Hero of midgard 2 a litr.., p.36
Hero of Midgard 2: A LitRPG Adventure, page 36
Glær grunted and forced him toward the edge of the bonfire, still blazing even after the Loki food had vanished.
“Get off me, freak!” Viktor yelled, slashing wildly. Kara’s sword bit deep into Glær’s flank, leaving searing wounds across his white pelt.
None of the Vikings dared interfere. They had realized Viktor would kill anyone who came close. The battlefield fell eerily still, leaving the four of them alone.
Karl limped to Kara and Mýra, grabbing their hands. “Glær!” he shouted, summoning the Rune of Overpressure Leap MK II.
Viktor screamed with rage and swung Kara’s burning sword straight down onto Glær’s neck, cleaving it in half. The elk grunted once, then went still as his head fell away.
“Glær!” Kara screamed.
Viktor ripped the antlers from his chest, freeing himself. He lifted Glær’s severed head triumphantly, his eyes locked on Karl.
“Why don’t you take a look before I kill you?” he said, hurling it like a ball.
Instinctively, Karl caught Glær’s head by the antler. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his fallen companion. Tears streamed down his face as Viktor summoned another storm of lightning, ready to finish them.
Karl acted first.
He activated the Rune of Overpressure Leap MK II, blasting himself, Kara, and Mýra 80 meters upward toward the dark skies above—leaving the smoldering ruins below.
Glory (-190): 1,750
As they flew through the air at blinding speed, flames streamed from Karl’s feet like the tail of a rocket. He couldn’t think—only hold on to his friends and Glær’s head, whose lifeless eyes still stared at him.
“Hold him, Mýra,” Karl said as he handed Glær’s head to her. He couldn’t look. He knew Viktor could chase them and destroy them the moment they landed, so he had to use their time in the air to gain distance.
Ratatoskr clung to his shoulder as Karl pulled out his bow and fired an arrow roughly 120 meters ahead. He missed. His hands trembled from what they had just endured. He cursed and tried again, aiming closer this time—110 meters. The arrow struck a patch of trees, and the rune triggered, teleporting them the same distance in an instant.
They vanished from the sky and reappeared before the trees. For a moment, no one spoke.
Pack Link: lvl 3 Requirement: Fight side by side in 10 battles. Progress: 7/8
Karl looked over at Mýra and Kara, both staring down at Glær’s severed head. Kara was weeping, clutching her best friend’s neck in her arms. Karl wanted to vomit, but he couldn’t afford the weakness—not now. They couldn’t stay.
Like so many times before, they had to run from Viktor, who seemed to win at every turn.
“Come on,” Karl stuttered, helping Kara to her feet while Mýra supported her from the other side. Together, they stumbled through the woods.
Lightning cracked behind them in the distance.
Karl risked a glance over his shoulder as they ran. Viktor flew through the sky, using lightning to propel himself through the storm. The blizzard shrouded Karl and his friends, but fear clung to him all the same.
Every time Elf Leap recharged, he launched them another 110 meters forward. They did this over and over—running like terrified children from the bully who would stop at nothing to destroy them.
By the time they teleported back to Visby, Karl was completely drained. His body had survived on sheer adrenaline, but his Stamina was gone—shocked both literally and metaphorically. Kara collapsed too, and she would have fallen face-first into the snow if Karl hadn’t caught her by the hand. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at Glær’s lifeless head.
They stood before the repaired and fortified walls of Visby. Several hosts of Jarls under Karl’s command were stationed along the battlements. The moment they saw Karl and his companions, they began shouting, opening the gates and rushing out to meet them.
Karl lifted his gaze and noticed the guards were different—likely the morning shift. Morning, he thought, glancing toward the faint glow on the horizon. The storm had finally stopped.
He hadn’t realized how much time had passed on their way back. The guards hurried to help Kara and Mýra inside. Even Ratatoskr was silent on Karl’s shoulder as he followed behind them, uncertain of what to do. He wanted to comfort Kara, but he had no words. She no longer wept aloud—only stared forward, hollow and distant, as they trudged through the snow-covered streets.
