Category: The Azure Longsword

Chapter 103: The Ultimate Form of the Weapon Master

The snow on the mountains stopped falling.

The snow on the ground began to melt.

The mercenaries of the Iron Cross watched blankly as the Snow Monsters fled in all directions. Even when bullets struck their bodies, the creatures didn’t turn back.

The temperature began to rise noticeably. Some mercenaries, feeling the heat, couldn’t help but take off their fur clothes.

After a thorough search of the vicinity, the mercenaries had to admit that if these Snow Monsters were determined to flee and hide, the Iron Cross would have a hard time finding them.

Some Snow Monsters hid in caves or crevices in the rocks; those were relatively easy to find. Others simply dug holes in the ground and buried themselves. How could they find those? Did they expect the mercenaries to overturn all the surrounding soil?

After searching for another four hours and only capturing two Snow Monsters, Andrea reluctantly announced that they had to call it a day.

Returning to the entrance of the mountain pass, the Iron Cross mercenary group encountered the returning members of Azure Longsword.

“Hey, did you see?!” Andrea asked as soon as they met, his face full of confusion. “This anomaly seemed to end inexplicably! The Snow Monsters all started to scatter and run away.”

“Indeed,” Asker nodded. “But at least we can report back to the Spartans.”

Andrea’s face fell. Who cares about the Spartans! What about the Snow Monsters? What about all those transcendental materials? It’s just over like this?

Returning to Sparta, the group was, naturally, met with the Spartans’… gawking.

Not a welcome, but gawking.

The Spartans’ feelings were complicated. On the one hand, they were happy that the anomaly was resolved. On the other hand, they were ashamed that they weren’t the ones who resolved it.

Azure Longsword was fine, but the glances the Spartans cast towards the Iron Cross were filled with undisguised hostility.

Spartans belonged to the Siris race, generally having brown eyes and black hair. Most of the Iron Cross mercenaries were Franks, with blue eyes and golden hair. Both ethnicities were known for producing strong men.

If it weren’t for maintaining a semblance of peace, some Spartans might have challenged the Iron Cross mercenaries to another duel to wash away the shame of their previous defeat.

In the Spartan Royal Court, the two kings were very polite to the triumphant group, declaring them “Sparta’s eternal comrades”… a rather useless honorary title.

Andrea beamed, putting on a perfect performance despite his inner dissatisfaction. Being a leader meant maintaining appearances.

Asker’s reaction was more genuine: after all, they had completed a dungeon run, gathered a lot of materials to sell, and obtained a silver-quality artifact. He was one step closer to his goal of equipping the entire team with artifacts.

Isn’t this sense of accomplishment what playing games is all about? Asker felt like he was back in his pre-professional player days, playing games during work hours under the guise of “competitor monitoring” with his colleagues.

When they got a high-level axe, they’d casually toss it to the colleague who played an axe-wielder, no need to discuss price.

Later, after joining the club, all his in-game gains were subject to audits and monitoring, and he couldn’t dispose of them freely. Gradually, he distanced himself from the game world and focused solely on the grind of competitive esports.

No matter how interesting something was, once it became a profession, it wasn’t far from becoming boring.

Leaving the Spartan Royal Court, seeing the smiles on the girls’ faces, Asker suddenly felt that this was quite nice too.

If he had been alone in his original world, without any attachments, perhaps he would have settled down peacefully in this world after transmigrating.

Travel the continent adventuring with teammates, collect materials, make a fortune, retire in old age, buy a manor, live a self-sufficient life, marry a wife he loved…

He’d probably find someone from the team, after all, they were all beautiful, and he knew them well. The only problem was choosing which one…

He chuckled, shaking his head to dispel these chaotic thoughts.

The group stopped in front of a blacksmith shop. Asker told the girls to wait outside and went in alone.

Ten minutes later, a truly fully armed Asker emerged, leaving the girls speechless.

He had a shield and spear strapped to his back, an axe hanging from his left hip, two swords hanging from his right hip, a pistol holstered on his chest, a short knife strapped to his left forearm, and a row of throwing knives strapped to his right forearm.

Asker, didn’t you just go in to buy back the sword you lost? How does it look like you robbed the entire blacksmith shop?

Seeing the girls’ confused gazes, Asker cleared his throat and said:

“Alright, I won’t hide it anymore—this is the ultimate form of the Weapon Master.”

The girls: …

If the person saying this wasn’t their wise and mighty captain, they would have thought he was joking.

However, Asker wasn’t joking. This truly was the ultimate form of the Weapon Master.

For a hardcore game without bug-level weapons like the “Thousand Machine Umbrella,” maximizing the Weapon Master’s advantage could only be achieved by carrying multiple weapons.

Short knives for close combat, swords and axes for close-to-medium range, spears for medium range, pistols and throwing knives for long range. Although it looked a bit clumsy, it was unexpectedly strong in actual combat.

The advantage was that if the player’s operational skills were solid, they had a huge advantage against physical Transcendents of the same level.

For example, if the enemy used a sword, their attack range including arm length was 1-2 meters. The Weapon Master could wield a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, constantly repositioning to keep the distance between them fluctuating around 2 meters. This would make the opponent extremely uncomfortable.

One moment the Weapon Master would be within your attack range, the next moment they’d be out, leaving the opponent unsure whether to attack or not.

If the opponent tried to close the distance, the Weapon Master would pull back; if the opponent stood still, the Weapon Master would approach indirectly. If the opponent attacked, the Weapon Master would pull back again, easily dodging.

It was a classic example of “They can’t hit me, but I can hit them.”

Players called this the “Yo-Yo” technique, a staple tactic of the “cowardly” playstyle.

(Readers who can’t imagine this can check out the gameplay of the Souls series.)

Some novice players might think the solution is simple: just anticipate their movement, rush forward when they approach, or retreat when they retreat. Wouldn’t that break their distance control?

Unfortunately, the Weapon Master bloodline had a sequence called “Dodge,” specifically designed to enhance the Transcendental’s control over distance and positioning…

Other novice players might say, then I’ll also hold a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, so I can attack you regardless of the distance change?

Even more unfortunately, the “Sharp Weapon” and “Projectile” sequences of the Weapon Master bloodline made them stronger in both swordsmanship and marksmanship than normal physical Transcendents…

So you couldn’t beat them in a sword fight, you couldn’t beat them in a gunfight, and you had to constantly switch your attention between sword and gun, fighting clumsily and feeling like you wanted to die.

If physical Transcendents couldn’t beat them, what about spiritual Transcendents?

Sorry, unless the skill gap was too large, it was equally difficult to fight a Weapon Master.

The reason was simple: spiritual Transcendents often had weak physical bodies, and one of the Weapon Master’s common weapons was a pistol.

As the weapon with the fastest projectile speed, by the time an Arcane Mage finished casting a fireball, or a Psychic prepared to use a control ability, a rapid burst of bullets would already have headshot them.

In the professional scene, there weren’t many ways to counter a Weapon Master. If you were a physical Transcendental, you had to be prepared for a protracted battle, maneuvering constantly to disrupt their distance control, whether you were a melee warrior or a ranged gunman.

If you were a spiritual Transcendental, you absolutely had to use guerrilla assassin tactics. Either don’t attack, or, when you attack, you must control/kill them instantly.

Otherwise, any slight mistake or hesitation, and you’d be the one getting headshot by the pistol.

Of course, the Weapon Master also had many limitations.

For example, the player’s operational skills had to be solid, and they had to be extremely skilled in various fighting styles. After all, the “Sharp Weapon” potion only taught you how to use swords and knives, not how to fight a Fire Mage while wielding a sword.

Another problem was naturally carrying multiple weapons, which greatly increased the Weapon Master’s encumbrance. Therefore, usually only Weapon Masters who reached level 5, with sufficient physical strength, would start attempting to carry multiple weapons.

In a sense, Asker wasn’t wrong when he called it the “ultimate form of the Weapon Master.”

At least within level 10.

Chapter 102: Cleave Through the Iron and Fire of this World!

“So!” Leotis, having lost face, rushed in front of Sidlipha and threatened her menacingly:

“Have you thought clearly? Choose to convert to God and bow to noble blood?”

“Or die filthily like a despicable sea dog on some unknown dock?”

Sidlipha lowered her head, looking at the ground.

“Leotis…” she said slowly, “Thank you for teaching me to read.”

