Chapter 39: Tireless Drinking! Fighting the Valhalla Single-Handedly!

At midnight, the full moon hung in the sky like a drop of blood.

At some unknown hour, a faint mist rose across the dead of night, and the moonlight took on a tinge of crimson through the haze, as if foreshadowing the ominous slaughter of war.

The military tent was brightly lit. Outside the entrance, a squad of Celtic warriors stood guard over the camp, while several other patrols kept watch through the night.

Duncan sat bare-chested, cross-legged upon a sheepskin mat. Under the flickering candlelight, the contours of his exposed muscles resembled the mythological statues of ancient Greece. Before him knelt a young female slave dressed in a simple tunic, her expression filled with awe and reverence as she respectfully handed a jar of mead to Duncan.

The slave held the mead high above her head, her eyes stealing a glance at Duncan’s abdomen.

Duncan reached out and took it, tilting his head back to drink deeply. A few drops of mead spilled, trickling down his rock-solid pectoral muscles.

Hiss!

While Duncan held the mead jar in one hand and drank heartily, Severus, assisted by two other female slaves, was busy tending to several wounds on Duncan’s back. Severus scraped away the blood-scabs with a small knife, tore away the fragments of cloth stuck within them, treated the wounds anew, applied herbal poultices, and finally had the two female slaves wrap clean bandages around Duncan.

Duncan’s injuries were not severe; most were superficial.

Having drunk a little over half the jar of mead, he remained utterly expressionless as Severus finished re-bandaging him. Given his astonishing physical constitution, minor wounds like these would heal almost completely within a week.

When Severus finished tending the wounds, he glanced at the female slaves before leaving, exchanging a look with Duncan.

The look implied whether these female slaves should stay to serve.

"Withdraw," Duncan said with a wave of his hand.

He was hardly starving; Anya had been riding him into a frenzy these past few days, so he wasn't the least bit hungry right now.

Severus was likely still holding onto the rigid impression left from their time at the outlaws' stronghold.

To be sure, after a major battle Duncan would occasionally vent his desires, but right now he needed to recuperate and had no such thoughts whatsoever.

The Duke of Tintagel had already been sent to Cornwall to recover.

For now, Duncan was the supreme commander here. This victory was merely the beginning; he had to seize the opportunity of the Saxons' crushing defeat to reclaim the occupied territories in one fell breath, ideally capturing Hampshire outright so that Southampton and the Isle of Wight would be under his control.

Dimensional Space.

From a God's-eye view, a new epic victory appeared within the projected screen.

——[The Battle of Exeter (Epic Battle): Horsa, leader of the Jutes, feigned defeat to lure the enemy, defeating the Duke of Tintagel in Dorset before advancing his main army to besiege Exeter.

In the face of crisis, the heavily wounded Duke of Tintagel decisively sent for aid.

Leading sixteen horsemen, you galloped through the night, arriving at the battlefield at the critical moment. You decisively charged your forces forward, routing the Saxon hunters, plunging the enemy into chaos, and saving the perilous city of Exeter.

Subsequently, Horsa led an army of five thousand to encircle the town.

Calm and composed in the ensuing warfare, you repelled wave after wave of fierce Saxon assaults, gradually turning the tide. Finally, after the arrival of the Exile Band, you seized the critical moment to launch a decisive attack, leading the general's bodyguard into the enemy formation, repeatedly shattering their forces, and shooting down Horsa, leader of the Jutes, causing the Saxon grand army to rout in disastrous defeat.

Hengist and Horsa, the founding leaders who invaded the British Isles, fell successively by your hands. The power of the Jutes gradually waned, leaving them forever unable to command the Anglo-Saxons.

The Kingdom of Kent exists in name only.

Your formidable reputation will spread across the entire British Isle with this epic victory, and echo into distant Scandinavia!]

(Legendary renown +3. Britannic legendary renown: 2 points. Germanic barbarian legendary renown: 1 point.)

Still 3 points of legendary renown.

Hengist and Horsa could be considered Duncan's starting point; the two brothers had contributed a grand total of six points of legendary renown to him. Behind this legendary renown lay the decline of the Jutes, one of the branches of the Germanic barbarians, who were now beginning to fade away, no longer able to lord over the others.

Ripples spread across the periphery of the Dimensional Space.

In a single instant.

Duncan seemed to witness the echoes of the long river of history. In the future historical trend, the Jutes gradually declined, losing all residual strength for expansion. They were soon completely assimilated by the Anglo-Saxons, eventually being reduced to an inconspicuous minor tribe and vanishing bit by bit.

The usual routine.

Duncan first strengthened his soul. Still, there was no obvious change, save for his mana bar increasing by a tiny fraction, though mana in the Middle Ages was so pitifully scarce that even after enhancement, he still couldn't loose a second wind arrow. Yet soul strengthening could never be skipped; Duncan could tangibly feel his soul growing stronger bit by bit, even without that explosive growth. He had no idea how much legendary renown had to be invested to further elevate his soul.

——[Legendary Renown: 2/6.]

Duncan checked the ascension enhancement page and unexpectedly found Gil's name there, along with several other fallen generals and bodyguards.

"Do you wish to elevate the target to an Einherjar?"

"Estimated cost: 2 points of legendary renown to elevate the target to a lower Einherjar!" (If the target's legend fades, the lower Einherjar will also vanish with the passage of time.)

No!

Duncan directly cancelled it.

He would compensate the fallen Gil in worldly terms; elevating him to an Einherjar was out of the question—he had merely been testing the waters. Legendary renown was far too difficult to acquire, and lower Einherjar could potentially vanish with time. Among the people he knew, only a handful were worthy of such an investment.

