The sun began to rise over the horizon, casting a golden glow on three figures approaching a campfire set at the edge of the forest. While the undead left no visible traces after their midnight attacks, it was always wise to stay vigilant—just in case something changed.
"Some crazy night we had, right?" Hildr said, reminiscing about the shenanigans from just a few hours earlier. "Rossweisse came back safe and sound. Then there was Nikolai, the superhuman—it's not every day you see someone who can take on more than five Valkyries at once and take down Erik the Ironhide."
"You missed the part where Rossweisse has a husband now~" Hlökk added with a sly smile, causing Hildr and Reginlief to chuckle.
"And here I thought she'd never find a boyfriend with that serious attitude of hers."
"Yeah, you're right," Reginlief agreed as she adjusted her glasses. "I get that we need to be serious about our studies and all, but it doesn't hurt to have fun once in a while. Sigh... But I'm glad she found Nikolai, at least." A warm look crossed her face.
When Rossweisse had first joined their class, everyone was surprised to hear she'd skipped three semesters. They assumed she was a genius, smart enough that the Dean had personally placed her in their semester.
But when she introduced herself, she came off as far too serious. Stories from the juniors about her strict nature made her seem even more unapproachable.
Hildr once invited Rossweisse to a girls' night at her apartment, but Rossweisse had coldly declined, calling it a "money-wasting event."
From that moment, she was estranged from the group. Being top-ranked in both academics and Nordic magic didn't help—if anything, it made her even more intimidating.
Her obsession with rules and her habit of scolding others for misconduct only fueled the group's negative opinions.
To be honest, she was kinda annoying to them. It was as if she were trying too hard to be "Miss Perfect."
But everything changed when Sigrun made an effort to befriend the silver-haired Valkyrie. No one knew how she did it, but she even convinced Rossweisse to attend another girls-only party—the very event she'd once called a waste of money.
They smiled, remembering how out of place Rossweisse looked at that party, sticking closely to the only person she knew: Sigrun. Over time, it became clear their bond had grown—they were like sisters.
Thanks to Sigrun, Rossweisse eventually opened up to the rest of the class. They came to understand she wasn't trying to be perfect for perfection's sake—she was trying to help her family. And if being at the top was the only way, she was going to give it everything she had.
It was honestly kind of adorable.
"Speaking of Nikolai, I heard he's Russian, right?" Hlökk asked.
"Yeah, why?" Reginlief replied.
"I heard Russians are super scary. They never smile and are even more serious than our dear Rossweisse," Hlökk answered.
"Really?" Hildr raised an eyebrow.
Reginlief looked at her like she'd said something ridiculous. "I mean, I've only met Nikolai, but aren't you stereotyping a bit?"
"Hey! I got that info from my boyfriend, okay?" Hlökk defended herself, crossing her arms and pouting.
"And how did your boyfriend get that information?" Hildr asked, curious.
Hlökk rubbed her chin. "Well, his grandfather is an Einherjar from a country called Germany. I think he fought in a place called Osowiec? He was the only one who stayed behind to face the Russians—called them 'demons' or something. Oh, and he said he was a Nazi soldier."
"Not sure what a Nazi soldier is, but Rossweisse's father is German too, right? Maybe—whoa! Something smells amazing!" Hildr's sentence was cut short as a delicious aroma reached her nose.
Without waiting for her friends, she bolted toward the source of the smell.
"Hey, wait up!" Hlökk called, running after her with Reginlief in tow.
As they neared the campfire, they spotted a lone figure roasting meat over open flames. His caramel skin tone made him easily recognizable in their village.
"Hey! Nikolai, what are you making?" Hildr called out to him.
The man turned, greeting them with a warm smile. "I'm making Shashlik," he said, handing them skewers of sizzling meat.
"Don't mind if I do!" Hildr took one eagerly and bit into it. Her eyes widened as the flavor exploded in her mouth. "Mmmhh—!"
Nikolai was amused by the dramatic reaction but happy she enjoyed it. "Hehe, glad it's to your liking."
"Yup," she said, nodding with her mouth full.
It didn't take long for the others to catch up.
"Sorry about her, sir. She's a foodie. She can't help herself around good food," Reginlief apologized as Hildr shamelessly grabbed another skewer.
Hildr laughed nervously, cheeks flushed. "Ehehe, sorry. Can I have one more? Please?"
"Haha, don't worry. Eat to your heart's content. There's plenty. You can have some too—you must be tired and hungry after your guard duty," he offered, handing skewers to the others.
As they dug in, they were equally impressed.
"How did you make this so good?" Hlökk asked between bites.
"It's nothing special—just fresh boar meat and herbs I found in the forest. I've been making it for years. Practice makes perfect, I guess."
Nikolai didn't think much of his recipes, but seeing them enjoy his food made him smile. Maybe becoming a chef wasn't such a far-off dream after all.
"True, true!" Hildr nodded. "If there's one thing I've perfected through years of practice, it's archery. My arrows never miss."