Leotis paused.

“But I cannot agree to your terms.” Sidlipha suddenly raised her head, the storm-like coldness in her eyes making Leotis momentarily breathless.

“Because I am a descendant of Vikings!” she roared with all her might. The guards behind her looked alarmed, realizing the struggling force in her arms was growing, as if they were restraining not a girl, but a cornered beast.

Sidlipha’s eyes widened to their limit, blood vessels threatening to burst, like a demon from hell. Her vision blurred, and in a trance, she saw every corpse on the ground transform into her mother lying in a pool of blood.

Mother is dead, everyone is dead.

Only she remained, standing alone before the gates of hell, facing the demons who wanted to kill her.

Old Wilder’s words echoed in her ears again, like the final whisper of the dead:

“…In a desperate situation between life and death, hell lies ahead, slavery behind…”

“If you risk your life and take that step…”

The whisper abruptly turned into a terrifying roar:

“You will die!”

“I’m not afraid of death!” she screamed heartbreakingly.

She didn’t know who she was shouting at, only feeling the fury overflowing in her chest, like a volcano about to erupt, wanting to destroy the entire world:

“A true Viking never bows to nobles or emperors! And never pins their hopes on God or spirits!”

“She will only seize the right to survive in this world from the cruel iron and fire!!!”

Immense strength exploded from her arms. She violently threw off the two guards holding her and drew the dagger her mother had left her from her boot.

The remaining guard quickly grabbed her long hair, but his hand suddenly felt empty – Sidlipha had swung the dagger, completely cutting off her beautiful, waterfall-like light golden hair along her scalp.

She backhanded the dagger into the guard’s throat, burying it to the hilt, and quickly drew the sword from his waist with her other hand. Spinning, she swung with all her might, the sword light flashing like a full moon, cutting down the approaching guards.

“Guards!” Leotis retreated in fear, shouting, “Guards!”

Before his words finished, the sword thrown from Sidlipha’s hand whistled through the air, spinning several times, and pierced his chest.

The surrounding guards pressed forward like a wolf pack. Unarmed, Sidlipha fearlessly charged towards them, her clear, transparent eyes burning with white flames.

She quickly closed in on one guard. His sword slashed down, biting into her shoulder blade. In excruciating pain, she tilted her head forward, leaning in, and fiercely bit off his larynx.

Warm red blood splattered across her face. She snatched the battle axe from his waist and swung it backhandedly at the guard behind her.

He raised his shield to block. The first blow of the battle axe slammed him back half a step; the second blow made him unable to withstand the force, forcing him to kneel on one knee; the third blow shattered the shield, sending wooden splinters flying.

Sidlipha grabbed his cloth armor collar with her left hand, swung him around forcefully, and brought the battle axe down with her right hand, cutting the guard in two at the waist.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

She roared like a maddened beast, charging into the guards and killing frantically, blood and severed limbs flying.

However, more swords, axes, and shields pressed in. After killing more than a dozen guards, she herself was covered in blood from numerous cuts, battered and bruised, her body swaying, but her killing became even faster, her expression more ferocious.

So much so that every time she swung her battle axe, the surrounding guards desperately retreated. No one wanted to die together with a madwoman determined to die fighting, especially since blood always ran out eventually.

This can’t go on.

Blood flowing from her forehead blurred her vision. She looked past the layers of guards in front of her, towards the sea outside the pier.

I have to… kill my way out!

Her foot seemed to kick something. Her gaze dropped, and she saw Old Wilder’s corpse, pierced through the chest by a sword.

His right hand was open powerlessly, the battle axe he had snatched from the guard lying beside him, emitting a faint, strange, icy blue glow.

“Hold it.” A voice sounded in her mind. In a daze, she seemed to see a figure.

A bald man with crimson war paint on his face and bulging muscles, looking like a Spartan, or perhaps a Siris, or a Thracian. Sidlipha couldn’t see clearly.

“Hold it.” The man’s voice was deep and raspy. “Then, cleave through the iron and fire of this world…”

Sidlipha lowered her body and grasped the battle axe. Cold power flowed into her palm.

Then she swung the axe with all her might.

The axe swung in a huge semicircle. Wherever it passed, the bodies of the guards were instantly covered in frost, their movements becoming sluggish and difficult.

She fought her way forward fiercely, then charged straight onto the pier and leaped.

Falling into the cold seawater, her vision gradually darkened, everything around her rising rapidly away.

…

Sidlipha opened her eyes.

She found herself standing on the top of the ruined tower. The Axe of the North Wind had been pulled out from the wall, now emitting an icy blue luster.

The swirling snow converged into a tornado, rolling around the axe head in her hand, then gradually shrinking and disappearing.

She remembered everything. That was her real past.

Her mother’s death, the death of the entire village, Old Wilder’s death, the deaths of the pirates.

After she killed Leotis, she fought desperately to break through and jumped into the sea, falling unconscious, finally waking up on the shore kilometers away.

In the following years, she traveled to the Eastern Solomon Empire, seeking wealth and honing her skills.

But one day, she would return to her former homeland and find the mastermind behind the massacre of her village.

Complete her revenge.

Sidlipha held the Axe of the North Wind, dazed, and walked down the tower. She saw that the ground outside was already littered with Snow Monster corpses, and Nuo was urgently healing everyone.

More Snow Monsters were fleeing in panic, because they sensed the temperature rising and had to quickly find cool caves to hibernate, otherwise they would die.

The girls of Azure Longsword turned around. Seeing Sidlipha return unharmed, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

Their gazes also fell curiously on her Axe of the North Wind.

“New weapon, want to try it?” Asker asked with a smile.

Sidlipha looked at him quietly for a long time, then revealed a bright smile:

“Okay,” she replied with a laugh.

Assuming a perfect axe-throwing stance, Sidlipha let out a low shout and threw the Axe of the North Wind in her hand.

The axe hit the wall with force, instantly covering it with a layer of frost. A phantom flew back from the axe, landing in Sidlipha’s hand and immediately solidifying into the real Axe of the North Wind.

The axe on the wall vanished in the blink of an eye.

The girls applauded as if watching a wonderful magic show.

“You’re not level 5 yet, so this axe can only exert the power of Frost I-Frost II.” Asker said approvingly. “As your level increases, the power of the Axe of the North Wind will also increase.”

“At the Law Rank, it can freeze a large area of enemies with a swing. If one day, you can reach the demigod realm, it can even freeze everything, including time.”

“That day will come.” Sidlipha took a deep breath and said seriously.

“I promise.”

Chapter 101: True Vikings

In the tavern, Sidlipha found the pirates.

They were still dead drunk, seemingly having spent their remaining money on alcohol.

Sidlipha sighed, asked the owner for a basin of cold water, and splashed it on the men, waking them up.

The pirates stumbled out, supporting each other, heading towards the port.

Sidlipha suddenly had a bad feeling; the streets seemed unusually empty.

She quickly told Old Wilder. He, still slightly drunk, ordered his men to hurry towards the docks.

Just as they reached the port, they were intercepted by a group of city guards.

Before they could even draw their weapons, the hungover and weak pirates were disarmed, forced to their knees, and crossed swords pressed against the back of their necks.

Sidlipha injured two guards, but outnumbered, she was punched hard in the stomach by a third guard and crumpled to the ground.

Several guards were about to restrain her in the same way, swords at her neck, when a voice came from behind:

“No need to be so rough. Even if she’s a pirate, she’s still just a woman.”

Sidlipha looked up at the blond young man who emerged from the crowd, something cold settling in her heart:

“Leotis…”

“Sidlipha,” Leotis looked at her indifferently. “So you really are a pirate.”

“We have no quarrel,” Sidlipha suppressed her anger, trying to negotiate. “Killing us here won’t benefit you.”

“Oh?” Leotis smiled playfully. “Indeed, I didn’t come here to kill you.”

“I came for you,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Me?” Sidlipha was stunned. The captured pirates beside her roared:

“Get lost! Don’t you dare touch a hair on my daughter’s head…”

The shouting pirate was quickly beaten about the face with a sword hilt by a guard, spitting out teeth and blood.

Leotis watched calmly, then said with a pitying tone:

“Sidlipha, why are you always so stubborn? If you had been willing to convert to God with me, none of this would have happened today.”

