The Viking stronghold of Sandvika was built upon a raised plateau, encircled by a ring-shaped fortification of massive timbers and stone. As Viggo dragged Ga toward the gates, the guards atop the walls leaned forward to watch, playful grins curling at the corners of their mouths. Someone whistled. Others waved their spears, gesturing at the unfamiliar small figure below—like a pack of wolves catching the scent of fresh blood, eagerly awaiting the feast.

  A cold wind swept in from all directions, carrying the sharp scent of grass and wood. The closer they drew to the fortress, the more the ground differed from the orderly stone pavements of Oslo. Here, irregular slabs of stone were crudely pieced together, uneven and treacherous, making Ga stumble with every step.

  Once inside the stronghold, Ga noticed that the wooden houses within were far more refined than those outside the walls. The beams had been carefully polished, adorned with intricate carvings of vines and animals, exuding a rugged yet deliberate beauty. No livestock were kept here, nor were crops grown, giving the entire area an unexpectedly clean and orderly appearance.

  The fortress appeared to be inhabited primarily by older Viking youths—though “older” meant little more than eighteen to twenty years of age. Even so, Ga could already see young Viking couples tending to their infants.

  At the very center of the stronghold stood the wooden hall of the Viking King. Larger and more splendid than any other structure, it bore elaborate carvings and was decorated with shields of various designs mounted along its walls. Two carved pillars depicting human faces flanked the entrance.

  Before the hall lay a broad plaza. Upon a throne sat the Viking King himself, surrounded by jarls, shaman, and guards, awaiting their arrival.

  Viggo’s group marched into the plaza in a show of force and roughly kicked Ga to the ground. Viggo then stepped forward and reported, “Your Majesty, this kid should be the one Oslo sent to us. But he walked into the tribe alone. I don’t know what happened.”

  Ga slowly lifted his head and looked toward the young Viking King seated upon the throne. His long hair was neatly braided, his posture upright and commanding. His blue eyes reflected the vastness of the sea itself, silently proclaiming his dominion as a great ruler of the waves.

  His name was Arkyn Pladsen.

  “Walked into the tribe by himself? That’s impressive,” someone muttered.

  “But he looks ridiculously weak.”

  “Could he be bait?”

  “Bait? There’s no sign of an enemy attack.”

  “His eyes are green… they almost glow.”

  “Such pale skin… an Alfar?”

  “No way. His ears aren’t pointed at all.”

  The jarls beside Arkyn whispered among themselves.

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  Only then did Ga notice human skulls scattered across the plaza. Some Viking children casually sat on them as if they were stools. In the next moment, Ga saw a young female shaman, her face covered in terrifying tattoos, grinning at her with an unnaturally twisted expression—tilting left, then right, stepping forward only to stop again, her movements erratic and deeply unsettling.

  At that moment, Andrew rode into the stronghold at full speed. The plaza, however, was already packed with curious Viking children. Mischievous and undisciplined, they refused to make way, instead crowding around to pet and tease his horse.

  “You ill-mannered brats! You’d better not hurt my horse!” Andrew shouted.

  With no choice, Andrew dismounted and forced his way through the crowd, pushing and shoving until he finally reached the Viking King. Pointing at Ga, he said between heavy breaths, “Listen! That child—”

  Arkyn cut him off in Roman tongue. “I presume this is the child you mentioned before. Am I correct?”

  “Yes. That’s right. But—” Andrew paused, catching his breath, his gaze lingering on Ga.

  “Then you may return, Centurion. This child is now under my authority,” Arkyn declared decisively.

  “But—”

  “You lost him halfway here, didn’t you? And yet the gods still guided him to this place. The gods have witnessed everything.”

  “But—”

  From the side, the shaman interjected darkly in Roman, “Do not defy the gods, Centurion. You know what happens when you do… heeheehee…” She let out a chilling giggle.

  “That’s enough! Let me finish!” Andrew snapped, finally losing his temper. “You rude little savages! I’m taking this child with me right now. I have no intention of letting her become as feral as you!”

  “And by what right?” Viggo sneered. “You’re just a centurion.”

  “I’m the one who taught you Roman knowledge,” Andrew shot back. “You’d do well to show some respect.”

  Arkyn immediately retorted, “No. You taught us because your Roman Emperor ordered you to. And this time, his command was for you to deliver this child to me. It’s that simple. You’re dismissed.”

  Furious, Andrew stormed toward Arkyn. “You little bastard! Do you really still think you’re some kind of king?”

  Before he could get close, two young Viking guards stepped forward, blocking his path.

  Arkyn sighed and shook his head. “Centurion, I don’t wish to repeat myself. But since you’ve chosen to challenge my authority, I will—very civilly—state it again.”

  He rose from the throne and swept his gaze across the Viking orphans, deliberately raising his voice.

  “I am the Viking King! Everyone here knows I am the Viking King! Your Emperor acknowledges me as the Viking King! One day, the entire world will know of the Viking King and his kingdom—and perhaps they’ll also remember the tale of a foolish Roman who challenged the sovereignty of the Viking King, and lost his head because of it!”

  Andrew showed no visible reaction. He simply took a deep breath to steady himself, then looked around at the young—some barely more than children—Viking orphans. Shaking his head helplessly, he addressed Arkyn by name.

  “Arkyn, how foolish can you be? Kill me, and there will be war. You will be completely annihilated. The benevolent Roman Emperor has spared you all because you are young. How can you not understand that?”

  “The one who doesn’t understand is you,” Arkyn replied calmly as he approached Andrew, pushing the guards aside to face him at close range. “You fail to grasp the Emperor’s wisdom. If you die within my borders, his response will be acceptance.”

  Andrew frowned. “Enough of this farce. I won’t play your kingly games. Go on—keep brainwashing these children. One day you’ll drag them all down with you, and history will hold you accountable. The gods themselves will judge your soul. That is the burden of a ruler. Perhaps the Emperor indulges your little game for his own strategy, but that doesn’t mean everyone else should gamble their lives on it.”

  He glanced at Ga, still lying on the ground. “This fragile child is just another sacrifice.”

  Arkyn countered, “Oh? Has Rome never made sacrifices throughout its history? Were all sacrifices meaningless?”

  Andrew locked eyes with Arkyn, saying nothing. At last, he turned away in frustration, shoved through the crowd, mounted his horse, and rode out of the stronghold.