"For us, it's our battle synergy," Hlökk said, grinning. "Reginlief and I have trained together since we were kids. No one can stop us when we fight side-by-side!"
"I wouldn't call it perfect yet," Reginlief said, prompting a dramatic "Huh?!" from Hlökk.
"Don't forget Mr. Volkov here beat both of us back when we thought he was an undead trying to hurt Rose."
"Who's Rose?" Nikolai blinked.
"Oh, that's what we call Rossweisse. You know—nickname."
"Ohhh."
"Speaking of Rossweisse... What are your intentions with her, Mr. Volkov?" Hlökk's sudden question made the group fall silent.
Nikolai blinked in confusion. "Well... If you're talking about the whole 'I'm going to marry Rossweisse' thing—then yeah, I'm serious about it."
Seeing their surprised expressions, he scratched his head. "Is that a problem?"
"Well... considering Rossweisse prefers rich guys..." Reginlief mused, adjusting her glasses.
"You're making her sound like a gold digger," Hildr nudged her.
"What's a gold digger?" Nikolai asked.
"A woman who dates a man only for his money," Hlökk explained with a laugh. "We sometimes tease her with that—it's funny to see her flustered. But she's not one. She's just practical. She once said, 'A man who can't provide for his family isn't a man at all.'"
Nikolai thought about that quote. Honestly, he didn't find any fault with it. In his culture, a man was expected to provide. If he couldn't support Rossweisse, he wouldn't be worthy of her.
But seeing these girls enjoy his cooking made him hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, that dream of opening a restaurant could come true.
"I smell Shashlik!" an excited voice cried out. They turned to see Artom running up, followed by Igor, and finally Rossweisse.
"Good morning, everyone," Rossweisse greeted them. She turned to Nikolai, frowning. "And you, mister—didn't I tell you to rest?"
Nikolai scratched the back of his head. "Sorry... but I'm fine. See?" He showed he was no longer wrapped in bandages.
"Besides," he added, handing skewers to Artom and Igor, "watching you three sleep on the floor while I had the bed wasn't comfortable. I couldn't sleep."
"S-So it was you who—" Rossweisse stuttered, blushing.
The other Valkyries leaned in, catching the smirk on Nikolai's face.
"She's blushing," Hlökk whispered.
"And that smirk—something happened," Hildr grinned.
"I want to get to the bottom of this," Reginlief said, turning to Igor.
"Sweetie, why is your Mama blushing like that?" she asked.
"Probably because Papa carried Mama, me, and Artom to bed last night," he replied casually.
Eyebrows raised.
"Explain the whole situation," Hildr requested.
Artom jumped in to explain between bites of Shashlik. Last night, Rossweisse and the Volkovs were given the healer's house to rest their weary bodies. Rossweisse had volunteered to look after Nikolai, insisting he take the only bed in the house so he could recover faster. Despite his protests, she and his sons made him lie down, saying he needed the rest more than they did.
Although they were given pillows and blankets, the wooden floor was no substitute for a proper bed—especially with winter just around the corner. The air was already turning cold. Nikolai wasn't surprised that it might start snowing within a week.
He had reluctantly agreed. But as the night passed and everyone else drifted off to sleep, Nikolai remained awake. He quietly got up, tiptoed over to where Rossweisse and his sons were curled up under the blanket, and gently picked them up—one by one—carrying them to the bed.
He tucked them in and whispered a soft, "Thank you," before kissing each of them on the forehead.
And then—
GROWL!
His stomach had interrupted the sentimental moment. He had rubbed his belly with a tired chuckle.
"Looks like I need food first."
---
{ Somewhere Deep Inside the Forest }
The deep, echoing clang of metal striking stone reverberated through the torch-lit cave. Ragnar Olsen, his hands trembling from fatigue, continued carving ancient runes into the towering monolith before him. The rasp of his labored breath echoed alongside his steady hammering.
"J-just two more… and everything will go according to plan," he muttered.
His body ached, his soul frayed. Each monolith he completed drained him physically and spiritually. But he had come too far—planned too long, sacrificed too much—to stop now.
He had waited more than a decade. Gathering strength. Manipulating pawns. Making deals with a cult that claimed to be demons in human flesh. He hated them, loathed everything they stood for—but he needed them.
Staring at the monolith, he remembered the first step he took toward vengeance… and what it had cost him.
His thoughts wandered to two children. Guilt twisted in his gut.
"I hope that boy is okay…"
He could still hear their cries—haunting him every night. He had left them behind with the cult, powerless to act. The monster would have devoured him if he'd tried. But he'd made a vow: if they survived, he'd return to save them… assuming they hadn't already become like them.
Still, revenge on the Nordic Pantheon came first.
Then, a voice—icy and amused—cut through the cave.
"That's a dumb plan for a man as smart as you."
Ragnar turned, startled, to see a tall man cloaked in black standing just beyond the firelight.