“Shut up! Vikings never believe in gods…” another pirate cursed, but before he could finish, a guard stabbed a dagger into his mouth. With a twist, he was permanently silenced.

“So your target isn’t us,” Sidlipha took a deep breath. “Your target is me.”

“My target is you,” Leotis frowned slightly. “Yes, what else? Did you think a nobleman like me would waste time on a commoner girl?”

“Lost lambs need a shepherd to guide them back to the right path. Lowly commoners need noble blood injected to be reborn.” He spread his hands, speaking in a theatrical tone. “Sidlipha, you have a sinful past, but none of that matters.”

“As long as you are willing to convert to my Lord, I can give you an identity and return you to the path you should follow.”

“What identity?” Sidlipha asked coldly. “To be your mistress?”

“This is a gift to you,” Leotis raised his chin arrogantly. “Being a nobleman’s woman is always better than continuing to drift at sea.”

In that instant, Old Wilder’s words flashed through Sidlipha’s mind like lightning.

“…People are born unequal…”

“…It is child’s play for him to take anything you cherish…”

Sidlipha trembled, a sense of helplessness overwhelming her again, as if she were back in the slaughtered village.

It was the nightmare that haunted her countless nights: soldiers killing her mother in front of her, her small body unable to break through their hard helmets no matter how hard she struck.

Now, she felt her weakness and powerlessness once more.

“If…” Sidlipha said with difficulty, “I go with you… will you let them go?”

“Of course,” Leotis smiled, a look of satisfied certainty on his face.

“Don’t believe him,” Old Wilder, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. “As soon as you leave with him, we will be killed where you can’t see.”

“Shut up!” The guard behind him shouted roughly, raising his fist to strike his face. But Old Wilder stood up abruptly like a bull, struggling against his bonds and roaring at Sidlipha:

“Sidlipha! A true Viking never…”

Two swords pierced his chest from behind. He furiously broke the ropes binding his hands and grabbed the battle axe at the guard’s waist.

Then he was pushed to the ground by the guard… dead.

Sidlipha watched Old Wilder’s body in despair, her eyes reddening, tears streaming down her face.

“Stop crying!” the first mate cursed loudly.

Because of Old Wilder’s resistance, the guard behind him pressed the sword harder against his shoulder, drawing a line of blood on his neck.

But the first mate showed no pain, only shouting fiercely at Sidlipha: “I told you before: better to shed blood than tears! What are you crying for… Are you looking down on us?! What kind of true father would sacrifice his daughter to save himself?!”

He shouted furiously, then twisted his neck sharply against the sword beside him, slitting his own carotid artery.

“No!” Sidlipha screamed with all her might. She tried to rush forward, but the guards behind her grabbed her beautiful golden hair, forcing her to watch through tear-filled eyes as the first mate collapsed in a pool of blood, his life fading away.

Two other guards rushed forward, pinning her arms behind her back. Sidlipha didn’t struggle, lowering her head numbly. The remaining pirates laughed wildly.

“The first mate did it, are we cowards?”

“Let’s go! Valhalla awaits us!”

“Whoever dies last has to chug a barrel of the strongest ale at the gates of Valhalla!”

These pirates laughed wildly and defiantly, crashing their necks against the sword blades beside them, choosing death one by one.

Leotis watched in horror, realizing the situation was spinning out of his control.

By the time he frantically ordered the guards to restrain the pirates, only six or seven remained who hadn’t killed themselves – not because they acted too late, but because they hadn’t yet mustered the courage. Some hesitated, while others cast pleading glances towards Sidlipha.

Even through their gazes, no one could bring themselves to say the words “Sacrifice Sidlipha for us.”

Chapter 100: We Are Just Pirates

Sidlipha walked the streets of Helsingborg.

After docking, the captain and first mate went to dispose of the stolen goods, while the remaining pirates went off to revel.

Only Sidlipha headed towards the municipal library.

She felt a sense of unreality about her surroundings, though she didn’t know why. A voice in her head kept urging her to remember, but she couldn’t recall what it was.

“Follow your heart…” the voice said.

Follow my heart, Sidlipha told herself.

Explore like a Viking, conquer, become a noble lord, have my own army.

Then I’ll have the power to find the lord who destroyed my village and killed my mother, and take revenge.

It was painful to admit, but she didn’t even know who her enemy was. Old Wilder hadn’t been in the village at the time, so he couldn’t find any clues about the culprit.

By the time he and Sidlipha returned, the entire village had been burned to the ground.

After burying her mother, Sidlipha naturally became a pirate.

Her explosive strength and stamina were astonishing, showing no signs of female physical disadvantage. She could fight the ship’s strongest boatswain with swords, holding her own, and could toss pirates who dared to harass her overboard, then stand with her hands on her hips and laugh heartily.

More importantly, the pirates couldn’t be sure if Sidlipha was their daughter. Although Old Wilder, based on Sidlipha’s birth date, had ruled out most of them as potential fathers, most pirates believed it was Old Wilder’s lie.

His purpose was to raise everyone’s daughter as his own.

The life of a pirate was actually quite boring. Most of the time was spent facing the unchanging sea, with no entertainment to speak of.

Therefore, the pirates were very happy to have a daughter to raise on board. Even when new young pirates tried to make advances towards Sidlipha, they would be beaten by the other pirates, their hands and feet broken, and tied to the mast.

After spending six years on the pirate ship, Sidlipha finally grew into a beautiful young woman with waist-length golden hair, but she was getting further and further away from her mother Sally’s initial hope of “marrying a noble.”

Sidlipha entered the municipal library. The guard couldn’t help but stare at her, because her waist-length golden hair was too dazzling, who knew how many years she had maintained it.

The library was funded by the newly established Solomon Church in Helsingborg, with the aim of spreading the glory of God’s knowledge.

Although there were no restrictions on entry, considering that most Normans in this era were illiterate, few people were willing to come to this library to read.

Sidlipha walked into the library, looking at the clean wooden floors and neat bookshelves, feeling inexplicably timid.

Then she discovered another problem: she couldn’t read, so she didn’t know which book to start with.

After standing in front of the bookshelves for half an hour, a clear voice sounded beside her:

“Excuse me, are you having some trouble?”

Sidlipha turned around. The speaker was a handsome blond young man, wearing clothes that Sidlipha didn’t recognize, but looked very decent and luxurious, with a gentle expression.

“Um, I’m looking for some introductory books,” Sidlipha said.

“You can’t read?” The young man was a little surprised.

He had been attracted by her stunning beauty and guessed that she was the daughter of some local minor noble, which was why he approached her.

Although her clothes were extremely simple, what surprised the young man was that this girl actually admitted that she couldn’t read, so she definitely wasn’t of noble birth.

What a pity about that beautiful waterfall of light golden hair.

Although he immediately lost most of his interest, the young man still patiently picked out a few books and handed them to her:

“Here, these are for noble children, they teach basic letters, pronunciation, the meaning of 1000 common words, and some simple grammar.”

“Thank you.” Sidlipha took the books, found a place to sit down nearby, and began to read carefully.

“You’re holding it upside down,” the young man couldn’t help reminding her.

“Oh.” Sidlipha turned the book around.

“If you can’t read, can you understand it?” The young man asked curiously.

“Of course not!” Sidlipha rolled her eyes at him and said in a “Isn’t that obvious?” tone.

“Let me teach you.” The blond young man’s eyes lit up, and he said with a smile, starting to teach her the pronunciation of a few simple letters.

The two sat in the library for an afternoon. Sidlipha learned that this noble young man was named Leotis, the youngest son of the great noble Claudius in the city, and had recently converted to the Solomon faith.

Solomon Catholicism had recently spread very rapidly in the northern part of the continent, with large numbers of Normans choosing to convert.

When the Church missionaries came to the north, the first thing they did was build power-generating churches. They built large wind power stations along the coastline and connected them to the hydropower grid on the Scandinavian Peninsula across the sea.

Norman commoner believers only needed to declare their conversion, and then they could get an electrical conduit connected from the church, along with a few free light bulbs, so they could enjoy the illumination of light even during the cold polar nights.

As for the nobles, as long as they could afford it, there were even more things to enjoy.

For example, high-quality wine and food, elegant movies and games, etc., made these northern nobles, who were accustomed to barbarism, feel as if they had suddenly entered a high-tech civilized society, and their quality of life had improved qualitatively.

