Fewer than two hundred Yoms Warriors held their ground against nearly a thousand Scottish Soldiers, incredibly forcing them to retreat.

Cavalrymen attempting to charge the flanks of the Yoms Axe Soldier phalanx were cut down. The moment they got close, an instant before they could level their lances, a long axe would cleave open their warhorse’s chest, spattering crimson blood onto the ground.

Following the warhorse’s piercing shriek, the rider toppled to the ground, his neck broken and his breath extinguished.

The archers positioned behind the phalanx of axe soldiers rendered the remaining cavalry ineffective.

Just then, the fortress gates swung open again, and another wave of soldiers charged out.

Just as everyone began to worry, a roar erupted from the side of the fortress. A full company of Viking Warriors burst from the thickets, quickly overwhelming the Scottish reinforcements that had charged from the castle.

What followed was a one-sided slaughter.

Without a doubt, the Vikings had won the battle.

Although Eric knew all along this battle was a guaranteed victory, he still breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the outcome.

That evening, the prisoners gathered on the open ground outside the fortress, huddled around a bonfire.

Despite having been forced to the brink of death just a short while ago, the prisoners—oh, wait, they should be called freemen now.

They were still overjoyed. To their surprise, they had even received a share of the spoils—the clothes and weapons of the defeated Scottish Soldiers.

Alette kept her promise, granting them their freedom and distributing some food to them as well.

Some, who had been imprisoned for over a year, were moved to tears as they tasted a proper meal for the first time. A few others, pretending to be calm and worldly, mocked them.

Some, who had once been merchants or travelers, spontaneously began telling amusing stories from the trade routes. They discussed the King of France’s marital scandals, the recent rebellion in England, Germany’s beleaguered Emperor, and some outlandish tales about heretics and pilgrimages...

Much of it was hearsay, however.

There was a tribe near the Caspian Sea that lived on human flesh; in those lands, the pepper was white, and some people even grew a layer of white fur. In the countries of heretics, no grain would grow. The stones there were black, it never rained nor was there ever any dew, and the people’s skin was harder than iron, so they fought without weapons.

Some of their tribes lived on spices and shouted like mad dogs. Since many of those countries had no sun or moon, the people couldn’t count—their sight was useless, so they relied on sound to act. In India, one tribe spent most of its days fighting wild dogs.

Even that fellow Hessin started bragging, claiming his father had built ships far larger than the Dragon Ship they’d sailed on that day. He swore an oath that he would build one just like it in the future.

Eric sat at a distance, leaning against a tree, planning to get some sleep. He was exhausted.

But that damn brat Hessin’s voice was so loud it was jarring. Eric stood up, resisting the urge to beat him up.

He walked deeper into the forest.

The forest was quite quiet in the winter. Hessin’s voice soon faded, and before long, Eric could only hear the sound of his own footsteps.

Just as he was about to find a dry place to lie down for a while, he saw a glimmer of light, flickering faintly in the pitch-black forest in the distance. He couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or a hallucination.

’Could it be a ghost?’

The thought popped into Eric’s head for no reason.

’After all, if something like the "System" exists, it’s not a stretch to think ghosts are real too.’

’Forget it, forget it. Curiosity killed the cat.’

Eric decided to head back, but after only a few steps, he paused.

’Wait a minute, I’m a Priest, aren’t I?’

’Logically speaking, if there really is a ghost, it should be afraid of me.’

’I’m a professional at this.’

Eric pulled a Bible from his pocket and drew out the Silver Cross Pendant from his collar.

Then, he walked toward the glimmer of light.

The light grew clearer, and Eric pushed aside some bushes.

Ahead lay a clearing by the water. A bonfire flickered there, its flames dancing in the slightly chilly wind. A person was sitting beside it, turned to the side.

The firelight illuminated the man’s face. It was a handsome face—or rather, half of a handsome face. Because he was sitting sideways, Eric could only see his profile.

He wore heavy chain armor and cradled a longsword in his arms as he gazed at the moon. The moonlight shone freely upon his face, and the whole scene and atmosphere made him look like a hero from an epic legend.

’The pose was certainly a pleasing sight.’

Eric thought to himself, ’I should get an outfit like that and try that pose sometime. This sneaky persona I’ve got going on isn’t a good look.’

’Seriously, an image and outfit like that is my ideal life, dammit!’

’Being born into the right family is a real skill. But even if you get a good rebirth, you still need a reliable father.’

’My old man, on the other hand, gave me nothing, shoved me into a monastery, and basically wrote me out of existence.’

Eric sighed again.

This sigh must have been a little too loud. The man by the bonfire seemed to notice, for he suddenly sprang to his feet, drew his longsword, and turned sideways to point it in Eric’s direction.

Since he had been discovered, Eric slowly walked out.

"It’s you?"

Lagman looked a little happy and started to step forward, but then he seemed to remember something. He stopped, shifted his body sideways again, and held his pose so that Eric could only see half of his face.

"Oh, so it’s you."

Eric remembered him now. ’Isn’t this the fellow from the ship?’

But Eric quickly noticed the other man was still holding his sword sideways, showing only half his face. ’Why is he still trying to look cool? That’s a little disrespectful, isn’t it?’

Eric seemed to realize something and suddenly bolted to the side.

A moment later, Eric couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"BWAHAHAHA~" Eric pointed at the left side of Lagman’s face, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

"What are you laughing at! Who do you think I got this for?!"

Seeing that Eric had discovered his secret, Lagman shot him a glare, flying into a rage born of shame for the first time in his life. He then covered the left side of his face and sat back down in his spot.

The left side of Lagman’s face was swollen like a purplish-red pig’s head, and his left eye was swollen completely shut. The swelling made the left side of his face stick out five or six centimeters farther than the right, forming a stark contrast with his handsome right profile.

’The perfect combination of an angel and a demon. A real pig-faced goon...’

Because Lagman had acted on his own authority during the battle, his father, Godred, had dragged him back to the tent afterward and given him a vicious tongue-lashing. He couldn’t even remember how many times his father had struck him; the blows had left his head buzzing, and it felt like there were still little bees buzzing in his ear.

’Honestly, his father... He’d only hit him on one side, to the point that Lagman could no longer feel its existence. Now, even moving his lips to speak was painful.’

"By the way, what’s that in your hand?"

"Huh? Nothing, just a little prop." Eric tucked the Bible inside his coat.