Chapter 245

Chapter 245

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If you look closely at the weapons used in battle, there were many cases where tools usually used in daily life were modified.

Axes were used when cutting trees or chopping firewood, flails when threshing harvested grain, and spears and bows when hunting. Besides those there were things like slings, nets, and sickles for cutting grass.

Because they didn't have the conditions to invest time and money to train separately, it was better to use tools they were familiar with when going to battle if possible.

So when you saw some people, even though they weren't professional soldiers, there were often cases where they handled weapons breathtakingly well.

Smashing an enemy's head every time they threw a single stone with a sling, sniping from a long distance with a bow, or splitting a shield in an instant with an axe.

Farmers, fishermen, woodcutters, hunters, etc., each killed people in the ways they lived and were familiar with.

However among them, the sword was special. Because it wasn't a tool with a separate use in daily life, but was born solely for killing human lives.

Therefore, one must learn the techniques separately to handle a sword well.

There was a theory that swords were not very useful for battle. That was half right, and half wrong.

As a sword was a long piece of metal it's somewhat prone to breaking if handled incorrectly, but if merely handled well it exerted the combined effects of all weapons' advantages.

Cleaving a helmet like an axe, completely slashing bones and flesh in an instant like a sickle, and stabbing vital spots like a spear was also possible.

To did so, the skill to handle it quickly and accurately was needed. Of course, practicing for a day or two wouldn't did it. A few years at the shortest, a lifetime at the longest.

Such a sword was held in Rickart's left hand. However, he had never formally trained the sword separately.

He didn't even remember how he came to handle a sword. Merely, like a friend met drawn by destiny, or like a lover, it just constantly stayed by his side.

"For what matter have you come?"

Rickart asked. Not even fastening his belt, his thin shirt hung down to around his pelvis and fluttered in the sea breeze. His hard, heavily cracked forearms like firewood were exposed.

At the entrance of the citadel originally used by Besprim and the Shadow of the King, Vikings who came down on boats from the north were standing. Some were looking around inside the citadel, while some were guarding the boats.

Most of their weapons were axes or spears, some were wearing swords at their waists, and an even smaller number were holding helmets in their hands or dangling them at their flanks.

The number of people wearing metal chainmail and surcoats over it seemed to be about five or six. The rest of the armor was no different from the fishing villagers'.

Though Rickart had seen Norsemen descendants who settled in the Empire, this was the first time seeing Norsemen from the mainland now.

Unlike what he generally heard, their hair was mostly short and they tended to keep their beards trimmed short. And while their bodies had broad shoulders and large builds, they were closer to lean and tough body types.

No one was fat. Because they had to row oars all day in two shifts.

One of them slightly shoved his comrade and stepped forward. And walked trudge towards Rickart. It was a gaze that seemed to reel in the fierce momentum of a wild beast within.

He equipped a round shield on his left arm, his brown cloak came down only to his buttocks, and an axe and sword hung respectively at the sides of his waist.

He boldly stepped into attack range and sized Rickart up and down. His gaze briefly lingered on the sword held in his left hand, and finally he looked at Rickart's eyes.

They were eyes without a speck of fear. Not artificially faked. The Viking clearly felt it.

That also meant he didn't even need courage to approach them alone. Then where did that confidence come from?

Wild beasts were unexpectedly not ferocious. Rather, they tended to observe their opponents carefully. Being ferocious was merely one of several aspects revealed when necessary.

"For what matter do you approach us?"

"To stay on someone else's land fully armed, one must ask for understanding first. Until the owner of the land permits, one cannot anchor ships, nor can one roam around carelessly. I came to question that. I will ask again. For what matter have you come?"

Then the opponent Viking narrowed his eyes as if frowning at sunlight, and stared over Rickart's shoulder. Because before they knew it roughly 30 armed young men from the fishing village stood behind Rickart at a somewhat distanced range. Just like a pack of wolves following their leader.

The Viking observed their numbers, armaments, and momentum, and looking at Rickart again he said.

"Our numbers are greater. Our armament is also better. If we fight, you will be destroyed."

It was a threat. However, Rickart immediately noticed the intention laid beneath the threat. The fact that they didn't want to fight.

Inferring based on the surrounding circumstances and what he knew the answer naturally came quickly. These people weren't interested in the Hellskald fishing village, but needed an intermediate base to go further.

Robbing a single fishing village wouldn't yield anything. They hadn't rowed painfully through rough waves risking their lives just to did that.

Furthermore, even if poorly armed, the fishing villagers had good physiques and clear will to fight. If they forcibly clashed and casualties occurred, the Vikings' expedition could face setbacks.

Of course regardless of his intention, there was something he overlooked. It was exactly that he hadn't answered Rickart's question.

"You have not answered my question."

Looking at the opponent coldly Rickart said. That momentum seemed like he would draw his sword any second.

The Viking instinctively sensed danger. Without realizing it he faltered and took a couple of steps back, escaping the attack range.

In an instant tension surged, and the personnel looking around the citadel came out. After observing the situation, roughly 40-something Vikings began to step forward in a drove.