The blond noble young man, Leotis, was a new convert to Solomon Catholicism. While teaching Sidlipha literacy, he also enthusiastically tried to persuade her to convert to God.

However, as Sidlipha yawned several times, Leotis also stopped talking awkwardly, feeling a little embarrassed and annoyed.

After finishing today’s lessons, seeing that it was getting dark outside, Sidlipha said goodbye to Leotis and walked happily towards the port.

In the tavern at the port, Sidlipha found the pirates dead drunk, got a few rooms from the owner, and threw all the pirates inside.

…

This kind of life lasted for about half a month.

From Leotis, Sidlipha learned the spelling of all the letters, as well as some simple vocabulary and grammar.

Although Leotis was still trying to guide her to convert to the Solomon faith, and even showed signs of pursuing her, Sidlipha still didn’t react.

She always had a strange intuition about Leotis, couldn’t pinpoint the specific situation, but felt that something was not right.

Finally, the day came when most of the stolen goods on the ship had been sold, and the money the pirates earned had also been spent in the tavern.

It was time to leave this city.

Sidlipha walked towards the municipal library. She planned to say a proper goodbye to Leotis and thank him.

If Leotis was willing to accept it, she could also pay the tuition fees for this period as compensation for rejecting his advances.

Arriving at the municipal library, Sidlipha was surprised to find it empty.

She waited confusedly for a whole morning, but still didn’t see Leotis.

Wanting to leave him a note, Sidlipha wrote a few words, but found that she couldn’t write the rest.

If only I could have studied for a longer time.

She sighed and threw the crumpled paper into the trash can nearby.

Sidlipha walked out of the library gate. Behind her, unseen, several figures stealthily followed.

Chapter 99: Times Have Changed, Sidlipha

The year is 6232 of the Sixth Age. Sidlipha is 11 years old.

She practiced chopping wood with an axe against a tree stump.

“Your arm and the axe handle should be in a straight line,” Old Wilder instructed, standing beside her. “Use the strength of your forearm, upper arm, and core. Strike with all your might! Imagine this wood is your enemy’s skull, and cleave it in two!”

Sidlipha paused, then said, “But Asker said it’s unwise to directly strike the head, because the weapon might get stuck in the skull.”

“Who is Asker?” Old Wilder asked, surprised.

“Asker?” Sidlipha froze.

The name felt familiar, evoking a sense of warmth and attachment, but she couldn’t place it.

“Focus!” Old Wilder snapped, bringing her back to the present. “Strike with all your might! Kill him before his axe hits you!”

Sidlipha raised the axe and swung it down forcefully.

The axe bit deep into the wood, splitting it cleanly in two.

“Not bad,” Old Wilder said approvingly. “You have the potential to be a pirate.”

“But Mom doesn’t want me to be a pirate,” Sidlipha said. “She wants me to marry a nobleman.”

“Hahaha, naive Lisa,” Old Wilder scoffed. “What nobleman would marry a nameless waif like you? They’d take you as a mistress, at best.”

“What’s a mistress?” Sidlipha asked innocently.

“A pathetic woman who trades her body and dignity for a comfortable life, or out of fear of a nobleman’s authority,” Old Wilder said with disgust. “Sidlipha, remember this:”

“Even before a king, hold your head high with pride.”

“A true Viking bows to no nobleman or emperor. As long as he has a weapon in his hand, he defies all authority.”

“But you said before,” Sidlipha countered, “that it doesn’t matter if you’re a Viking or not.”

“Sidlipha,” Old Wilder said seriously, “I’m not talking about bloodline, but spirit.”

“The spirit of never surrendering, of facing everything with a sharp blade.”

“We are descendants of Vikings, yearning to reclaim the glory of our ancestors. One day, the Valkyries will guide our souls to Valhalla, to feast with our ancestors. Only then will you truly become a Viking.”

Sidlipha nodded, only half understanding.

She continued practicing with the axe.

Time seemed to fly by, suns rising and setting, stars appearing and fading.

Old Wilder left the village, his destination unknown.

Her mother, Sally, cursed at her, telling her to stop chopping wood like a fool.

The other children in the village would sometimes come to the woods, mocking her, calling her a “bastard,” “fatherless,” “the spawn of a pirate and a whore.”

Sidlipha ignored them. Her mind was focused on swinging the axe, splitting the wood before her, and…

…becoming a true Viking.

Suddenly, Sidlipha stopped and looked up at the sky.

At dusk, the horizon where the sea met the sky was painted red by the setting sun, the fiery clouds blooming like blood roses.

Cries and firelight came from the village.

Sidlipha ran with all her might. From afar, she saw Norman warriors, wearing nasal helmets, mercilessly slaughtering the fleeing villagers, looting their homes, and then setting the houses ablaze.

She rushed into her house and saw a warrior strike her mother, Sally, to the ground. Sidlipha raised her axe and swung it down with all her might.

The axe hit his helmet. The warrior quickly turned around, a cruel grin on his face.

“No! Run!” Sally, from the pool of blood, with a sudden surge of strength, grabbed the Norman warrior’s legs. “Sidlipha, run!”

Sidlipha dropped her axe and ran.

The sounds of steel hitting flesh and Sally’s muffled cries came from behind her:

“Run! Sidlipha, don’t look back!”

“Run!”

She ran with all her might. The Norman warriors noticed her, their shouts echoing:

“There’s another little wildling!”

“Don’t let her escape!”

“The lord’s orders are to kill them all!”

Flying axes and arrows whizzed past her. She ran, her focus fixed on escape, all the way to the pier, then jumped into the icy seawater like a fish.

I can’t beat them.

I ran away.

Can I still be a Viking?

With a sense of despair, little Sidlipha sank into the sea, the shouts fading away.

…

The light from the surface rippled above.

Sidlipha opened her eyes in the seawater.

She swam upwards.

Emerging from the water was the head of a 17-year-old girl. She was beautiful, with a straight nose, milky white skin, and almost transparent azure blue eyes. Her long, shimmering, light golden hair fanned out around her in the water.

A large ship was anchored nearby. Sidlipha skillfully climbed up the anchor chain and quickly reached the deck.

The deck was crowded with Norman pirates, all freshly emerged from the sea, their bodies dripping wet.

“I declare the winner of this underwater breath-holding contest is our daughter, Sidlipha!” Old Wilder, the ship’s captain, announced loudly, raising a mug of beer.

“Our daughter, Sidlipha!” Although they had lost the breath-holding contest, the pirates showed no sign of disappointment, their faces beaming with paternal pride.

After the pirates dispersed, Sidlipha walked to the helm and said softly, “Village Elder.”

“What did you call me?” Old Wilder frowned.

“Father,” Sidlipha said after a moment of silence. “I want to learn to read and write.”

“What do you need that for?” Old Wilder chuckled. “Don’t tell me you still cling to that ridiculous notion of becoming a noble?”

“The Vikings of old conquered lands and became lords…” Sidlipha tried to argue.

“The past is the past, the present is the present,” Old Wilder said impatiently. “Are there any Vikings left? From Britannia to the coast of Normandy, it’s all castles and armies. Where is there undefended land for you to conquer?”

“Times have changed, Sidlipha.”

“I want to learn to read and write,” Sidlipha insisted stubbornly.

Old Wilder paused, then said:

“We’re resupplying in Helsingborg and selling our loot.”

“If you want to learn to read and write, you can go to the municipal library there and borrow some primers. Of course, you’ll have to pay for the books and the tutor yourself.”

“Okay,” Sidlipha said.

Chapter 98: There Are No More Vikings

Persson ran off with the axe, four other children trailing behind him, giggling. The boys begged to touch the axe, while the girls praised Persson’s strength, puffing up his chest with pride.

They disappeared around a bend in the path. Sidlipha sat up silently from the muddy ground, touching her bruised cheek, but not crying.

“Heh, Vikings,” a world-weary voice chuckled.

Sidlipha looked up and saw the speaker, Wilder, the village elder, a man in his forties, seemingly returning from outside the village, having witnessed the scene.

“Village Elder, my mother asked me to exchange this axe for bread and pickled fish,” Sidlipha said softly, standing up. “But the axe was taken from me.”

“I saw,” Old Wilder said, his gaze steady on her. “Do you feel resentful?”

Sidlipha looked at him, confused.

“Resentment is the primal instinct that drives humans to violence,” Old Wilder said. “People are born unequal.”