Most of the town still slept. It was early morning, and those awake were few; many had gotten drunk the night before, celebrating Viktor’s supposed defeat. A sick realization struck Karl. That might have been their last feast.
Viktor was now only one breath away from achieving godhood. Soon, he would descend upon Visby and annihilate them all with his lightning. Egil had explained the divine ranks Viktor had already ascended, and the final one would make him unstoppable.
When Viktor reached it—not if, but when—he would stand nearly on par with Thor himself. He would be able to summon vast storms and hurl lightning bolts powerful enough to kill Karl three or four times over, without costing him any Stamina. He could fly unhindered across the battlefield, unleashing rapid-fire bolts from above.
And if that weren’t enough, at the end of his storm, he could release a nuclear explosion of lightning, burning hot enough to melt anything nearby. Even then, he still had nine other blessings from Thor at his command.
They were doomed.
All the men Karl had gathered, every alliance forged, would amount to nothing. Guilt gnawed at him as they walked past the quiet homes, smoke rising gently from their chimneys. Inside those homes were families. Children sleeping.
They believed things would get better—but everything was about to get worse.
Karl barely realized they had reached Hof Visbýr until the warmth of the hall and the smell of food surrounded him.
Surprisingly, Sigrid was already there, tying on a stained apron. She looked ready to make a quip—until she saw the head in Kara’s hands.
“My dear,” she breathed, rushing forward around the long row of firepits where food was already roasting for breakfast. She wrapped one hand around Kara’s shoulder and the other around Glær’s head, helping her set it down gently.
Mýra drifted past them and sat silently at one of the long tables, her gaze far away.
“Oh, my dear… I’m so sorry,” Sigrid whispered, pulling Kara into her arms.
Kara, who had held herself together like stone moments ago, broke. She collapsed in Sigrid’s embrace, sobbing uncontrollably.
“There, there,” Sigrid murmured, patting her back.
Karl knelt beside them, looking down at Glær’s head—the loyal defender who had always been there for Kara.
Kara sat in silence, Glær’s head wrapped in a blanket beside her. She continued stroking his fur in slow, mechanical motions.
“All my fault,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“It’s not,” Karl said.
He glanced toward Ratatoskr, who sat quietly beside him, for once saying nothing. The Trickster didn’t even look up—just stared at the small patch of light flickering across the elk’s white fur.
“Stop,” Kara said sharply, shaking her head as tears continued to fall. “I really wanted—” she paused, trembling, “—I really wanted to believe I could do it.”
She wiped her face, still refusing to meet Karl’s eyes. Instead, she stared into Glær’s lifeless gaze. “I just thought I could. I felt so confident. I feel so different in that form.”
“I know what you mean,” Karl said, looking down at Glær.
“That anger,” she said, voice breaking. “It makes you feel invincible—yet it makes you irrational.”
She finally looked at Karl, her eyes bloodshot. “I can’t think straight when I’m like that.”
“You’re not alone,” Karl said, wrapping an arm around her.
She leaned into his shoulder, and they sat that way for a long time.
Karl didn’t stop Mýra when she stood a little later, after Sigrid brought refreshments. He accepted a cup of coffee and thanked Sigrid as Mýra walked away—surprisingly, toward his room. Kara didn’t touch her drink. She just cupped it for warmth.
Karl wanted to ask where Mýra was going, but before he could, Björn, Egil, and Thorstein entered the hall.
Their faces were grim, heavy with grief.
“So it’s true,” Björn said as the three approached the table.
Karl nodded. “Mýra’s okay. She’s just back there,” he said, motioning toward his room.
Björn raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. They joined them at the table. The three smelled strongly of ale, and Karl was half-tempted to hand them his soap to debuff the stench.
“You did a foolish thing, lad,” Thorstein grumbled, laying one massive, furred arm on the table and resting his head on it. “We could have helped you.”
