Chapter 3: Return with Glory and New Threat

The journey back felt significantly slower. Not just because of the weight of the silver and steel tools they carried, but because a strange, new silence had descended upon the forest. The chirping of birds vanished. Even the rustle of the wind through the trees sounded like muffled whispers.

Harek and Olav, previously boisterous, now walked with axes in hand, their eyes darting wildly, glancing at every shadow. Their victory in the cave felt like a distant memory, replaced by a deepening sense of dread with every step.

Loki walked ahead with Freya, the invaluable notebook safely tucked beneath his tunic. He felt it too. A cold sensation on the back of his neck, as if being watched. He glanced at Freya and saw the shieldmaiden felt the same. Her jaw was set, and her hand was never far from her axe hilt.

"Those footprints..." Freya whispered, her voice barely audible. "They followed us."

"I know," Loki replied. His brain churned rapidly. Ordinary bandits wouldn't know the location of this secluded cave. Too organized. Neat tracks. They knew we were here. This must be Harald's men.

He looked at the path ahead of them. A narrow track between a rocky cliff on one side and a steep ravine on the other. A perfect place for an ambush. And they had to pass through it. "Stay alert. Brace yourselves."

His words proved true sooner than he expected.

SWISH!

An arrow shot out from the trees across the ravine, embedding itself in a tree trunk, mere inches from Loki's head.

SWISH! SWISH!

Two more arrows followed.

"ARGH!"

Olav screamed, dropping to his knees as an arrow pierced his right shoulder.

"Ambush!" Harek yelled, panicking as he scrambled behind a large rock, trying to shield the silver pouch.

From behind the trees and rocks, several figures emerged. Soldiers in leather armor with iron helmets, armed with swords and shields. Clearly not bandits. They moved with discipline. There were at least eight of them.

"Die, thief!" shouted one of them, their leader, as he and two others began to cross the narrow path to attack.

Loki didn't hesitate. He activated [Appraiser's Eye] on the attacking leader's shield.

[Harald's Soldier's Shield] Quality: Standard Notes: Mass-produced for Jarl Harald's army. Has a faint wolf emblem etched beneath layers of mud and scratches.

So his suspicion was correct. This wasn't a robbery. This was an act of war.

In Loki's mind, there was no panic. Only cold calculation. The narrow terrain was both a disadvantage and an advantage. The enemy couldn't attack simultaneously. And he had a trump card.

"Harek, protect Olav! Hold them!" Loki commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through their fear.

He then turned to Freya. Without hesitation, he accessed his system inventory. A small bottle containing a fiery red liquid appeared in his hand. He thrust it at Freya.

"Drink this. Now!"

Freya stared at the bottle, then at Loki's burning eyes, and back at the approaching attackers. She didn't question. She didn't hesitate. The trust born in the wolf cave overcame everything. She snatched the bottle, uncorked it, and downed its contents in a single gulp.

A fierce heat exploded from her stomach, spreading through her entire body like liquid fire. She could feel her muscles tensing, throbbing with unnatural strength. The world around her became sharper. The roaring of blood in her ears was like war drums.

The attacking leader laughed when he saw only a woman standing between him and the treasure. "Move aside, little girl, or..."

He never finished his sentence.

Freya let out a primal roar and lunged forward. Her movements were so fast they seemed blurred. Her axe swung not with the strength of a woman, but with the might of a bear.

CRACK!

The first swing slammed into the attacker's shield. The iron-reinforced wooden shield shattered into splinters as if made of glass. The man stared at the remains of his shield in disbelief for a moment before Freya's second swing cleaved through his chest, tearing through leather armor and the flesh beneath.

The two other soldiers with him froze in shock. They had never seen such strength. Loki wasted no opportunity. He darted from the side, using a dagger to stab one of the stunned soldiers in the neck.

The last soldier screamed and tried to attack Freya, but the shieldmaiden parried his attack with ease and swung her axe back, severing the man's arm.

Three men fell in less than ten seconds.

The archers across the ravine fired more arrows, but Harek, who was inspired by the sight, began desperately throwing fist-sized rocks, forcing them to take cover.

"Charge!" Loki roared.

He and Freya stormed across the narrow path. Freya was the spearhead, a storm of steel and fury. Every swing of her axe broke bones or tore flesh. She no longer fought like a human, but like a Valkyrie descended from Valhalla.

Loki was her shadow, moving around her, protecting her flanks, dispatching wounded enemies with deadly efficiency. He let Freya be the destructive force, while he was the brain ensuring that power wasn't wasted.

Jarl Harald's scouts, previously confident, were now gripped by terror. They were facing monsters. Their morale shattered. They turned and fled, dropping their swords and shields.

Loki and Freya showed no mercy. They hunted down two more before Loki signaled to stop. He let one escape, to spread the news. And they left two severely wounded, groaning on the ground.

The fight was over. Silence returned to the forest, now filled with the cloying scent of blood.

The potion's effect began to fade. Freya gasped for breath, leaning on her axe, her body trembling from the lingering power and adrenaline. She stared at her hands, then at the corpses around her, as if disbelieving what she had just done.

Harek and the wounded Olav stared at Loki with a mixture of awe and profound fear. This thin man they had scorned just hours ago had just led them to an impossible victory.

Loki walked calmly towards one of the whimpering captives. He wiped the blood from his dagger on the man's trousers, then pressed its cold tip against the captive's throat.

"Jarl Harald sent too few men," Loki said flatly. "Now. Tell me the full plan. Why did he only send you? Where is his main army?"