“You know, I too was once robbed of…something precious.”

“What was it?” Little Sidlipha asked, her eyes wide.

“My lover,” Old Wilder said seriously. “She was a blacksmith’s daughter, with a full figure, fair breasts, and beautiful golden hair. I was an apprentice at the blacksmith’s shop then, and I fell in love with her at first sight. We were deeply in love and secretly pledged ourselves to each other.”

“Then she was taken from me…became someone else’s mistress. He was the son of a local minor lord, noble, learned, and wealthy, superior to me in every way. I confronted him, but his guards beat me nearly to death. I only escaped by playing dead.”

“From that day forward, I knew people were not equal. Often, the pinnacle you strive for your entire life is merely someone else’s starting point. Whether it’s family background, wealth, or knowledge, you are no match for them.”

“Then, it becomes child’s play for them to take anything you cherish.”

Old Wilder finished speaking and continued walking.

Sidlipha silently followed behind him. She didn’t know why, she just did.

“Is there no way?” Sidlipha finally asked. “How… can I protect what’s mine, so it won’t be taken away?”

“Oh, there is a way,” Old Wilder stopped and looked at her with a cold gaze. “There is one way that gives you a chance, just a chance, to defeat those high and mighty.”

“It’s to fight with all your might.”

“Fight with all my might,” Sidlipha repeated his words, her voice flat.

They passed houses, fields, and the beach, arriving at the crude pier by the sea.

“Twenty years later,” Old Wilder looked at the distant horizon, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I led my pirates and raided his castle. I smashed his children in front of him, humiliated his wife and mistress, and finally hanged him in front of his family crest.”

“From that moment on, I truly defeated him, crushed him completely beneath my feet.”

“Pirates, are they Vikings?” Sidlipha asked.

“Not all pirates are Vikings, but almost all Vikings are natural-born pirates.” Old Wilder said lightly. “The Vikings were a Transcendental Norman clan at the end of the Fifth Age, who lived by plunder and battle. They once controlled the North Sea, making the Franks on the continent fear them so much that they called all pirates from the north ‘Vikings,’ regardless of whether they were from the Viking clan or not.”

“But there are no more pure-blooded Viking clans now. The people on the continent now call us Normans. We are considered to be the descendants of Vikings, northern Germanic people, and local natives.”

“Legend has it that the Viking clan possessed the secrets of controlling frost. They could freeze the shields and weapons of their enemies in battle, even using frost to destroy their fingers and arms. Therefore, the hair of pure-blooded Vikings was as white as frost, like ice. Look around, do you see anyone with white hair?”

“When it comes to Viking blood, generally, the lighter the hair color, the stronger the Viking bloodline. Blonde hair is a characteristic of the Germanic people, including the Franks and the natives of Scandinavia. The person with the closest hair color to white in our village is your mother, Sally.”

“Is Mom a Viking?” Sidlipha asked innocently.

“Perhaps.” Old Wilder chuckled. “You’ve seen what your mother is like now. Does it even matter if she’s a Viking or not?”

Sidlipha fell silent.

“Here, take this.” Old Wilder took a few fresh fish from a small compartment behind the boat and tossed them to her.

“I don’t have an axe to trade with you,” Sidlipha said honestly.

“It’s okay, little Sidlipha.” Old Wilder looked at her with a smile. “Maybe you’re my daughter… I calculated the dates, it’s not impossible.”

“Remember, it doesn’t matter if you’re a Viking or not, what matters is whether you have a strong sense of resentment in your heart and the courage to fight with all your might.” Old Wilder said, “Facing a life-or-death situation, hell in front, slavery behind. You risk your life and take that step…”

“And if you survive, you win.”

“And if I don’t survive?” Sidlipha asked, holding the still-twitching fish.

“Then you die.” Old Wilder shrugged. “So you also need a strong body. To step into hell, courage is just the most basic requirement.”

Little Sidlipha returned home with the fresh fish. The window was open, and the unpleasant smell had dissipated. Sally, with her white-blonde hair, was combing her long hair and glanced at her indifferently.

“Mom,” Sidlipha called out, holding the still-struggling fish.

“I told you to get pickled fish, why did you bring back live fish?” Sally raised a slender eyebrow and immediately started scolding. “And where’s the bread? Can’t even do such a simple thing?”

Sidlipha remained silent.

“You’ve been rolling around in the mud again! Why are you so dirty? Do you know how much this dress cost me?”

Sidlipha still didn’t speak.

Sally scolded her for a while, then took a bucket of water and washed her briefly, making her beautiful light golden hair soft and shiny again.

Then she dried her body and changed her into another clean dress.

Sally went to the woods outside, skillfully scaled and gutted the fish with a dagger, skewered them on branches, and started a fire to roast them.

Sidlipha stared at her blankly.

“I learned this technique from a passing bard,” Sally said, sprinkling dirt salt on the roasting fish. “Otherwise, you would have to gnaw on raw fish like a seal…”

“Mom,” Sidlipha suddenly asked, “how can I have a strong body?”

“Why are you asking this?” Sally paused, then immediately started cursing. “It must be that old pirate, Old Wilder, filling your head with nonsense again, right? I’ve told him countless times, you’re not his daughter! You have nothing to do with that old man!”

“Then who is my father?” Sidlipha asked.

Sally fell silent.

“Forget about it.” After a while, Sally said lightly, “All you have to do is live well, grow into a beautiful young lady, and then marry a minor noble or a wealthy merchant. I gave birth to you to be beautiful, not for you to be rough and ruin your body, understand?”

Sidlipha nodded.

Chapter 97: The Vikings

The year is 6230 of the Sixth Age. 23 kilometers north of Helsing.

Fishing boats returned to the small coastal village one after another.

Seagulls circled overhead, crying out. Some Norman fishermen tossed small fish upwards, and the seagulls caught them in mid-air, then soared away.

Occasionally, some unlucky ones collided while vying for the fish, causing the fishermen below to burst into laughter.

This fishing village had no name; it was a so-called “wildling village.”

According to the prevailing feudal laws of the West in this era, the land belonged to its lord, and all residents on the land had to pay taxes to the lord.

However, this land, called Hålogaland, was vast, and the tax officials under the lord couldn’t monitor every piece of it.

Furthermore, the Normans were a hardy people. They fished at sea, and when times were tough, they would abandon their villages to become pirates. When tired of piracy, they would find a new place to build a house, establish a village, and start fishing again. Therefore, there were many fishing villages along this coast, existing in a state of subtle disconnect from the lord.

The tax officials didn’t know about these villages, and the villagers didn’t know about the lord. Thus, these villages became wildling villages, unregistered with the authorities.

The fishermen pulled their boats ashore, and the village children cheered, running towards the fishing boats to find the biggest and fattest cod.

A small figure stood by the houses, watching the children running barefoot on the beach with envious eyes.

But she remained motionless, knowing the fishermen would feel awkward seeing her.

Or rather, they harbored a subtle apprehension towards her.

This year, Sidlipha was 9 years old.

…

She felt like she had forgotten something important.

After spending the afternoon by the beach, letting the sea breeze blow through her hair, Sidlipha finally admitted she couldn’t remember.

Perhaps it was just a fleeting illusion from oversleeping this morning.

She stood up, intending to go home.

Walking to the smallest house in the village, she heard a woman’s cries and a man’s heavy panting coming from inside.

Her mother didn’t like to be disturbed when she was working.

So Sidlipha went to the woods outside and started digging for earthworms.

A moment later, an angry shout came from the house:

“I don’t want your stinking axe as payment! Stork, if you don’t bring enough money next time, don’t even think about stepping through my door!”

“Haha, my dear Sally, next time I’ll definitely pay double.”

A Norman man, pulling up his pants, yawned and walked out. Seeing Sidlipha digging for earthworms, he couldn’t help but ruffle her blonde hair and say:

“Sidlipha, go home. Your mother is waiting for you.”

“…Maybe you’re my daughter,” he muttered as he fastened his belt and left.

Sidlipha covered her nose and went back inside. A pale arm reached out languidly from the worn-out bed.

“Go, pick up the axe by the door, find Old Man Wilder, the village elder, and exchange it for some bread and pickled fish.”

Sidlipha picked up the axe and left the house in silence.

Sally, Sidlipha’s mother, had a unique profession in the village.

