Chapter 244

Chapter 244

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A rib fracture takes a long time to heal. Especially if it was an extent that pierced an organ, it basically had to be considered fatal. Surgical treatment was nearly impossible, and one had no choice but to endure while just relieving the pain.

Rickart stayed only lying in bed in a house in the nearby village. It was a family with no wife and only a father and three daughters, and the three sisters took care of Rickart.

The eldest daughter was 17 years old, the second daughter was 15, and the youngest daughter was 12. They and Rickart didn't share even a single word.

Rickart told the sailors who gave him a ride here not to specifically let his friends know he was hurt. Just to convey that he was safe, doing well, and had business left.

Like that, Rickart ended up just killing time with subtle pain for a while, seeming bored.

If he didn't move greatly, his flank didn't hurt that badly. Moreover, because he was used to pain, he wasn't frustrated or stressed.

Between the place where Rickart lay and the space where the family of four stayed was just covered by a cloth, and lying in bed looking out the window, a sight of fish with their innards removed hanging on a clothesline was visible. They were drying them in the sea breeze to use as daily food.

Besides that, the family of four released cows into the field to raise them, milked them to get milk, and made cheese.

On the outside it was a leisurely fishing village, but to make a living they had to move diligently.

Caring for cows all day, shoveling manure, mending torn clothes, twisting straw ropes to make this and that, going out to sea to catch fish, trimming nets, removing fish innards, repairing the barn, house, and boat, tilling the garden plot, chopping firewood......

On top of that, it was a situation where the three sisters even had to take care of Rickart.

Amidst that Rickart was doing nothing, no, spending time only lying down unable to did anything.

Though he felt somewhat embarrassed and apologetic, the only thing he could did was throw his gaze far out the window. The blue sea was visible. The sight of sea birds flying around was also visible.

The waves pushed toward the coast, and repeatedly receded, and he watched the sight of the sun rising from the horizon and sinking into the horizon.

And though not well visible from where he lay, the sound of the villagers gathering strength and eagerly carrying something heave-ho and firmly tapping stones could also be heard.

All of these were the scenery, the sounds, and the life of the Hellskald fishing village.

Then, when the sun rising and setting repeated seven times, the youngest daughter who came to change bandages and herbs initiated conversation for the first time.

"Where is your hometown, Hero?"

The unfamiliar man's exposed muscular body was different from her somewhat fleshy father's body. Of course, since it was a chore done for a week now, there was nothing to be scared of or embarrassed about anymore.

Rickart momentarily got confused whether he should answer the Haiden plains, or Stormhearts.

The youngest daughter looked back at Rickart who couldn't answer for a moment while soaking a bandage in water.

"Valhalla......?"

"Huh?"

"The place where great warriors go when they die. Father said you came from there, Hero. To defeat the devil risen from hell."

Rickart smiled faintly and shook his head.

"Now I don't think there's anyone who can go there unless they're a Norseman. A week ago, the one I killed went there last."

"Pardon?"

"I'm from Stormhearts. It's far south, and west from here. I didn't come from Valhalla."

"Is that so......? Then that's a relief. The adults were worried about who to offer as a sacrifice."

"What? Sacrifice? What does that mean?"

"The village adults said you're a son of God, Hero? I saw it too. Holding a heavenly flaming sword and defeating the devil."

She was talking about the duel between Rickart and Besprim. To the eyes of ordinary people, it could fully look like that.

"It's not like that......"

"Even if you say that, the gatekeepers of hell have been living in the Hellskald citadel for a long time. So this is the end of the world. The point where the surface and hell meet. That's why they said it's rather a safe place."

The gatekeepers of hell the youngest daughter spoke of were the Shadow of the King. The villagers and them hadn't really conversed or interacted even during the 100 years.

That was, they were complete strangers for the entire 100 years, and following Besprim, they had all burned themselves in the middle of the sea and were now merely gone.

"......"

By the way, Rickart had nothing to say to people living with indigenous beliefs. There was no need to even go as far as the Empire, to them the Eastern Frontier was also an unfamiliar world.

Though not completely isolated, it was because exchanges weren't that active. Even though it was only about a 30-minute distance by boat.

"Anyway you don't need to offer something like a sacrifice. Please convey that to the adults."

"Yes."

The youngest daughter answered obediently and wiped Rickart's body with a wet towel. After doing so she put herbs in her mouth, chewed them, and applied them to the wound area. And wrapped a new bandage and left.

A little later the master of the house came visiting. He was a man with short hair and a very large build, and though not a muscular body, it was a typical robust physique.

With a very polite attitude, he asked Rickart who was half-lying on the bed.

"Do you not like my daughters......?"

"Pardon?"

From Rickart's perspective, it was hard to understand what on earth he was talking about. But painstakingly piecing the puzzle together, he shook his head and said.

"I am merely a traveler. I didn't come from a place like Valhalla. I am very grateful for the favor you have shown, and intend to leave as soon as my body heals. I am a man with a wife and child, therefore I cannot embrace another woman. That is what my God commanded of me."

"Pardon?"

This time the master of the house asked back as if he couldn't understand what on earth he was talking about.

They couldn't understand each other. This was inevitable because living in different regions naturally meant different customs, and furthermore it was even more so standing far apart.

So when people living in different regions met, they almost felt like aliens to each other.

Especially it was an era where religion was norms, morality, and law. Different religion meant believing in different gods, different ways of living, and different mindsets.

Because of this, sometimes when encountering people from a different cultural sphere they were seen as demons, or seen as gods. In Rickart's case it was the latter.

