The Weight of a Shieldmaiden’s Regret

“Brother, what did you do to make Sister angry this time?” Freya, having pounded the gathered herbs into a poultice, dipped her fingers into the medicinal juice and gently applied it to the young man’s face.

Tolke’s head was lumpy with bumps, his cheeks swollen, and his face a canvas of purple bruises. His lips, distended like sausages, prevented him from speaking clearly, leaving him only able to mumble.

“Mmmph, &%$!” Tolke attempted to protest, but Freya’s grip tightened, making him yelp in pain and leap up, only to be firmly pressed back into the chair.

By the time he left the house, his head was comically wrapped in layers of bandages, and his sister’s words still echoed in his mind: “It was the first time I’d ever seen Noren cry. You know how tough Svein’s training is; even through all that, Sister never shed a single tear.”

“Go apologize properly, Tolke!” His sister’s eyes, calm to the point of coldness, sent a chill and a pang through the young man’s heart, filling him with profound guilt.

He lifted his gaze to the sky, where a few clouds drifted, and the sun cast its golden light.

“What truly beautiful weather.”

****

“Vile, vile, utterly vile! Despicable, truly despicable! Flay him alive! Draw and quarter him! Grind his bones to dust!” Each furious cry was punctuated by the crack of a whip.

When Tolke found Noren, she was in a towering rage, her whip a blur, lashing with such ferocity that the s*ave sprawled on the ground, his life hanging by a thread.

The s*ave’s back was a gruesome tapestry of bloody whip marks; with each strike, he seemed to convulse.

Dust and bits of grass flew up with every impact.

“No-Noren, I’m sorry…” Tolke stood behind Noren, speaking with an anxious tremor in his voice.

“Huh?” Noren spun around, her eyes blazing with fierce aggression.

Still caught in the linguistic framework of her previous life (TL Note: Refers to her past life where she spoke Chinese), she didn’t immediately comprehend the ‘pig-headed’ young man’s words.

“I’m sorry!” After a brief pause, she clearly understood the young man’s apology, but she also fully took in the Northman’s utterly mortified expression.

As if remembering something amusing, she couldn’t help herself; her fierce demeanor melted into a smile, and she burst into laughter.

“What in the world happened to you? Pfft~” Her laughter was so utterly gleeful, it was as if the whole situation had nothing to do with her.

The ‘pig-headed’ young man lowered his head, his golden hair and awkward smile making him resemble a dejected lion.

The young woman snatched his hand away from his nose, her playful expression dissolving. “I’m sorry.”

“?”

“It is I who should be apologizing, Tolke.”

“As a Northman Shieldmaiden, my will proved weak, and I myself cast aside my dignity.”

“As companions, we should support each other, yet I raised my fist against you.”

“Being older than you, I should have shown more forbearance and embraced the responsibility of an elder, but instead, I…”

“I’m truly sorry, Tolke!” Noren stated, her expression solemn.

Last night, she had shown too much vulnerability, discarding years of training and over a decade of medieval life’s tempering, leaving her as helpless as she had been at four years old when her latent wisdom (TL Note: A concept in Chinese spiritual belief, referring to innate wisdom or memories from a past life that awaken at a young age.) had just awakened.

Moreover, for a young man full of youthful vigor, Tolke’s slight offense was entirely normal.

“But Freya said you cried.”

“Thwack!” The arrow pierced, shattering her defenses!

The progenitor of this bloodline, this one-in-ten-million pure-blooded human in genetic terms, only then remembered. Several humiliating experiences, coupled with the inherent melancholy of the late night, had led her to shed tears right in front of Freya.

‘How utterly embarrassing, truly disgraceful,’ she thought. She didn’t know how to respond, nor did she wish to deny the truth; even the strongest individuals could be broken by life.

She could only change the subject. “This man, half-dead from my whipping, still refuses to speak. Why has he suddenly grown so stubborn?”

Tolke blinked in confusion, the abrupt shift in topic leaving him slow to react. After a moment of bewilderment, he turned to look at the man, staring at the gushing blood on his back. “Perhaps he’s already told you everything he knows?”

“Is that so? He’s finished speaking?”