Her clients were mostly passing pirates, and occasionally, village fishermen would visit.

The latter was less common, as fishermen were relatively poor and reluctant to spend money on pleasure.

But over time, almost every fisherman in the village had been with Sally.

Then, Sally became pregnant.

No one knew why she suddenly chose to have a child, and they didn’t even know who the father was. For a time, all sorts of things were piled up in front of Sally’s house, food and herbs for prenatal care.

The women in the village were furious, keeping a close eye on their husbands, afraid they would sneak out in the middle of the night to give Sally things.

Then little Sidlipha was born.

The women in the village hated her, calling her a “bastard,” maliciously speculating that her father was an old, ugly, and festering pirate.

The fishermen in the village felt awkward seeing her, because she might have their blood flowing through her veins. So they could only take care of her and try not to talk to her, lest their sensitive wives find out.

Secretly, the fishermen called little Sidlipha “everyone’s daughter.”

The children, returning from the fishing boats with their bounty, gave the fresh cod to their mothers and received dried fish from the cellar in return.

Then they started playing pirates, pretending the dried fish in their hands were battle axes, swinging and chopping at each other.

The villagers had mixed feelings about pirates. On the one hand, they had all been pirates at some point. On the other hand, they didn’t want their children to become pirates.

However, the children didn’t care about this. They simply thought pirates were cool, able to sail around and do whatever they wanted, attacking anyone they didn’t like.

“Today, I’m a Viking! Die!” A blond boy shouted, throwing the dried fish in his hand at another child.

“Persson, you were already a Viking last week!” The other children complained. “It’s someone else’s turn!”

“Fine! Then let’s wrestle. Vikings are all strong. Whoever can wrestle me to the ground will be the Viking!”

The children immediately quieted down. The blond Persson was the biggest among them, and most of them couldn’t beat him.

A boy bravely stepped forward. A few minutes later, he was slammed to the ground by Persson and burst into tears.

Persson tried to look imposing, glancing at the remaining children triumphantly.

No one spoke.

“Alright, now I’m the Viking, the King of the North Sea!” Persson said, pointing his finger. “Vivica, Selma, now you are my slaves, come and serve me.”

The two girls pouted and reluctantly stepped forward, massaging Persson’s shoulders.

“Carlson, Jonberg, you are the pirates I defeated, and you surrendered to me out of fear of my Viking identity. Now you are my guards.”

The two boys were overjoyed and immediately grabbed their dried fish, pretending to be wielding swords.

“Everyone else is an ordinary villager. Now pretend to go fishing, and wait for me to plunder you!” Persson clapped his hands.

So the remaining children immediately scattered. No one wanted to be caught and beaten up by this little Viking pirate.

Persson laughed, watching the children scatter in fear. His gaze suddenly fell on Sidlipha across from him.

This little girl had beautiful, light golden hair that reached her waist, and her skin was so fair that it was almost transparent, like a delicate porcelain doll.

The children guessed that her father must be a noble, otherwise, how could he have such a beautiful daughter who looked like a princess? However, whenever this was mentioned, their mothers would say disdainfully:

“She’s a bastard, her father is a festering old pirate.”

Persson was a little nervous. He hadn’t spoken to Sidlipha before, so he said cautiously:

“Hey, Sidlipha, do you want to be my princess and future wife? I’m a powerful Viking.”

The two girls next to him were immediately shocked: “Persson, she’s a bastard! Mom said that if we play with her, our faces will rot!”

Persson was annoyed by the two girls’ words, but Sidlipha across from him just looked at them silently without speaking, which made him feel awkward and irritated.

Just as he was about to slap her, Persson’s gaze suddenly fell on the axe in her hand.

It was a real axe. Although the wooden handle was covered in mold, and the axe head was pitted, it was a real axe.

Not like the dried fish they used for playing pretend.

“Where did you get that axe?” Persson asked, feigning kindness.

Sidlipha finally spoke:

“My mother gave it to me, to exchange for bread and pickled fish from the village elder.”

“No need to go to the village elder. I have bread and pickled fish here.” Persson said immediately. “Give me the axe, and I’ll give you the food.”

Sidlipha said “Oh” and handed him the axe.

Persson took the axe and backhanded her, knocking her to the ground.

Little Sidlipha covered her cheek, not understanding what had happened, and saw Persson grab her beautiful long hair, his boot pressing down on her face, and say arrogantly:

“Listen, Sidlipha!”

“A true Viking never trades, and never resorts to words!”

“They only take what they want from the crucible of fire and blood!”

Chapter 96: The Axe of the North Wind

Asker removed his chainmail and allowed Nuo to heal him. His burns were extensive, and there were bruises and contusions from the impact of the fall.

After Nuo’s lengthy lecture, Asker’s injuries were finally treated, and thick bandages were applied.

Nuo insisted that the burned skin needed to be protected and allowed to heal naturally. Using Life I to accelerate the healing process risked causing the skin cells to overgrow, resulting in raised scars and wrinkles.

While Asker didn’t mind the potential scarring, Nuo was adamant that such a cosmetic blemish was unacceptable.

So, Asker became the mysterious bandaged man, enduring the girls’ giggles as they continued their journey.

The Spartan boy guides had mostly been taken by the Iron Cross. Azure Longsword, however, chose a different path, a steep, narrow trail leading up the cliff face above them, the same cliff where the Snow Monsters had appeared and triggered the avalanche.

Based on his years of gaming experience, Asker suspected a connection between the avalanche, the subsequent snowfall, and the Axe of the North Wind.

The increased snowfall was a result of the axe’s anomaly.

Therefore, the avalanche itself was likely related to the Axe of the North Wind.

Perhaps the axe was lodged in the mountaintop, and a Snow Monster had accidentally disturbed it, triggering the avalanche below. Considering that the heavy snowfall anomaly was caused by the axe, this causal connection was highly probable.

The steep trail was much more difficult to climb than the gentle mountain path. In some places, the steps weren’t even stone, but footholds carved into the earth, now covered with snow and ice, treacherously slippery.

“Everyone, be careful!” Asker led the way, using Eleanor’s spear for support. He reached down, helping each girl up one by one. “If you fall, you’ll be half-dead!”

“It’s fine, if we fall, the captain will come rescue us,” Thira quipped as she passed him.

“That’s me!” Asker retorted. “If you fall, I’ll be half-dead!”

Their laughter echoed through the snowy mountains.

…

About an hour later, they finally reached a natural platform, a small, flat area against the mountain wall. The concrete remains of what appeared to be a Second Age Spartan watchtower stood nearby, its roof long gone.

An ancient troll sat at the base of the tower, its wrinkled face obscuring its eyes. It gnawed on a human leg bone.

Behind it, a pile of human remains, skulls, and partially decomposed bodies lay heaped against the tower, mercenaries and Spartans alike.

Seeing Azure Longsword, the old troll paused, its milky eyes blinking. Miel reacted instantly, raising her sniper rifle.

A gunshot cracked through the air, the bullet piercing the troll’s forehead and exiting through the back of its skull.

The troll’s corpse slumped to the ground. Miel looked surprised, seemingly not expecting the old troll to be so fragile, killed with a single headshot.

It was completely different from the younger trolls they had encountered, who could withstand dozens of rifle rounds.

“There!” Thira pointed to a glint of light at the top of the tower. “Asker, is that the Axe of the North Wind?”

Asker took Miel’s sniper rifle and looked through the scope. “Yes.”

He turned to Sidlipha. “Ready?”

“I’m ready!” Sidlipha said confidently.

While waiting for Asker and Medea, Sidlipha had finally digested most of Frost I and had taken Giant I back on Furnace Island.

Angel’s Song was truly the team’s strongest buff. Even the potentially volatile bloodline potion “Giant” was forcibly stabilized by Nuo.

When Asker arrived, Sidlipha had been running around with a giant snowball, trying to quickly digest the “Giant I” potion.

“Good,” Asker said, his voice serious. “Listen carefully.”

“You are not choosing the weapon; it is choosing you.”

“You will enter a vision quest. You will temporarily forget your purpose, lost in a haze.”

“To pass its test, you must find yourself.”

“The only way is to follow your heart.”

“Follow my heart?” Sidlipha laughed heartily, patting her chest. “Okay, I understand everything!”

The girls behind her exchanged glances and sighed.

“That’s it,” Asker nodded.

