectly maintained. And beneath them, there was a thick notebook bound in deerskin.

He opened it. The pages were filled with sketches of weapons, armor, and detailed notes on fire temperatures, how to fold steel, and mix metals. He activated his ability.

[Einar the Smith's Notebook] Quality: Excellent Potential: High Notes: Contains forgotten steel folding and alloy creation techniques. Key to creating superior weapons and armor.

Harek laughed, his voice echoing in the damp cave as he grabbed a handful of silver coins. "We did it! We're rich!" Olav clapped him on the back gleefully, a wide grin splitting his dirty face.

But Loki barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on the thick notebook in his hand. Silver could buy food, but this knowledge... this knowledge could build an empire. He could feel the weight of each page, every secret of smithing etched within. This was the true treasure.

Just then, a familiar blue notification glowed in the corner of his vision.

{Quest Complete: Find the Forgotten Jarl's Treasure!}

{Analyzing achievements... High risk faced, clever solutions used, strategic resource (knowledge) discovered.}

{Exceptional Reward Granted!}

[Healing Potion (Medium)] x1: A viscous golden liquid that can mend serious wounds and accelerate the regeneration of broken bones (if properly set).

[Body Strengthening Potion (Temporary)] x2: A fiery red liquid that increases physical strength and endurance by 20% for 5 minutes after consumption.

Loki's heart pounded. He felt three new items appear within his system inventory, a strange sensation as if small, invisible weights had been added to his soul. One potion for Einar. Two potions for the inevitable battles. His mind immediately whirred, calculating possibilities, weighing options.

Harek and Olav's boisterous celebration was abruptly cut short by a single, sharp word.

"Loki."

Loki turned, a bad premonition immediately creeping over him. Freya pointed to the muddy ground outside the cave, a few steps from where they had made the fire.

"These footprints," she said softly, her voice tense. "They're not ours. And certainly not the wolves'."

Loki approached. There, clearly imprinted on the ground, were the tracks of well-made leather boots. The tracks of several people. And the tracks were fresh.

They were not alone in this forest.