“After all, he’s just a s*ave; slaves are quite foolish,” Tolke remarked, preparing to help the fallen man to his feet. However, the young woman moved first, seizing the s*ave and hauling him up.

Seeing that the man could still stand upright, Noren was satisfied, even though he swayed precariously and was clearly disoriented.

“Watch closely, Tolke,” she said.

“Huh?”

A massive head suddenly flew into the air.

Tolke once again plunged into a world of black and white. The man’s head drifted slowly through the air, a red ribbon connecting it to the headless corpse from the bowl-sized gash in its neck. At the center of the red ribbon was a sword, seemingly trying to sever it.

A round, bone-like pottery vessel poured out crimson wine, spinning uncontrollably in the air as the spilled liquid transformed into red ribbons that coiled around the sword again and again.

He could clearly discern the man’s pale, bloodless face, his eyes tightly shut in agony.

He was dead.

The pottery vessel struck the grass, not shattering, but emitting a dull thud that conveyed its heavy weight, even with only a small amount of residual grape wine left inside.

The head tumbled, rolling to the young man’s feet, and at some point, its eyes opened, staring blankly and directly at Tolke.

“Thud!”

The man’s torso gently knelt on the grass, then fell forward.

The blood on the young woman’s sword was flicked onto the ground.

“Ah~ what a relief,” she murmured with a sigh of satisfaction.

Noren – Stress -50 (Punishing a crime)

The young man was stunned, unable to comprehend why she had killed the man.

“Throw the body into the forest,” the young woman said, her voice utterly calm, as if she had merely flicked open an aluminum can. She turned back with a smile. “What? Scared?”

Tolke lowered his head, unwilling to meet her gaze, yet in doing so, his eyes fell upon the s*ave’s bewildered expression instead.

Tolke – Stress +100 (Compassion)

Level One Stress!

A flicker of disappointment crossed her heart; perhaps she had pushed the boy too hard after all.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she had done it; seeing the ‘pig-headed’ young man’s crestfallen expression, a thought had simply stirred within her, and she had already severed the head of the lowly s*ave.

‘I just said we should support each other, and then I do this… I really am…’

Noren shook her head helplessly, picked up the bone-wrapped fur, grabbed the corpse by the forearm, and dragged it into the deep forest, vanishing from sight.

Leaving only one ‘pig-headed’ young man standing rooted to the spot.

****

Night

Noren lit a candle, unfurled a piece of parchment, dipped her quill into the ink, and began to write.

“On some day in some month of 1066, I, Noren (crossed out ‘Lun’), have been in this world for 16 years (crossed out ‘12’). Over more than a decade, the memories of my previous life have begun to fade. Sometimes, a faint impression lingers in my dreams, but honestly, I can’t quite recall what I dreamt.”

“Hmph~ This quill is truly awful for writing,” Noren sighed, wiping the sweat from her fingertips. She gazed at her crooked Chinese characters, then dipped her quill again and wrote: “I’ve grown accustomed to medieval life, and for that, I must thank my birthright, as I’m at least not one of the lowest serfs.”

“Often at night, I ponder why I came here, what I am meant to do, and who granted me this chance at rebirth.”

“Yet all of it remains unknown. Over a decade of this life, I’ve progressed from treading on thin ice to now, well… merely getting by. Life just continues, I suppose!”

“This writing is progressing so slowly!” Noren anxiously bounced her leg. After holding back for so long, she was now forced to waste time, slowly waiting, all because of a poor writing implement.

“It was in 1066, not long before I penned these very words.”

“My body underwent a mutation. It wasn’t spontaneous; rather, it was a premature birth, forced into being by an external influence.”

“My muscles grew softer, and the long hair on my body became even more lustrous.”

“My strength, reflexes, control, endurance, and resistance to impact all improved.”

“Even my…” She dipped her quill into the ink, but the exquisite golden inkwell was empty. She frantically searched, but not a single drop of ink could be squeezed out.

“Useless!” She slammed the golden bottle down on the table, yet the stubborn little vessel refused to yield to Noren’s furious grasp.

With no other recourse, Noren extinguished the wick’s flame, lay flat on her bed, and quietly gazed at the wooden ceiling beams.