Sidlipha stepped over the old troll’s corpse and walked towards the ruined tower.

Just as she entered, she poked her head back out, a confused look on her face.

“Asker, what did you just say?”

The girls groaned.

Asker paused, then shouted, “Follow your heart!”

“Okay, I remember!” Sidlipha waved and turned back, the carefree smile vanishing from her face, replaced by a look of grim determination.

“My…heart?” she muttered to herself.

Sidlipha ascended the stairs.

With each step upwards, the air grew colder, but thanks to Frost I, she only felt the chill, no real discomfort.

Then, she heard whispers, ethereal voices seemingly speaking directly to her spirit, like murmurs in a dream, lulling her towards sleep.

Sidlipha pinched the web between her thumb and index finger, the slight pain anchoring her to consciousness, a sense of unease settling in her heart.

Finally, she reached the top of the tower, an open platform exposed to the elements.

The wind howled like a knife, biting at her face, ice and snow swirling around a battle axe embedded in the wall.

The whispers turned to roars, too loud to understand, a deafening buzz filling her ears.

Sidlipha tried to walk forward but stumbled, unsure if it was the wind, the noise affecting her balance, or her own wavering mind.

She stubbornly pushed forward, towards the axe.

Though her steps faltered, though her body swayed, though her vision and consciousness blurred, she pressed on through the wind and snow, step by step, until she finally reached the battle axe.

It was a classically styled weapon, clearly designed for one-handed use, though wielding it with two hands was certainly possible.

The haft was made of dark gray metal (probably steel), covered in strange and intricate patterns, reminiscent of the ancient runes the village elder used to carve into the earth when she was a child.

What were they called… runes?

Sidlipha gazed at the axe, its blade a strange, deep blue, as if carved from ice, a color as deep and dark as the frigid sea north of Svalbard.

It was said that even the bravest Viking pirates, sailing those waters, dared not look into the depths of the ocean under the moonlight.

Those were treacherous waters, and sailors whispered that if you gazed into the depths at night, you could see the palace of Ægir, the sea god, filled with the treasures of countless shipwrecks. A single glance, and you would be compelled to jump into the sea and drown.

The color of this axe was exactly like the color of that legendary sea, though Sidlipha had never been there herself.

The axe head was polished smooth, with simple patterns etched along the blade, as exquisite as an ancient artifact.

The blade was extremely thin, similar to the flying axes favored by Norman pirates. Such a thin blade might be brittle, but Sidlipha believed this blue ice must possess incredible hardness.

Otherwise, the forger wouldn’t have been able to carve patterns onto such a thin piece of ice.

With trembling hands, she reached out and grasped the haft, covered in ancient runes.

Then, her mind went blank.

Chapter 95: Jealousy

They had been walking for hours. Asker was fine, but Medea was starting to tire.

“Here,” Asker said, handing something back to her.

“What is it?” Medea asked.

“A chocolate bar,” Asker replied. “For energy.”

Medea tore open the wrapper and took a bite, the sweet, rich flavor spreading through her mouth.

“Want some?” She offered the half-eaten bar to Asker.

“No, thanks…” Asker began, but Medea quickly popped it into his mouth.

After swallowing the chocolate, Asker looked at her with a flat expression.

Medea grinned mischievously, like a sly fox.

“We’re here,” Asker announced after another hour of walking.

“Here?” Medea asked.

“This is where we first encountered the Snow Monsters.”

Medea looked around carefully. Although the snow had covered their tracks, she recognized the location.

She even saw the flattened area by the path where Sidlipha had been doing sit-ups, now covered in snow.

“Let’s keep moving,” Asker said. “They’re probably waiting for us where we fell down the slope.”

“Are you sure?” Medea asked.

“If Nuo and Eleanor are in charge, they’ll definitely have everyone stay put and wait,” Asker said confidently.

As if on cue, a figure appeared around the bend in the path ahead.

Recognizing the two of them, the figure instantly accelerated, covering the twenty meters and launching herself into Asker’s arms.

“Asker!” Peggy cried joyfully, burying her face in his chainmail.

“Peggy?” Asker was embarrassed. He had just told Medea that everyone was waiting in place, and now Peggy’s appearance contradicted him.

Medea, reading his thoughts, wanted to laugh. But seeing Peggy’s affectionate display, she also felt a twinge of annoyance.

“What are you doing here?” Asker coughed, asking Peggy. “Didn’t Nuo tell everyone to wait?”

“Yes,” Peggy nodded, releasing him. “But I didn’t want to listen to them, so I snuck out.”

Asker: …

“Lead us to them,” Asker sighed.

As they walked, Peggy clinging to Asker’s arm, Medea remained silent, a frown tugging at her lips.

So much for our alone time.

“Asker, what happened to your face?” Peggy suddenly noticed the burns and blisters.

“Just a minor injury, nothing serious,” Asker said dismissively.

“Those are burns, aren’t they? My, my.” Peggy said dramatically. “Someone was rather ruthless, to damage such a handsome face…”

“Fortunately, our dear Captain didn’t seem to mind this minor inconvenience,” Medea said coldly. “He even risked his life to save her from the avalanche.”

Peggy’s eyes flashed, and she glared at Medea, who returned a knowing, slightly provocative smile.

“Both of you, be quiet,” Asker said impatiently.

The girls fell silent, but their mental sparring continued in the privacy of their minds.

What are you so jealous about? Medea asked mentally. Can’t stand seeing him rescue me?

Asker simply wants to save people, Peggy retorted. Whether it was you or someone else who fell, it doesn’t matter.

Medea recalled the memories she’d gleaned from Asker’s mind and sneered, Oh, but that’s not what he was thinking.

“You!” Peggy’s face hardened. Knowing Medea could read minds, she fumed silently. That’s impossible! How could he possibly have feelings for you… I was here first!

That’s irrelevant, Medea said coolly. Men prefer women with…more…developed attributes. How long will it take for those little buds of yours to bloom? Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re a Flesh Sequence vampire. Your development is…permanently stunted, isn’t it?

“You’re lying!” Peggy hissed through gritted teeth. “Once I reach Flesh II, I can change my body at will! I’ll be a thousand times more…developed…than you!”

“You mean, breast augmentation?” Medea asked pointedly.

“That’s breast growth!” Peggy roared.

“Using supernatural means? What’s the difference between that and surgery?” Medea laughed.

“You!” Peggy stamped her foot in frustration.

“Hey! Both of you!” Asker frowned. “No private chats or arguing!”

The two girls fell silent, embarrassed, like children caught misbehaving.

As they continued walking, the two girls glared at each other, their eyes practically sparking. Exasperated, Asker scooped up some snow and threw a snowball at each of their faces.

This only ignited another battle. As they walked, the two girls began pelting each other with snowballs.

Physically, Medea was no match for Peggy.

However, Medea could subtly use her Desire ability to disrupt Peggy’s movements, preventing her from attacking or dodging effectively.

Asker sighed and continued walking, dodging the flying snowballs.

Finally, they reached the designated location and saw the rest of the girls squatting at the site of the avalanche, boredly building snowmen.

Sidlipha, holding an enormous snowball, was walking towards them.

“Asker!” she cried joyfully, dropping the snowball and running towards him.

The other girls also stood up, their excitement evident.

During the avalanche, the girls had huddled beneath the protruding rock on the outer slope, while Asker had jumped down to rescue Medea. The surviving members of the Iron Cross, however, had taken shelter at the base of the inner cliff.

Though protected from the avalanche’s flow, they were buried under a massive amount of snow.

After the avalanche subsided, the girls had waited and then helped dig out Andrea, Hermann, and the other surviving Iron Cross mercenaries and Spartan boy guides.

Hermann and the others expressed their gratitude profusely, but Andrea was speechless, his expression a mixture of gratitude and shame.

After regrouping, the Iron Cross mercenaries, along with the Spartan guides, intended to continue their mission and find those Snow Monsters to take their revenge.

Before leaving, Andrea even offered to buy the transcendental materials collected by Azure Longsword at the exorbitant price of 380 marks each.

However, this offer, clearly intended as compensation and gratitude, was rejected by the girls. They couldn’t make such a decision without their captain.

So the Iron Cross mercenaries bid farewell to the girls, asking them to direct any other mercenaries who had survived the avalanche and were returning from below towards their location.