"Viktor Volkov," Ragnar growled. "How long have you been there?"
"Not too long. Just long enough to hear you want to save my niece and nephew from 'that monster'… I hope you meant me. Hahaha."
Viktor's laugh was cold, echoing through the cave like a death knell. A smirk spread across his face, sending a chill down Ragnar's spine.
"Do you have what I asked for?" Ragnar demanded.
Viktor rolled his eyes and signaled to the shadows. Two dark figures emerged, each carrying a body bag. They dropped them at Ragnar's feet with a thud.
"The last descendants of the Persian Immortals," Viktor said, lighting a cigarette with a conjured flame. "Took a while to kill them. They were tough—blyat. But I tested their immortality firsthand. They'll make a great addition to your undead army."
Ragnar narrowed his eyes. "As this is our final exchange, you'll want me to stop sending undead to the cabin?"
Viktor exhaled a trail of smoke. "Of course. We don't need them anymore."
"Why not?" Ragnar asked warily. It had been seven years since they'd struck their deal. The undead were meant to train their god's "future host." The boy's safety always lingered in Ragnar's thoughts.
Viktor's smile grew.
"Nikolai is ready."
Ragnar felt his chest tighten. There was something too eager, too proud in Viktor's voice.
"What do you mean, 'ready'?"
"You don't need to know." Viktor flicked ash onto the cavern floor and gestured toward the body bags. "They were a little damaged. Hope that's not a problem."
"I'll be the judge of that," Ragnar muttered, kneeling beside one of the bags.
He unzipped it—
—and recoiled in horror.
"What?" Viktor asked lazily. "It's just a few broken bones."
Ragnar stood up, eyes blazing with fury. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Careful who you point your anger at, Ragnar," Viktor warned, his gaze turning cold.
"WHY IS THERE A DEAD CHILD INSIDE THE BODY BAG?!"
Viktor took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed.
"You asked for a descendant of the Persian Immortals. That's what you got. I never said anything about age."
Ragnar staggered back from the body bag, his stomach lurching. The child's small form lay unnaturally still—arms limp, face bruised, and clothes torn like they had been dragged through hell.
"You... you sick bastard," Ragnar hissed, his voice sharp with fury and disbelief. "You told me they were warriors, not kids!"
Viktor took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled the smoke with a shrug. "They were warriors. Descendants of the Persian Immortals. That's what you asked for."
"They were children!" Ragnar snapped. "They didn't even stand a chance, did they?! You beat them to death like animals!"
Viktor's expression darkened. The lazy amusement vanished from his face like a snuffed flame. He stepped forward, cigarette between his fingers.
"Watch your fucking mouth, Olsen," he said coldly. "You seem to be forgetting who you're talking to."
Ragnar stood frozen. He knew that look. He'd seen it once—only once—when Viktor showed him what a monster he truly wasThere was no humanity behind that gaze, only a void.
Viktor flicked the cigarette away. It bounced off the cave floor with a hiss.
"I kept your sorry little plan running for seven damn years. Gave you everything you asked for. Every corpse, every inch of breathing space, every material you needed to finish this project of yours. And now you want to whine because your hands aren't clean?"
He leaned in, voice low and venomous. "You made a deal with demons, Rune Carver. You don't get to cry about the blood."
Ragnar's rage faltered under the crushing weight of fear. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. He felt like a child again—weak, small, powerless.
Viktor smirked at his silence. "That's more like it."
He turned, signaled the two figures from the shadows to follow, and walked into the darkness at the edge of the cave.
"This was our last deal. Be grateful you're still breathing."
As his figure disappeared, so did the pressure in the air. The flames of the torches seemed to breathe again, no longer choked by his presence.
Ragnar remained still for a moment, until the last echo of Viktor's footsteps faded.
Then he dropped to his knees, trembling.
He unzipped both body bags completely and stared down at the broken children. No more than twelve or thirteen years old. One had blood dried at the corner of their mouth. The other… eyes wide open, still, as if they hadn't even had time to blink before it ended.
His fists clenched. He bit back a sob and cursed under his breath.
"Fuck…"
A single tear traced down his cheek. Then another. He didn't try to stop them.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't know. I didn't know he'd—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. The shame clawed at his throat.
"These weren't just bodies. They were kids. They had names. Families. Dreams. And I let that animal tear them apart."
He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, then reached into his satchel and pulled out a small stone—engraved with a protective rune. He placed it gently on the chest of one of the children.
"You won't be forgotten."
He stood slowly, eyes burning with a different kind of fire now—one fed by grief, guilt… and purpose.
"The Pantheon comes first," he growled. "Odin and his brood have to fall. But when I'm done with them…"
His gaze moved toward the cave entrance, where Viktor had vanished.
"…You're next, Volkov. I don't care what deals I made. You'll pay for what you did to them. To all of them."
And with that, Ragnar turned back to the monolith, chisel in hand. The echo of each hammer strike rang louder now—like the sound of a coming storm.