Surely, they wouldn’t be that brave in the pits, right? I frowned, turning to face the young Terrisman. With a dubious expression, I asked.
"Are they not afraid of being lashed twenty times with those whips?" I paused, adding hesitantly. "Even among them, I doubt they would be able to find someone willing to take such a risk."
"Yes and no," Azrael said, leaning away from me. "The Ghauls, more than anything, attach great importance to each great warrior of theirs. And since you killed a fairly strong member of theirs, let’s just say they’d be willing to go to great lengths to get rid of you."
Great! Having those lunatics on my neck was certainly a great thing.
With a light exhale, I said nothing to Azrael’s words and instead glanced at the Ghaulsmen whose tense gazes remained fixed on me. Gathered together, they stared at me menacingly while speaking in hushed tones, presumably discussing whatever plans they could devise to send me to the underworld.
Exhaling deeply, I tore my gaze away from them and rubbed my temples. A moment later, I let my gaze sweep across the other tribal factions, witnessing the injustice and bloodshed before taking a step forward. With a dark expression, I slowly moved across the room, the young Terrisman trailing behind me, his eyes half-closed while his hands fiddled with a coin of sorts, as though... in deep thought.
"..."
"..."
He paused, his hazy, crystal-like eyes coming to rest on me. I shifted my gaze away from him and noted inwardly, ’Still as weird as ever, and certainly one more reason why I shouldn’t fully trust him.’
My eyes swept past the various tribal factions as we passed by, their stern, cold gazes lingering on us as we left the Butcher’s Room. The Ghauls, most especially, had the worst expressions — ones they didn’t deem fit to hide. Foolish barbarians, I’d say. But then again, they probably felt they had no need to conceal their malice and hatred. I mean... what could I — a mere royal stripped of his glorious status — possibly do to stop them?
We walked past the Roman soldiers, neither of us saying anything as we left the Butcher’s Room — a place whose name I now understood all too well. Like the young Terrisman had said, a truly befitting name it was.
Step. Step.
Soft footsteps echoed through the pits as we walked through the silence of the night. However, at some point, while walking past various Roman soldiers, each one wearing a different fearsome expression, I heard what I suspected to be... moaning sounds? Loud, rhythmic, and unmistakable.
All coming from different rooms, if those cave-like spaces could even be called rooms. But hey, they at least offered better comfort and shelter than those found in the pit. Though, I was far more concerned, and perhaps a little bit disturbed by the moaning sounds. I paused, my brows drawn into a tight frown.
Here in the pits...? How was such a thing even possible? The thought hastened my footsteps, and soon I’d see the perpetrators.
As we walked past various rooms, I noted numerous gladiators engaged in fierce sex with those I suspected to be... whores. Or rather, women who had no choice but to work in brothels. Such establishments were quite abundant in the Great Roman Empire as compared to other empires or nations. How the Roman Empire hadn’t collapsed under the weight of such debauchery remained a mystery.
Perhaps, it forever would.
Lost in confusion, I turned to face Azrael and asked, "Why are the gladiators allowed to engage in sex? Aren’t we just... mere slaves meant to do their bidding, directly or indirectly.
Azrael smirked. "What the gladiators do with their denarii coins has nothing to do with the Roman nobles. If they so wish to spend such a vital resource, one whose value only increases in the pits, on sex, then so be it. No one can possibly hold it against them."
"True," I muttered with a nod. His words were without fault, after all. Though slaves in most parts of the world, except perhaps a few, weren’t given such freedom of choice. And why should they be?
Much importantly, however, I suddenly paused, my eyes widening as I glanced at Azrael. With gleaming eyes, I asked,
"Did you just say we’re given denarii coins?"
"For all our troubles, yes," Azrael shrugged. "If you’re looking to ask about yours, though, it was spent on treating you."
"The solitab pill," I said through gritted teeth. Fuck those Romans.
"Yeah," Azrael said. "Though don’t feel too indignant about it. A few other gladiators spend their coins on the same pill."
"To get stronger?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Yeah," Azrael replied. "It’s a known fact that Solitab contains the nutrients needed to make an Awakened grow at a faster rate. Besides, it has fewer side effects compared to other natural or artificially created energy sources."
"Still not as good as an atium shard, though."
Azrael chuckled. "Yes, Your Highness. However, not all of us have the luxury of throwing money around like it means nothing."
I turned to face the young Terrisman and said. "Using one’s wealth to grow stronger, especially in the pits, no matter how I look at it, is a win in the long run."
"Maybe." Azrael glanced at a room as we passed by, throwing the Awakened inside a wink. "But then again, who are we to blame those who have already succumbed to their fate?"
The young boy we’d just passed by was lost in pleasure, his eyes glazed over as the girl above him moved without a hint of joy. She was young — too young. No older than eighteen, maybe. But then again, most of us in the pits were barely out of our teens.
I said nothing in response to Azrael’s words, nor to the young gladiator, whom I really couldn’t blame. Yet, the somber, downcast expression I’d seen a few days ago once again came to mind.