After waiting for several hours and encountering a dozen groups of Iron Cross mercenaries returning after being scattered by the avalanche, the girls of Azure Longsword started to feel uneasy.

Like a ship without a rudder, they didn’t know what to do next.

Nuo, Eleanor, and Thira advocated waiting in place. If their captain was still alive, he would definitely return here to find them.

Peggy strongly disagreed. What do you mean “if the captain is still alive”? Of course he’s alive!

She, Mia, and Miel thought they should go down to the valley along the mountain path and actively search for Asker.

Sidlipha suggested using the nearby trees to make skis and slide down the path of the avalanche to find Asker and Medea.

This whimsical and dangerous idea was, of course, ignored by everyone.

After several rounds of voting, Sidlipha agreed to follow Eleanor’s plan.

4 to 3, Mia and Miel accepted the result, but Peggy declared, “I’m not listening to anyone, I’m only listening to Asker!”

Then she rushed out, so fast that even Mia couldn’t catch her.

Asker listened to the whole story in silence, then chopped Peggy on the neck, knocking her out.

“No more acting recklessly. Obey team decisions, understand?” he said when she woke up.

“But!” Peggy protested. “What if the team decision is wrong?”

“No one can guarantee that decisions will always be correct,” Asker said calmly, “but rashly separating from the team is definitely wrong, understand?”

Chapter 94: Asker’s Resolve

Asker and Medea trudged through the snow, the wind howling around them.

“I’m cold,” Medea said, hugging Asker’s arm. “Warm me up.”

“You can create fire,” Asker pointed out.

Medea: …

She suddenly regretted having a Fire ability.

With a flicker of her wrist, a fireball appeared, radiating a pleasant warmth, pushing back the biting cold.

“Wait,” Asker stopped suddenly, looking at the tracks in the snow.

“Snow Monster footprints.”

“What should we do?” Medea asked, suddenly nervous. Though Asker was with her, he was still injured and without his sword.

“We’ll deal with it when we encounter them,” Asker said.

“Deal with it how?” Medea asked.

Asker looked at her pointedly.

“Me?” Medea asked incredulously. “But…I’m a Psychic! You want me to confront a Snow Monster head-on?”

“It’s fine, I have faith in you,” Asker said.

“I don’t even have faith in myself!” Medea thought, exasperated.

“Don’t say that, I trained you, after all.” Asker said. “Just listen to my commands when we encounter a Snow Monster.”

As if on cue, two Snow Monsters rounded the bend in the mountain path ahead.

“How convenient,” Asker said dryly.

“What do we do?!” Medea almost shrieked.

“Fire right, control left,” Asker instructed.

Medea summoned a fireball and hurled it at the Snow Monster on the right, simultaneously making eye contact with the one on the left.

“Controlled!” she shouted.

“Make it charge the other Snow Monster with full force!” Asker said.

The fireball flew straight ahead. The targeted Snow Monster hurriedly retreated, just as the controlled Snow Monster, slightly behind it, suddenly shifted and charged left, slamming into its companion.

Completely caught off guard, the first Snow Monster was knocked off the mountain path. The controlled Snow Monster, unable to stop its momentum, tumbled down the cliff after it.

“That’s it?” Medea was incredulous, seeing the two enemies so easily dispatched.

“What did you expect?” Asker said. “Learn to use the environment to your advantage.”

“Then, what if there are three Snow Monsters?” Medea asked. “Control one, knock one off, what about the third?”

“Use your brain,” Asker said. “Using the environment is essentially about creating displacement, forcing the enemy off the path.”

“Snow Monsters are afraid of fire, so your fire projectiles can restrict their movement. Imagine your projectile’s path is a straight line. Which way will they dodge to avoid it?”

“Realizing this, you can calculate how to position your attack, forcing them towards the edge of the path.”

“Then there’s the choice of control target. You can either control the Snow Monster closer to the inner side and make it push its companion down the mountain, or control the one closer to the outer side and have it grab its companion as it falls, dragging them down together.”

“So, what’s the difference in choosing? Considering the narrow mountain path, either method is viable. Then what’s the disadvantage? The Snow Monster’s weight, of course.”

“Heavier Snow Monsters tend to have stronger muscles and greater strength, making them harder to push or pull. So, shouldn’t you prioritize controlling the heaviest Snow Monster and then manipulate it to push or pull the lighter ones? That would increase the success rate of displacement.”

“Then how to judge a Snow Monster’s weight? Considering their density is roughly the same, it depends on their size, of course.”

“How…” Medea said, impressed. “How can you come up with so many countermeasures the moment you see a Snow Monster?”

“That’s experience,” Asker said. “Seeing a mountain path, you should think about how to use displacement to knock the enemy down; seeing a swamp, you should think about how to lure the enemy into the mud and slow them down.”

“Even different professions have different focuses on the environment. Gunmen focus on high ground and cover distribution, melee warriors focus on enemy positioning, their own positioning, and attack ranges.”

“Mages are relatively more concealed. They don’t need to face the enemy directly like melee warriors, nor do they need to focus on damage output like gunmen, exposing their position with every shot. Therefore, they have more opportunities to observe and utilize the terrain.”

“Hmm, hmm, hmm,” Medea nodded thoughtfully.

“Medea, I’m very optimistic about your future, you’ll become a powerful Psychic,” Asker said, seemingly remembering something.

“Really?” Medea nodded, then suddenly asked, “Who is Xiao Liu?”

Asker paused, realizing she was reading his memories again, and explained:

“A junior of mine from my previous life, she came from an esports training camp and was later poached by the Purple Lightning team.”

“She also…” Medea hesitated. “I mean, did she also play a Psychic?”

“Yes, like you, she also followed the Infernal Succubus path,” Asker replied. Since Medea could read minds, there was no need to hide his past – she would find out anyway.

“Heh, ‘I’m very optimistic about your future,’ you also said this to her, right?” Medea said, a little displeased.

Just how many people have you said this to?!

“Yes, she was a very talented player,” Asker said. “But you’re different from her.”

“Oh, how am I different?” Medea asked, intrigued.

“She was the hardworking type, relying on constant practice.” Asker said. “The most standard positioning, the most standard operations, she would consolidate all tactical movements with thousands of repetitions, ensuring that she was completely consistent with the textbook.”

“Although the tactical movements in the textbook are the most efficient, it also means that her actions are easily seen through by top experts. If everything is done according to the textbook, then when to read thoughts, when to implant ideas, and even when to manipulate the enemy’s mind, it’s all like pre-determined actions on a timeline, completely predictable to the enemy.”

“It sounds like you’re a little disappointed in her?” Medea asked tentatively.

“Not at all.” Asker said honestly. “I originally planned to guide her through the basics and then slowly teach her the tricks of tactical variations. It’s a pity she switched teams shortly after starting.”

“Was it because of a relationship?” Medea asked.

“Of course not!” Asker said, exasperated. “She’s from the North, and the Purple Lightning team happened to be based in the capital, and her parents wanted her to develop her career back in her hometown…”

“Oh.” Medea suddenly felt a sense of smug satisfaction.

Because she could abandon her country and family for Asker, while this Xiao Liu couldn’t, this immediately gave Medea a psychological advantage.

“You just said that I’m different from her, right?” Medea said with a smile. “Is it because I’m charming and can utilize the advantages of a Psychic more easily?”

“Of course not.” Asker was a bit speechless. “I mean, you’re a naturally talented player.”

“She’s quite honest and introverted, so step-by-step learning is more suitable for her. You’re different. You’re full of tricks, so you’re more suited for some more…unorthodox operations.” Asker said, “I think a trickster style suits you better.”

“Oh, I forgot to explain, Trickster is a player on our team, his bloodline is ‘Mind-Stealing Wraith,’ his main sequences are ‘Spirit’ and ‘Mind.’”

Medea tried to read his mind, and the image of a short, sneaky, trash-talking ghost immediately appeared in her mind.

“This Trickster…” She didn’t know what to say.

“Very annoying, right?” Asker said. “But his trash-talking skills are very powerful. It’s said that he used to be a professional internet troll, paid to attack and curse people online. He can make the other party so angry that they pull out their network cable with just a few words.”

“Combined with his ‘Mind ability,’ he can forcibly transmit all kinds of trash talk into the opponent’s mind during battle.”

Medea shuddered at the thought, goosebumps rising all over her body.