The man, his eyes wide with terror seeing Loki, who seemed to know everything, stammered. "We... we were just scouts... we were sent to confirm the treasure existed... The main army... they are moving. They will attack your village... in three days..."

Loki's breath hitched. So this wasn't about robbery. This was about conquest.

He stood up, looking back in the direction of their village. This victory, however glorious it felt, was just the beginning of a nightmare.

The forest fell silent again, a silence now heavier with the scent of blood and death. The interrogated man trembled under Loki's cold gaze. Three days. They only had three days.

"You are no longer useful," Loki said flatly. Before the captive could plead, Loki's dagger moved swiftly and efficiently.

Harek and the wounded Olav flinched at the ruthless act, performed without hesitation. Freya, however, merely gave a slight nod. In their world, leaving a living enemy behind was foolish.

"Harek, take care of the other one. We can't leave any traces," Loki commanded. His voice left no room for debate. Harek, who hours ago was still a cynical coward, now obeyed without question. He approached the last wounded captive and his axe swung once.

"Freya, help Olav. Tear some cloth from one of these corpses' tunics and bind his wound tightly. He needs to be able to walk," Loki continued, his mind already leaping to the next step. Every second was precious.

The journey home was a grueling ordeal fueled by adrenaline. They no longer walked; they half-ran. The weight of the silver and steel tools felt like anchors, but the approaching shadow of Harald's army was a stronger whip. Olav whimpered in pain, leaning on Harek, but he kept moving, his face pale from blood loss and fear.

Loki didn't speak much. His mind was a storm of calculations. Three days. A population of about thirty, fewer than ten who could be called warriors. Poorly armed. Low morale. No proper fortifications. This wasn't a battle; it was a massacre. Yet, amidst the despair, a spark from his old life ignited. This was a classic RTS scenario: surviving against a wave of enemies with limited resources. An impossible challenge. And he liked it.

When the tree line finally thinned and they spotted the thatched roofs of their longhouse, the momentary relief was immediately replaced by tension. The villagers, seeing their arrival, rushed out. Their faces shifted from anxious to awestruck as they saw the heavy pouches Harek carried, then to horror as they saw the blood covering their clothes and the wounded Olav.

Gorm was the first to confront them in front of the longhouse, his now pathetic Frankish axe tucked into his waist. His face was red with anger at this small group returning, successful, after he had indirectly wished for their failure.

"What happened?" he growled. "Where did all this blood come from?"

Harek and Olav didn't answer him. Instead, they walked past Gorm and deliberately dropped the heavy pouches of silver and blacksmith's tools at Loki's feet. The clinking sound of spilled silver made everyone gasp. It was wealth they had never seen in their lives.

That act was a statement more powerful than words. The leader of this expedition was not Gorm. Their leader was now Loki.

Loki ignored Gorm. He looked directly into the eyes of the gathered villagers, thin faces filled with fear and hope.

"We found the treasure," he said, his voice carrying clearly throughout the area. "There's enough silver here to buy food and livestock. There are tools to forge the finest steel."

Cheers of joy began to erupt, but Loki raised his hand, silencing them instantly.

"We also found enemies."

He picked up a helmet from one of the dead Harald's scouts, which he had brought back, and threw it to the ground in front of Gorm. The helmet thudded on the earth with a chilling sound. "This belongs to one of Jarl Harald's scouts. We were ambushed on the way back."

Gorm's face turned pale. "Harald..."

"Indeed," Loki said, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. "He knows about the treasure. And he knows we are weak. His main army is on its way now. They will arrive to slaughter all of us and seize this land in three days."

The news hit them like an icy wave. Cheers turned into whispers of panic and fear. Three days. Against Jarl Harald's notoriously cruel army.

"We must run!" someone cried out.

"Where?" another retorted. "They will hunt us down!"

Gorm, attempting to reclaim his shattered authority, stepped forward. "We can... we can negotiate! Offer him some of this silver!"

"And become his slaves?" Freya retorted sharply, standing tall beside Loki. "Harald doesn't want silver, Gorm. He wants everything!"

"Then what do you suggest, clever girl?" Gorm snarled. "Fight them? We'll be slaughtered!"

"Yes," Loki said, his voice calm yet resonating with undeniable power. "We will fight."

He stepped forward, standing on a wooden stump so everyone could see him. "Listen to me! Under Gorm's leadership, you will starve to death, or you will become Harald's slaves. He's right, if we fight, many of us will die."

He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in.

"But if you fight with me," he continued, his eyes burning with intense fire, "you will fight as free people. You will fight for your homes, for your children. You will die with steel in your hands, not with a slave collar around your necks. I offer you a choice Gorm never gave you. Choose your own destiny!"

A tense silence fell over the crowd. They stared at Loki, the mysterious thin man who in one day had brought them unimaginable wealth and news of doom.

Freya was the first to move. She drew her axe and slammed its hilt against the shield on her back. THUMP!

"I swear fealty to Jarl Loki!" she cried.

Harek, raising his axe. "To Jarl Loki!"

Olav, despite his wound, struggled to his feet and nodded his head firmly. Slowly, one by one, the other remaining warriors raised their worn weapons. The women, the elders, even the children looked at Loki with a new expression. No longer the gaze at a strange foreigner, but the gaze at their only impossible hope.

Gorm looked around in disbelief as his own clan abandoned him. He had been usurped without a single swing of a sword.

Loki stood among them, feeling the weight of dozens of lives now resting on his shoulders. Three days. He saw their hopeful and fearful faces. He saw their pathetic resources. The task ahead of him seemed impossible.

War had arrived at their doorstep. And now, he had to prepare to meet it.