The morning came too soon.
I woke before dawn and checked my equipment one last time. My sword was sharp. My shield was solid. My leather armor fit properly.
None of it would matter if I wasn't fast enough.
"Show me my stats," I whispered in the darkness.
[Your Status is]
[Name: Njal]
[Strength: 35]
[Endurance: 24]
[Intelligence: 23]
[Skills]
[Listening lv4] [Learning lv6] [Norse lv7] [Wood Cutting lv4] [Strength Training lv5] [Combat lv8] [Fishing lv4] [Sailing lv2] [War Preparation lv2] [Looting lv1] [Navigation lv4] [Star Reading lv2] [Winter Survival lv3] [Emotional Intelligence lv1] [Strategic Thinking lv1]
[Titles]
[The Giant] [Wood Pecker] [Wolf Tamer] [First Blood] [Monastery Raider] [Navigator] [Storm Walker]
[Achievements]
[First Raid] [Survivor's Burden] [The Long Journey Home] [Winter's Child] [The Weight of Choices]
The numbers looked impressive. But I'd never faced a professional warrior before. Someone who'd been killing for longer than I'd been alive.
My father found me sitting by the cold fireplace. He looked like he hadn't slept.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly.
"Yes I do."
"There might be another way."
"Like what? Pay them half our treasure and hope they don't come back for more next year?"
He sat down beside me. "You're my son. My only child. If something happens to you..."
"Then at least it happens trying to keep our people free."
We sat in silence as the sky began to lighten outside. Soon the village would wake up. The Danes would want their answer.
"If I don't survive this," I said, "tell mother I'm sorry."
"Tell her yourself when you win."
His confidence felt forced. But I appreciated the effort.
The Danish camp was already stirring when I walked down to the beach. Warriors preparing breakfast. Checking weapons. Some of them laughed when they saw me approaching.
An eleven-year-old boy walking alone toward their fires.
Their leader was sitting on a piece of driftwood, eating dried fish. He looked up when I stopped in front of him.
"Come to deliver your village's answer?" he asked with amusement.
"No," I said clearly. "I've come to deliver mine."
Before he could respond, I drew my sword and spun toward the nearest Danish warrior. A young man maybe twenty years old. He was reaching for his own weapon when my blade took him across the throat.
Blood sprayed across the sand. The warrior collapsed, clutching his neck. Dead in seconds.
The camp exploded into chaos. Men shouting. Weapons being drawn. Warriors surrounding me from all sides.
But their leader held up a hand. "Wait."
The noise died down. Everyone watched as the Danish chief stood up slowly. His ice-blue eyes were fixed on me with new interest.
"Interesting," he said. "Very interesting."
"I challenge you," I announced loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Single combat. Winner takes all."
Laughter rippled through the gathered warriors. But their leader wasn't laughing.
"You just killed one of my men," he said calmly.
"Yes. And I'll kill you too if you're brave enough to face me."
More laughter. Louder this time. But I could see some of the veterans weren't amused. They'd recognized something in the way I'd moved. The speed of the kill.
"What's your name, boy?" the chief asked.
"Njal."
"Well, Njal. You have courage. I'll give you that." He gestured to the body at my feet. "But killing a surprised boy doesn't make you a warrior."
"Then prove it," I said. "Fight me."
The chief was quiet for a moment. Thinking. Calculating.
"If I win," he said finally, "your village pays double tribute. And I keep you as a personal slave."
"If I win, you and your men leave. Never come back. Find easier prey somewhere else."
"Agreed."
Just like that. No hesitation. No negotiation.
He was that confident he could kill me.
The Danes formed a circle in the sand. Maybe fifty feet across. Enough room to move but not enough to run.
I could see my father and the other villagers gathering at the edge of the beach. Watching. Praying. Probably saying goodbye.
The Danish chief stripped off his outer clothing. Revealing a chest covered in scars. Arms like tree trunks. The body of a man who'd survived hundreds of fights.
He picked up a sword and shield. Both worn smooth from use. Both perfectly balanced for his fighting style.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Begin!"