“There was no time,” Karl said. “Viktor’s on his last quest.”
“Impossible,” Egil said, frowning and leaning forward. “I thought we had a few days left.”
As if to twist the knife even more, the System decided to chime in with a helpful message.
System Message: “It’s actually a lot worse than you think, you failed poet! Viktor is calling down the gods’ rainbow highway as we speak. The Bifrost bridge that will allow Viktor to take on his last quest will arrive in exactly twenty-four hours, so enough time for you to drink yourself into oblivion. Expect lots of thunder, and for your roof to be very, very gone.
“Oh, and here’s what good ol’ Viktor has before him. If you can foil his quest, then you just might live to see the next day!”
Trial: Face Thor himself in a divine duel atop Bifrost. Survive his storm, endure his hammer’s fury, and prove whether you are worthy of his full storm.
Reward:
Become a living storm for 1 minute: Melee strikes deal +200% lightning damage. Hurl bolts for 500–700 damage at will. Thunder-teleport every 3s. Once per hour: Vedrfolnir Nuke, a colossal lightning hawk that dive bombs for 3,000 AOE damage.
Bifrost Arrival: 23:59:59
Fenrir chuckled in Karl’s mind.
They were absolutely screwed. Especially the Trickster, considering his trauma with Vedrfolnir the Hawk devouring his wife and kids. It was in his and everyone’s best interest that Viktor not succeed.
If only.
“It was all a ruse,” Kara said, glaring at them—though her anger seemed more at herself. “They used Loki magic,” she explained, “to trick our spies into thinking Viktor wasn’t achieving his quests. We were fools, wasting the day in celebration.”
“They also sent spies,” Karl said. “We dealt with all the others except Viktor, but we’re still not sure why.”
“They probably wanted to see the divine blessings of our men,” Björn said, folding his arms as his eyes moved to Glær’s head, resting on the table out of respect.
“What do you mean?” Karl asked.
“If I had to guess,” Björn said, “Viktor’s checking how many of our men are Thor-blessed so he can prepare for when he completes his tenth quest. If all his men are blessed by Thor, then when he summons his storm, they’ll all be able to fly with him. He wanted to know our defenses before the final battle.”
“Should we do that too?” Karl asked, his voice tight. He hadn’t even considered strategy.
“Well, not anymore,” Thorstein said, a temper to his voice.
“Why not?” Karl asked.
“Oh, that makes sense now,” Egil said, scratching his wild red hair. “I thought some of the other Jarls’ men had smashed up the Thor shrines in a drunken bout.”
Karl leaned forward in shock. “They did what?”
Thorstein sighed. “It’s true. Now, some of our men do have Thor’s blessing, but it hasn’t been practical lately, especially to have them all on it. Maybe a couple dozen or so do. But if all of us had Egil’s Blessing of Freyr, we could summon a healing storm to counteract the lightning damage.”
The idea of one storm against another seemed suicidal to Karl, but the thought stuck with him as the others began discussing Glær’s funeral and how best to honor him.
Karl hardly heard them. His mind was blank.
There had to be a way he could use Visby’s defenses to propel any attack, right? He had to believe all of his efforts weren’t in vain. His mind drifted idly to the wooden spear engraved with Roman runes and the Dwarven rune walls. Maybe his mind was looking for some sort of connection, perhaps to make him feel less overwhelmed. But he couldn’t help but dwell on those upgrades.
And strangely, as he thought of the incoming lightning barrage, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the American Benjamin Franklin, running around with a kite, getting struck by lightning.
Before he could sort through it, Mýra returned, carrying a heavy sack. She looked neither afraid nor hesitant, just resolute. Her green dress swayed as she walked, her tail flowing behind her.
“There she is,” Björn said, smiling faintly.
Mýra smiled back, brushing his hand as she set the sack on the table beside Glær’s head.
“What are you doing?” Karl asked.