Exhaling, I pushed the thought aside as we finally made it to the pit, the distant moans and commotion fading into the background.
-Break-
In the far northern corners of the world...
Ragnar lay upon a shimmering pair of flowers — nature’s most adored beauties — beneath the luminous aurora, his eyes staring into the far distance. To the west, the land of legends.
Tales were told of great kings and emperors. Of grand empires and streets teeming with the best resources Freya ever gifted mortals with. Far from the cold wilderness of the north lay lands where kings were adorned in gold-laden silks and much more luxurious attire. And there, I had heard tales of the one true God. How blasphemous was that? For Odin, the All-Father, was the father of all.
It was said that those in the far west saw us Vikings as barbarians and heathens. But wasn’t it the same when viewed from our perspective? Who then was right and who was wrong?
Father, King Hvithrim, had said the greatest of rulers were those who ruled with knowledge and wisdom, not with brute force and strength. But then again, I wondered, how could a weak king be... king? For father himself had only gained the throne, according to mother, Queen Astrid, by killing one such weak king.
There were a lot of things Father said that didn’t seem... right to me. And there were also many things he said that I could perfectly agree with, yet most of the time, I could not even comprehend them. Nonetheless, one fact couldn’t be denied. And that was that father was regarded as a legend, a hero, and perhaps even a god by his people. Even more so by other Viking tribes.
If only he had the ambition to back it up.
If only he hadn’t limited himself to defending his land against great nations and had instead used his might and prowess to subjugate them, perhaps he would have achieved much more fame. Perhaps his fame would have resounded not only across the farthest corners of the North, but to the ends of the earth.
Mother, however, said father had much more... mundane dreams. He hoped that one day we and the westerners shall become great friends. He hoped that one day, there shall be no distrust between us. But how was that even possible? Not only did we worship different gods, but we also lived in vastly different ways. How, then, did he hope to achieve such a ridiculous dream?
My brothers and I did not share in his dreams. All except for Olvi, Father’s beloved eldest son. Even though Mother said otherwise, I found it hard to believe that father loved me most. After all, I rebelled against his ideals most. So why, then, did he adore me more? More than my more agreeable brothers.
I had many questions, as always. However, none were of greater concern than the dream of conquering lands and kingdoms, subjugating empires and nations, and making them call out to Odin, the All-Father, and Thor, the god of Thunder. If Father wouldn’t do so with the might the gods had gifted him with, then I shall.
I glanced at the distant mountains and land beneath me, teeming with my people as they went about their daily activities — the women and daughters bringing their day’s work to an end and returning home, while the men and sons drank from curved horns and indulged in earthly desires.
High up in the cold mountain range, in what I liked to call my lair, was a place no ten-year-old like me should have been able to ascend to. Yet some say I’d been gifted with greater strength by the gods, that I’d done wondrous things from a young age, and that I was destined for great things.
I knew none of that. But if there was one thing I did agree with, it was that I wouldn’t settle for less.
Faint footfalls echoed from the darkness behind me, a figure creeping up on me with a dagger hidden beneath their sleeve — all of which I could determine from their shadow cast before me. I smiled and rolled to the left, easily throwing myself off the attacker’s path. In the space of a breath, I closed the distance between us, grabbing hold of the young man and tightening my grip on him before throwing him over my bent body with all the strength I could muster. I made sure the fall would be fatal.
Third Eldest Brother wasn’t known as the most resilient Awakened for nothing, after all.
The series of sudden movements threw Angrim off balance. However, as though unfazed by the harsh impact against the mountainous floor, he was right back up on his feet in the blink of an eye. We locked gazes, wide smiles creeping across our faces.
Silence settled over us. Then came the tension.
We were both too familiar with what was to come next.
However, before either of us could make another move, an even voice — Olvi’s voice — resounded through the darkness.
"Father calls for you, Ragnar," he said. "It’s time for your coming-of-age ceremony." He glanced at Arngrim before adding. "Father wants us all to be there."
"What reason would I have to not be there?" Arngrim broke into laughter. "Our dear brother can finally come to war with us. Oh, how great it would be to see those westerners cowering beneath his might."
"It would be unwise of him to do so," Olvi stated.
"And why do you say so?" Arngrim asked, his brows raised at Olvi’s words.
I glanced at Olvi, listening.
"It would make him a target and a threat, one that not only the westerners but even other Viking tribes would set their eyes upon."
Arngrim and I said nothing in response. He was, after all, right. Whatever potential I had, I was still just a Dormant Awakened, if only slightly stronger than most Awakened. A feat that was already extraordinary and unprecedented, to say the least.
"Time to head back," Olvi said, breaking the sudden silence. He turned and began walking away.
I glanced at Arngrim who followed behind him.
Exhaling, I took one last glance at father’s fiefdom below before following behind my brothers as we headed back home. Back to the Great Hall, where father and the warriors of our tribes awaited our return.