He came at me immediately. No testing. No feeling out. Just pure aggression designed to end the fight quickly.
His sword whistled through the air where my head had been a heartbeat before. I rolled sideways and came up swinging.
My blade scraped across his shield. Did no damage but proved I could move fast enough to threaten him.
"Good," he said approvingly. "You might last more than ten seconds."
We circled each other. Looking for openings. Testing reactions.
He was bigger. Stronger. More experienced.
But I was faster. And I had something he didn't know about.
[New skill unlocked: Battle Instinct lv1]
The system was helping. Showing me patterns in his movement. Calculating optimal strike angles. Predicting his next move based on subtle body language cues.
His sword came down in an overhead chop designed to split my skull. I stepped sideways and thrust up toward his ribs.
He twisted away but not fast enough. My blade opened a shallow cut along his side.
First blood to me.
The circle of warriors got quieter. This wasn't going the way they'd expected.
"Better than I thought," the chief admitted. Blood was seeping through his fingers where he pressed them against the wound. "But still not good enough."
His next attack was a combination. Shield bash followed immediately by a horizontal cut. Designed to stun me and then finish me while I was dazed.
I ducked under the shield. Let the sword pass over my head. Drove my own blade toward his knee.
He jumped back. But not quite fast enough again.
More blood. This time from his thigh.
"What are you?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
"Someone who won't let you enslave my people."
We fought in earnest then. No more testing. No more conversation. Just steel on steel and the sound of our breathing.
He was good. Better than anyone I'd ever faced. His technique was flawless. His timing perfect. His strength overwhelming.
But the system was making me better.
[Combat skill increased to lv9]
[Battle Instinct skill increased to lv2]
[New title earned: Giant Slayer]
Every exchange taught me something new. Every attack showed me another pattern. Every defense revealed another weakness.
The fight went on longer than anyone expected. Both of us bleeding now. Both getting tired.
But I was getting stronger while he was getting weaker.
Youth versus experience. Speed versus power. Desperation versus confidence.
The moment came when he overextended on a particularly vicious swing. Left himself open for just an instant.
I took it.
My sword went through his ribs and into his heart. Clean and quick. Professional.
He looked down at the steel protruding from his chest with something like respect.
"Well fought," he said. Then he died.
The circle of Danish warriors stared at their fallen leader in stunned silence.
I pulled my sword free and turned to face them. Ready for the next fight. Ready to die if necessary.
But their new leader, a scarred veteran with gray in his beard, just nodded slowly.
"A bargain is a bargain," he said. "We leave."
"Just like that?" I asked.
"Just like that. You beat our chief in fair combat. That makes you the better warrior."
"What about the tribute?"
"What tribute? We came here to collect from a village of weak fishermen. Turns out you're not so weak after all."
Within an hour, the Danish ships were loaded and leaving our harbor. The warriors who'd seemed so threatening the day before now looked like what they really were.
Scavengers looking for easy prey. When the prey turned out to have teeth, they moved on to something softer.
The villagers gathered around me on the beach. Cheering. Crying. Touching me like I was blessed by the gods.
But I just felt empty.
Another man was dead by my hand. Another family somewhere would mourn a father who didn't come home.
The price of freedom kept getting higher.
"How do you feel?" my father asked when the celebration died down.
"Tired," I said. It was the truth.
"You saved us all."
"This time."
He understood what I meant. There would be other threats. Other choices. Other prices to pay.
"Come on," he said. "Your mother is making a feast. The whole village wants to honor you."
I followed him up the beach toward our house. Toward warmth and food and the love of people who were still free because of what I'd done.
[New Achievement: Champion of the People]
[New Title: Defender of the Weak]
The system tracked everything. But it couldn't measure the weight of necessary killing. The cost of being someone others could count on.
That night, as the village celebrated around bonfires on the beach, I sat alone and thought about the future.
I was getting stronger. More skilled. More dangerous.
But I was also becoming something my parents might not recognize. Something that killed when killing was needed. Something that bore the weight of other people's survival.
The question wasn't whether I could handle it. The system would make sure I could.
The question was whether I'd still be human when it was over.