As Mýra emptied the contents of her treasure chest onto the table, the items gleamed faintly in the firelight—Elven steel ingots still polished, Damascus metal still sharp, Plasma Ball Rune Fragments faintly glowing, and ice troll hides stiff from the cold. Among them lay beta cores, pelts, and a new addition: the Unicorn Marrow Shard.
“The Trickster mentioned you keep a stash of rare materials,” she said as Ratatoskr crawled up her shoulder like a nosy cat.
Karl rolled his eyes. “You’ve been rummaging through my things again?”
“I’m a changed squirrel,” Ratatoskr said, holding a small Pearl of Still Waters that calmed him. Its effects started to impact Karl, but it wasn’t enough.
Karl glanced toward Kara, who remained silent, her gaze still fixed on Glær.
“We don’t have much time to gather the people,” Mýra said, arranging the materials across the table. “Viktor’s quest will reach us in less than twenty-four hours. We’ll have to stop him once the Bifrost arrives. If it doesn’t, we retreat to Visby.”
“There’s no way we can hold him off here,” Karl said, rubbing his temple. “The best plan is to ready every ship. If we fail, they sail, preferably to Sweden to link up with Ragnar.”
“They’d be roasted in open water,” Björn said. “They’d die quickly either way.”
Karl huffed in disappointment, crossing his arms. “I don’t see another option.”
“There are two problems we have to face,” Mýra said, her voice steady with determination. The sight of Glær’s head clearly fueled her resolve. “First, morale will collapse when the people see him like this.” She gestured toward the fallen elk. “It’s impossible not to notice how they treated him like a god. There could be negative System effects from that.”
“There’s not much we can do about that,” Karl said quietly.
“That’s not true,” Mýra replied. “You have two beta cores—and that Unicorn Marrow Shard.”
She picked up the shard, its pale surface pulsing faintly with light. “These materials are epic and legendary. And I’ve read that if unicorn marrow is fused with organic components—” she lifted a large, still-glowing bloody beta heart “—something new can be born.”
Karl blinked. “You’re saying you want to turn Glær into some kind of Frankenstein monster?”
Everyone at the table stared at him, confused.
“I don’t know what that means,” Mýra said, “but I know there’s a chance Glær can come back.”
Kara looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“Here,” Mýra said, gathering the Unicorn Marrow Shard and the two beta cores. “I’m an alchemy expert, and these are some of the strongest materials I’ve ever seen.”
Björn frowned. “Even if you have the components, you’d need a power source to fuse them.”
“I can offer that,” Mýra said, flicking her tail. Then, with a careful touch, she stroked the tail. “I would lose this anyway when—if I got married to Björn. It’s better if it goes to your friend.”
“That would drain all your magic,” Björn warned, though his strained eyes betrayed that he felt the sting of her words. “You’ll be… defenseless.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “What matters is that these people have their hope again—” she looked at Kara, “—and that you get your friend back.”
She took a breath. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but there’s a chance. If we have the villagers take Freyr’s Blessing, they can summon a healing field for the ritual. It’ll be the most concentrated regeneration effect we can create. It might empower the fusion enough to bring him back.”
Her voice trembled slightly with desperate resolve.
Karl looked at Kara and already knew her answer.
“Let’s do it,” Kara said.
Mýra smiled faintly. “All right, then. We’d better prepare everyone for the ritual.”
All eyes turned to Karl. The weight of leadership pressed down on him again.
“Then let’s make one last meal for everyone,” he said, exhaling slowly. “In case we don’t make it.”
Karl had a very strong, albeit depressing, feeling that they just weren’t going to.
PART IV
BULLY
37
ONE LAST FEAST
As much as Karl didn’t want to, he eventually took a brief nap after the meeting ended. It was more accidental than intentional. Mýra had taken Glær’s head to Björn’s home so she could begin brewing potions for the ritual later that day. As everyone dispersed, Karl realized how exhausted he truly was.
He hadn’t slept in over a day, and morning had already come, though it was hard to rest with the ticking countdown in his mind to when the Bifrost would arrive.
