Wound and Resolve

“[Norse] How many did you take down?”

“[Norse] One.”

“[Norse] Hey, I got two!”

Two young voices passed by outside the tent. These Norse youths, fresh from their first battle, showed no vomiting, no fear—instead, their inborn love for war was ignited.

Inside the tent.

A helmet and chainmail hung on the armor stand; a linen gambeson stained with blood on the chest was draped over the chair’s back.

A woolen blanket covered rounded shoulders, rising in a perfect arc.

Slightly parted, a vivid red spot beside a full, rosy mound was startlingly conspicuous.

“The scab has formed.”

A linen cloth was soaked in a basin of warm water, taken out, wrung tightly between two hands, then gently dabbed at the wound…

“Sss…”

‘By the gods, that hurts!’ The shieldmaiden wrinkled her nose—truly unbearable.

“Will it scar?” She tossed aside the linen cloth, cupped the firm, springy mound, and examined it. “If it leaves a scar, it won’t be beautiful at all!”

Though Noren lacked the vanity of most women, she did possess an appreciation for beauty.

That lovely thing was already deeply cherished by her—erect, with a radiant charm, not like the lazy, limp softness of a helpless woman.

Rather, it was like a female leopard: resilient, full and round.

“Luckily, the bloodstone membrane blocked it a bit. It’s just a small cut, not deep, only about a fingertip in size…”

“Chainmail is utterly useless!” She cast a disdainful glance at it. “It can’t even stop a javelin. The javelin had already pierced the shield, its kinetic energy halved, yet it still penetrated the chainmail!”

“What good is this chainmail besides defending against slashes?”

“Hmm… no!”

“Could it be that the iron rings are too big… nonsense!”

She picked up the chainmail: “This is a tightly woven, seamless hauberk—no gaps can be found… Or maybe the hauberk is just too poor. I need to get a double-layer chainmail or a lamellar armor, otherwise I can’t even defend against a mere javelin.”

“Noren?” Tolruk’s voice came from outside the tent. “I heard you talking… Need help?”

“No, I don’t!”

She refused firmly: “Just guard the tent entrance.”

“Alright, my shieldmaiden,” Tolruk said. “But you need to hurry. Old man Svein is gathering the men.”

“Let him be. My absence won’t affect the battle. Besides, can a pack of Norse berserkers not swallow a few Slav chicks?”

“…” Tolruk was silent for a moment, then spoke: “Victory is surely ours, but I think we still must not let our guard down.”

Since when did a right-leaning conservative like Tolruk appear among the Norse?

Who taught him that?

Noren completely forgot her own past words and deeds, forgot how she had urged Tolruk to cherish life and avoid recklessness.

She had indeed grown arrogant, or rather, the influence of the Norse northmen was gradually deepening.

If it were the shieldmaiden of a year ago, she would never have been so rash, nor would she have pursued so recklessly.

But now she had come to clearly realize her own strength—whether it was that 900-pound might or the enemies who had fallen by her hand, all pointed to one thing:

She, Noren, was invincible!

“Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll handle it.” She spoke impatiently to the man outside the tent, annoyance clear on her face.

Noren — Personality increased: Arrogance.

Outside the tent, Tolruk opened his mouth as if to speak, then swallowed his words back down. He pressed his lips together and said no more.

****

After a night’s rest, the wound on her chest was mostly painless. She donned the padded gambeson, the heavy, tightly woven hauberk, girded her sword—repaired and sharpened by the army’s smith—and shouldered a new shield. With a boar spear resting on her right shoulder, she swaggered out of the tent.

The gate of Opava had collapsed from the encroaching fire, and a large hole had been burned into the purely wooden outer wall.

During the night, Svein had only posted a few men outside the wall to guard against a night assault.

But night assaults were typically the work of elite troops; a bunch of mercenaries didn’t have that kind of guts.

“Old man, are we attacking now? This fire won’t burn itself out in just a few days and nights, will it?” Noren came to the front of the formation, where Svein had just finished boosting morale.

“It won’t burn that long. It’s winter now.” Svein stood on a makeshift wooden platform, looking down at the levied men and Norse youths who had undergone a transformation through blood and fire. Their resolute expressions and eyes filled him with satisfaction.

“We only need to drive out the enemies hiding in the houses, not burn everything to ashes.” Svein leaned in and whispered to his daughter, then continued: “Sithis sent a message last night.”

“A message? What message?”

“Hmm… Poland may be raising an army to invade. We must finish the battle in Opava quickly and then return to Hradec.”

“!” She sucked in a breath. “Poland is raising an army?!”

Her brows furrowed. “This kind of war between nations…”

“I know what you’re worried about. Hradec has sturdy walls, its structure is solid, the surface is covered with earth so it won’t burn, and there’s a moat around the city. Even if Poland leads several thousand troops, we can hold out until the Duke sends reinforcements.”

Svein added: “But Poland and Bohemia have a peace treaty witnessed by the Holy Roman Empire. The Emperor won’t sit idly by while Poland invades… I think… Sithis might have gotten false information.”

The girl rolled her eyes. Since you yourself think Poland won’t attack, why waste your breath?

“Even now, in winter, it still takes time to mobilize troops and march to the bishopric of Opava. But to be safe, we should strive to take the castle as soon as possible and end the battle here.”

“Mm,” she nodded. “So? What are your orders, old man?”

“Tunnel warfare… no time… fire attack… that’s a stone fortress… so we have to assault directly.”

“Noren, you have godlike strength. Though you’re only seventeen now, you’ve grown quickly. You already possess the strength your mother had at twenty-five… So I need you to open the castle gate.”

The golden-haired girl made an “OK” gesture. “No problem, leave it to me.”

The shieldmaiden agreed readily, which Svein had expected. He said: “Everyone will create an opportunity for you. Once you’re on the wall, don’t get tangled up with the enemy. Open the gate—victory is ours!”

Noren shot the old man a strange look. “On the wall?”

Svein raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

The shieldmaiden grinned. “No need for that trouble. Since you, old man, said I have godlike strength, I’ll show you—and everyone—how a ‘Heracles’ breaks down a castle gate!”

Svein sighed lightly, a helpless look in his eyes. “As you wish.”

Just like her mother.

The next moment, Svein raised the battle flag, pointed it proudly toward the stone fortress at the center of Opava, and shouted: “Now, advance!”

“Ah, finally the fight begins.”

“Yeah, my legs are numb from standing.”

“I wonder what they were whispering about…”

The soldiers murmured among themselves, turned, and barely managed to keep in step as they marched toward the stone fortress in the heart of Opava.

On the walls of that stone fortress, Polish mercenaries and local rebels stood ready. The cold wind howled past their ears, and they swore to hold this castle!

The castle hugged its own ramparts, shivering in the icy wind, staring at the Hradec army with terrified eyes. It seemed to have a premonition—

The northmen would force open its gate, then pry open the wooden door of its keep, and stuff its interior full of people!