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.
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