Chapter 43: Chapter 37: The Archipelago Kingdom in the Sea
"Speaking of which, have you seen the one who was with me? He’s very young, just a boy."
Eric’s voice rang out again, this time in Danish.
They hadn’t known each other long, and they weren’t related in any way. Still, Eric didn’t want the boy, whose life had barely begun, to die needlessly on his account.
Just like before, the room fell silent for another minute.
"He was taken away by a person of importance."
"What? A person of importance?"
Eric’s pupils constricted. He subconsciously touched his own face.
’What the hell? What’s wrong with me?’
"He’s a lucky one." The voice was tinged with sourness.
"A woman over forty. Is that the kind of luck you want?"
Eric: "..."
’No thanks. No thanks.’
’A moment of silence for Hessin.’
"Wait, how do you know all this in such detail?"
Eric seemed to have realized something and looked at Leif with great interest.
But Leif didn’t respond.
An image suddenly formed in Eric’s mind: the boy, tied to a bed and at the mercy of an old woman.
Just then, the cell door was thrown open with a BANG. Light from outside flooded in. Eric, accustomed to the cell’s gloom, was momentarily blinded and quickly covered his eyes.
Then, something was thrown in, landing on top of Eric.
It was a person.
Before Eric could say anything, a miserable wail erupted.
It was Hessin.
"Priest! WAHHH! I’m defiled! I’m defiled...!"
Snot and tears streaming down his face, Hessin collapsed into Eric’s arms, pointing nonsensically toward the cell door.
"That woman... That woman did this to me..."
"Alright, alright. I understand. My child, may God have mercy on you..."
Eric gently patted Hessin’s shoulder, then noticed his own robe was now smeared with snot and tears.
’Ugh... This robe was expensive.’ Eric winced and closed his eyes. His heart was bleeding. He felt like his robe had been violated, too.
’It’s fine, it’s fine. A good wash... and maybe it’ll still be usable.’
He suddenly understood why Priests put up a screen between themselves and the faithful during confession.
"Well, look at you. Still alive, Priest."
A middle-aged man dressed as a guard was now standing outside the door, looking at the unscathed Eric with great interest.
Then he looked over at Leif.
"You’re slipping, Porcupine. Haven’t you been eating lately?"
The moment he finished speaking, an apple came flying through the air. His aim was perfect, as if he’d done this many times before.
It hit Leif square in the face and shattered.
Like an awakened tiger, Leif instantly lunged at the guard. But just as his fist was about to reach the guard’s face, it stopped short.
No, it was yanked back. The shackle on his leg was attached to a chain bolted to one of the cell walls. The length was just enough to reach the doorway—the absolute limit of its extension.
Eric instantly looked down at his own shackles. Sure enough, his were also connected to a chain, bolted to the corner behind him.
Because the chain had some slack, he hadn’t noticed it before.
"HAHAHA! I just love seeing you hate my guts but unable to do a damn thing about it."
The guard burst out laughing, then pulled another apple from his pocket and threw it at Leif’s face. Then another, and another.
He threw five in total.
Then the guard slammed the cell door shut.
"Food that’s been smashed in your face tastes extra sweet, doesn’t it? Enjoy it, Porcupine."
Leif picked up the shattered apple pieces from the ground and began to devour them eagerly.
Hessin, seemingly frightened by the scene, stopped crying.
"No one’s going to bring you food in here," Leif said suddenly.
Perhaps he felt a little embarrassed by his own actions, perhaps...
But no sooner had he spoken than something hit him on the head. It was a piece of an apple.
"You dare!"
His just-subsided anger flared up again, fueled by the guard’s earlier humiliation. He lunged at Eric.
But just like with the guard, his fist stopped right in front of Eric’s face.
"What?"
Leif’s pupils constricted.
’That’s not right. The place where he’s standing should definitely be within my reach. Those Joms Vikings put him there specifically so I could kill him.’
’While Eric was unconscious earlier, I checked the distance. I could definitely reach him, even at the full length of my chain.’
"Are you referring to these?"