Then unexpectedly the Viking standing in front of Rickart raised his hand and restrained them. He had unexpected self-control and was a cautious person.

"I am Gundar, son of Umbor. Gundar Umborson. Whose son are you, and what is your name?"

To the Norsemen, who their father was was an extremely important matter. Though why that was important was somewhat incomprehensible from Rickart's perspective.

As Rickart was about to open his mouth to state his name, one of the people standing behind him shouted instead. It was the three sisters' father.

"Son of Rodrok the God of Thunder! Ricky Rodrokson!"

At that Gundar was momentarily startled. The other Vikings behind him also had similar reactions. They quickly murmured among themselves.

For Rickart, it was dumbfounding, thinking 'They believe this?', but accurately they were in a state of halfway believing it. Of course, that halfway believing state was equally dumbfounding though.

As for the Vikings, since it wasn't just one or two people but all the villagers acknowledging the matter, they couldn't immediately dismiss it as total nonsense.

Because Norsemen didn't prove their status with any records or documents, but proved their status by whether several people within the community acknowledged it or not.

So who their father was mattered. Because they inherited their father's reputation as was. If the father was trustworthy, the son was trustworthy, it was that kind of style.

Whether being the son of God was a serious matter to them in their own way, Gundar who was facing Rickart returned to his comrades and discussed something.

After whispering amongst themselves for a while, making a conclusion in his own way Gundar approached again.

"Can you prove it?"

"If I prove it what changes?"

"We will acknowledge the Hellskald tribe as an equal tribe to ours, and treat you with courtesy and respect. We will not casually attack, and if anyone does such a thing we will punish them as a penalty. Also if we wish to stay here we will pay the due price, and if you reject as the right of the owner, we will obediently withdraw."

The reason Vikings were cruel in battles and pillaging was because they were strangers to each other. Arriving on a long-distance expedition and having no reason to see them again, they didn't hesitate to did merciless and cruel things.

However, if they were in an equal position the situation was different. They would equally handle murder, theft, rape, and other dishonorable crimes by their laws and customs.

If there was a peaceful solution method, there was no need to deliberately refuse. However, even if solving the immediate problem, Vikings were ultimately people going somewhere to pillage.

Though it just might be their way of life, it was also true that it weighed on his mind on one hand.

"I am willing to prove it. Before that, where are you headed? The Empire? Or the frontiers south of here?"

"Neither. We head East."

"East?"

In Rickart's concept, the world here was the Eastern end of the human world. He thought beyond there was just an endless sea of trees, and the deeper you went, the more bizarre and powerful monsters there merely were.

"The Prophet Kaldeber said, there is a city built of gold somewhere in the East. Also powerful artifacts imbued with ancient imperial magic. We are an expedition leaving to find it."

There was something Rickart overlooked. That if necessary, anyone Vikings killed and stole from included not only humans but also monsters.

Though Vikings were farmers or fishermen, hunters in the mainland, once they boarded ships they were merchants and warriors. And, they were also great navigators and explorers.

By the way, Kaldeber... he also thought that perhaps it was Caldebert's name called in their own way.

"Who is that person called the Prophet?"

"A prophet is a prophet. 100 years ago he came visiting our land and said a long summer would come. Initially no one believed him, but a few years later an unending summer continued. He predicted the weather, correctly guessed where the wind would blow, and exactly where to go to find what treasure and danger. If we set sail as he said, massive treasure definitely followed. However, one day he suddenly left. Leaving word that he was heading to the far East."

"Is he still alive?"

"Well."

Rickart momentarily bowed his head in thought, then turned his head and looked East. He merely saw the endlessly spread sea and horizon.

Looking at that horizon he asked.

"How would you like me to prove it?"

"If you are the son of God you should properly have strength and courage fitting for it."

Rickart nodded, and walked towards a boulder somewhere in the field. The Vikings and villagers' gazes followed Rickart.

The boulder was taller than a person's height, angular and rugged. In a flash Rickart drew his sword, tossed the scabbard carelessly, and grabbed the hilt with two hands raising it above his head.

At first people wondered what he was doing. They merely had thoughts like, was he really going to strike down on that rock.

However as golden flames blazed along the blade everyone's eyes widened. Soon a solid golden line was drawn down. Then with a crack! sound the boulder split in half.

Picking up the scabbard that fell on the grass and recovering his sword, Rickart approached Gundar again and said.

"Engrave a runestone. About what you promised. As long as the tombstone stands, you will have to keep that promise. If you forsake the promise all gods of the world will curse you. Ships will wreck and sink, you will lose in all battles, crops will rot and land will dry up, and prey will leave far away and disappear."

Throwing out a warning like a prophecy, Rickart returned to the three sisters' house. Not only Gundar but all the Vikings blinked their eyes looking at the rock split in half.

Going to look later, the rock's cross-section had a clean surface like a mirror.

Rickart's sword had surpassed the destructive power of an axe, the sharpness of a sickle, and the pointedness of a spear.

It was definitely a sword imbued with magical power, or gifted by God. To them it looked so, and they had no choice but to believe it so.

Many battle weapons were modified from tools used in real life. However God's sword, was something handled solely by heroes, or sons of God.