"I don't know if it will be of help but I have a bit of money. I will repay my debt with that for now. I vaguely know outsiders visit here from time to time, if you pay money to them you will be able to get what you need."

"I also know what money is."

"I see...... That's a relief. Anyway please don't specifically kill livestock or people to offer sacrifices. Your daughters also have no need to trouble themselves for me anymore. If you bring me bandages, herbs, and towels, I will take care of my own body."

Then the master of the house tilted his head back and forth several times. He seemed somewhat troubled.

"But the runestone has already been erected."

"Runestone?"

"Since you punished the devil, Hero, naturally we must engrave and leave a runestone."

There were truly full of things he couldn't understand from one to ten. However, doing something with heavy stones was better than killing something alive and doing whatever.

"Runestone...... runestone...... I will pay the price for that too."

"A runestone is not something that can be bought with money."

"Then?"

"Since the tombstone is already erected and the inlay has begun, it cannot be reversed. I will inform the people. That you didn't come from Valhalla, Hero, but were a hero carrying the bloodline of God."

At this point Rickart gave up trying to make him understand. No, in the first place, he didn't really think what he himself believed was that rational either. Who was making whom understand?

So he just nodded with a feeling of giving up. But the master of the house again accepted it as 'Ah, he was indeed a son of God.'

"What is your name?"

"Ricky."

"Son of Rodrok, the God of Thunder, Ricky. Ricky Rodrokson."

"That's not it. I have a separate father. Abellich......"

Without even listening to those words he left. So Rickart merely turned his head with a feeling of did as you please.

Like that another week passed. The hammering sound like tapping stones from somewhere in the fishing village also stopped, and meanwhile the youngest daughter, perhaps because she struck up a conversation once, would come visit Rickart and spout useless words.

Around that time, this time the second daughter initiated conversation.

"How is your body?"

"If I stay still it doesn't hurt, but if I move it's a bit stiff."

"If you injure a rib it's not easy to recover. Still it's a relief. That you don't have a fever. If you even have a fever you basically have to be considered half dead."

"......Have you treated injured people before?"

"Of course. When food gets scarce adults take boats and go far out. They get treasure and food from there. Then there are often injured people."

In other words, it was plundering and invasion. These people did seem to be Norsemen or of their bloodline.

Plundering and invasion was a living hell from the perspective of the side suffering it, but from the perspective of the side doing it, it was just acts done to eat and live. Hearing that indifferently in daily life, he wondered if this was right.

"Our mother also passed away in battle. Older sister hasn't gotten married yet so she might go with the adults during the next expedition. If she marries and has a child she would be exempted though."

As it was a place lacking population and barren, it seemed women were also mobilized for battle. Being 17 she wasn't that much of an old maid, but it seemed such social pressure was already being applied.

Rickart only now understood a bit. It wasn't merely the purpose of treating the son of God with daughters, but because they had to get pregnant to be exempt from military service.

The master of the house out of concern for his daughters in his own way had volunteered and wanted to take care of Rickart.

But this was truly, a difficult situation for Rickart. As he also had tact he knew what they wanted, but it was because he couldn't grant it.

A conflict arose between his personal principles and beliefs, and the sense of debt for receiving favor.

Another week passed. It was the 3rd week since he came to the Hellskald fishing village and fought a duel with Besprim.

Only then did the eldest daughter talk to him.

"What kind of person is your wife?"

"......A woman too undeserved for me. A cool, pretty, and a woman who is beautiful even in her flaws."

"I see......"

The eldest daughter didn't speak anymore.

Feeling the situation was uncomfortable, Rickart thought he should leave soon no matter what. At that time, boats were visible on the coast far away. They were things looking different from general merchant ships or fishing boats.

They were Viking longships with dragons carved on the bows. About 30 people were riding on one ship, and a total of two ships anchored at the coast.

Heavily armed men strolled around looking around the coast, and now walked towards the empty citadel. They didn't particularly seem to pay attention to the fishing village, but they could also be seen pointing here and saying something among themselves.

The villagers seemed to feel greatly threatened by that. The master of the house stopped his daily routine and hurriedly ran home to grab his armaments. It was cloth armor and a single spear.

The characteristic of Norsemen was that just because they were the same Norsemen didn't mean they had ethnic consciousness or anything like that. If they were hungry and needed something, they were people who killed and robbed anyone whatsoever.

In an instant the village men gathered fully armed. There seemed to be about 30 people. Among them there was no one wearing metal armor. Weapons were mostly axes, spears, and shields.

Things seemed to be turning seriously, the eldest daughter of the house Rickart stayed at paced the yard anxiously.

She was unable to catch a direction whether she also had to go out and fight, or what. Hiding out of fear was a sin. The two younger sisters stayed by their older sister's side and comforted her, but it wasn't practical help.

Seeing that sight Rickart grabbed the sword he had leaned against the wall and got up from his seat. He didn't separately pack the golden breastplate.

Slowly moving his body, there was no pain other than being somewhat stiff. Wearing only a thin shirt, he put on his boots and went outside. Then the three sisters turned to look in surprise flinch.

"It will end soon. Wait here."

And then holding only a single sword he faced the sea breeze and walked towards the citadel.

A large tombstone stood at the place where Rickart and Besprim had fought. It was a picture carved on the surface with a chisel, and filled in with red stone.

Two dragons were wrapping the borders towards each other's tails, and in the middle Rickart was holding a flaming sword and about to strike down the demon-shaped Besprim.

A hero who punished the devil. That was the social status Rickart held in the small village called Hellskald. Of course, whether that was truth or not was unknown.

Conversely from the perspective of the Vikings, it looked like a poorly armed man recklessly holding a single sword was approaching them.