Eric deliberately held his hands out in a patch of light in the cell.
The original shackles were completely gone.
"Nothing can hold me."
Eric patted Leif’s cheek. Before Leif could react, Eric swiftly moved behind him, grabbed one of his arms, and stomped a foot hard onto his back. The immense force brought Leif to his knees.
"You despicable Norman."
"Is that so? As long as you win, any means are justified. Isn’t that the Vikings’ creed? And now you’re here accusing others," Eric said with a cold smile.
’I’m not one to let myself be taken advantage of.’
Leif sighed, closed his eyes, and awaited his fate.
But the feeling of pain never came. Instead, the scent of wheat washed over him.
He snapped his eyes open and saw a piece of black bread beside him. He didn’t move, despite his desperation.
"What do you want?"
"Like I said before, there’s no need for two prisoners to fight to the death. You’ve got good skills. How about we cooperate and escape?"
"Escape? Are you kidding? Then again, you probably don’t even know where this is," Leif chuckled.
"What, is it Hell?" Eric retorted sarcastically.
"For Christians, it might as well be. This is the Isle of Man. The heart of the Archipelago Kingdom."
「...」
The biting sea wind swept across the water’s surface, like a blade scraping against skin.
Lagman felt as if the oil on his face had frozen solid. The dull ache in his arm was gone, replaced by a bone-chilling cold.
An unprecedented wave of fear washed over him.
But it wasn’t the cold that scared him. It was the fact that there was still no shadow of an island on the horizon.
The small boat beneath him shuddered with every crash of the waves, producing a heart-stopping POUNDING.
What was worse, of course, was that there was a severely wounded man on the boat—and it was his brother, Harald.
Harald was wrapped in a wolf pelt, his lips pale, his eyes closed.
Suddenly, he felt a stirring.
"Harald, how are you feeling?"
"Itchy as hell. These wolf pelts have fleas. By the way, where are we?" Harald said with a light chuckle, but his face was frighteningly pale.
"We should be able to reach the Isle of Man before dawn."
This was a lie. Given their current situation, they might never arrive at all.
"Speaking of which, how did I get on this boat? I remember we were hunting wolves in the mountains of Alster. To be honest, that’s pretty far from the harbor. You didn’t carry me all the way, did you?"
"What do you think? If you hadn’t insisted on that wolf pelt, you might still be alive and kicking right now."
"Yeah, that’s on me."
Harald started to laugh, but after a few chuckles, the pain in his right shoulder and chest immediately contorted his face.
"You know? I don’t want to get bitten by fleas."
"Don’t worry, you’ve already been bitten. It’s perfect—the flea clan and the wolf clan on your body can form their own Althing Council." (The Althing Council of Iceland is one of the world’s oldest parliaments, founded around 930 at the Law Rock of Singerwede.)
"Hey, don’t make me laugh right now. It hurts," Harald said, smiling as he clutched his chest.
"Good. Maybe you’ll learn your lesson."
"Lagman, do you hear that?"
"What?"
"It’s cheering! A feast! I think we’ve arrived!"
Lagman heard it then, too. He quickly turned his head and saw bright lights to the boat’s port side, tearing through the darkness of the night.
He quickly turned the boat, grabbed the oar, and began to paddle furiously, charging toward the island despite the sharp pain flaring up in his arm again.
The small boat reached the shore. He carried Harald and climbed onto the land.
Before he had taken two steps, his weakened body gave out, and he collapsed onto the sand.
"Help! Someone, help! It’s me, Lagman!"
"It’s Lagman!"
Finally, someone answered his call.
In a short while, a group of people carrying a makeshift stretcher rushed toward Lagman and his brother. They lifted Harald onto the stretcher, and then the crowd surged toward a nearby palace.
Lagman slowly got to his feet, but his weakness made the movement a struggle.
After trembling for a moment, he finally managed to stand. He was just about to follow the crowd and stay with his brother.
But an arm grabbed him. It was a middle-aged man, the left side of his body covered in tattoos. He pulled Lagman into a corner.
"How could you let him come back alive?"