The absolute minimum threshold was Severus, seeing as he was an old comrade-in-arms who had followed Duncan since his rise from obscurity.

Duncan's harvest from this battle was immense!

——[Weapon Master (Spear): Your mastery of spear-type weapons has reached perfection, your casual strikes as swift as lightning. When utilizing any spear-type weapons, your combat skills are vastly enhanced.]

The fourth master-level combat skill, presumably derived from the elite chieftain bodyguards and Saxon noble riders.

"I really am proficient in all eighteen martial arts now," Duncan smiled.

In today's bloody battle, Duncan had slain nearly a hundred enemies, counting those he had chopped down later with his cross-axe.

——[Lance Charge Master: With your elevated mastery of spear-type weapons, when launching a lance charge, you possess a lethality that mortal men cannot withstand. Your astonishing skill is more than enough to easily claim victory in jousting tournaments.]

This felt like it had upgraded alongside the spear weapon master skill.

——[Navigator (Special Ability): Some people are born navigators, inherently suited for adventures upon the vast seas, making them more resilient to storms and maritime disasters. Enhances intuitive perception during navigation, reducing the likelihood of losing one's way.]

——[Underwater Breathing (Special Ability): It is said that in Scandinavia, some humans are born blessed by the ocean, or perhaps they possess a trace of siren bloodline. They can breathe underwater for brief periods. The stronger one's physical constitution, the longer they can endure, even plunging into the deep sea. They are not easily drowned, and these people became the earliest pirates.]

Two special abilities.

However, they were not dropped by those overwhelmingly formidable enemies, but rather looted from individual elite Saxon pirates.

Duncan didn't mean that killing powerful enemies would always yield their abilities; rather, if an enemy possessed a special ability he lacked, it was much easier to seize it through slaughter. Today, Duncan had clearly slain numerous elite Saxon pirates, and though none of them had displayed anything particularly unusual during the combat—likely having been shot dead by him offhand—one of them evidently carried a trace of siren blood.

Presumably, such enemies would only appear truly formidable out upon the open ocean!

Enfeus, the Maiden-Possessor, had gathered nearly the finest batch of Saxon pirates in the British Isles under his banner. Today's battle had left them with heavy casualties, and for a long time to come, the power of the Saxon pirates would suffer a precipitous plunge.

The final special ability came from the Executioner.

——[Blood of the Giants (Special Ability): In Scandinavia, some humans possess a trace of the giants' bloodline, often granting them astonishing physical strength far exceeding ordinary mortals. They are regarded as the descendants of the heroes of the mythological era. This ability significantly enhances one's physical strength, and as time passes, gradually breaks through the mortal strength ceiling, ultimately granting near-mythical semi-giant brute strength once the mortal threshold is surpassed.]

The greatest harvest of this battle was not Horsa, who had merely provided a few combat skills; the true qualitative leap in ability came from Isold the Executioner. The Blood of the Giants within him provided a massive boost to Duncan!

"It seems slaying unique enemies is still the way to go."

Duncan picked up a metal goblet and casually crushed it out of shape. The Blood of the Giants was already taking effect, though it would take time to reach its absolute limit.

The Power of Gluttony and the Blood of the Grail within him had still not fully reached their limits even now, continuing to improve at a slow pace.

"I actually wanted to become a dashing and handsome ranger like the Elf Prince, but every single ability I loot turns out to be berserker garbage!"

He had chopped down too many barbarians; the looted abilities were all brute force works miracles.

In truth, Duncan didn't like going berserk at all, rarely triggering adrenaline bursts because the side effects were severe. Moreover, he believed that anger impaired rational judgment and the ability to seize tactical opportunities.

Dash-headed fools died exceptionally fast.

There were five ability upgrades in total. Basic combat skills hadn't changed much, save for hacking, slashing, and thrusting, all of which had turned golden. One or two other combat stances had shifted to light gold borders, primarily the core basic moves of swords, blades, and spears.

Duncan was now unimaginably smooth in his use of axe-type weapons; the combat skills looted from the barbarians had effectively turned him into an axe master.

The usual routine.

He glanced slightly at the future deduced by causality. The changes were minor, save for a slight variation in the ultimate ending.

His existence had changed to——King of Britain: Duncan [Upper Einherjar].

"Still can't slay a dragon."

"Though with my current strength, can my mortal avatar slowly unify Britain?"

"Duncan, King of Britain."

"Not bad."

"Still falls short of an Imperial Emperor, Augustus Duncan!"

Duncan would not let arrogance swell his head just because he had made a name for himself in the British Isles. Britain was merely a small place; the European mainland was the true primary battlefield. Only when he was certain of defeating George, the 3-star golden witcher, could he truly stand at the absolute peak of mortal martial might.

At midnight.

Feeling slightly fatigued, Duncan closed his eyes to rest. At this moment, he actually felt a bit of longing for Anya—not because his energy was overly exuberant, but because Anya would take the reins and gallop on her own. Whenever genuine fatigue set in, she would show her tender side, and Anya's red lips were as scorching as fire.

Aphrodite's mystery cult was truly wonderful; it lived up to its reputation of serving the goddess of love and beauty.

A faint mist shrouded the land.

Who knew how much time had passed? Somewhere between half-sleep and dream state, Duncan suddenly grew alert, his consciousness entering the perspective of the Dimensional Space.

——Valkyrie [Neutral]!

A total of three Valkyries had appeared inside Duncan's tent. Leading them was a Valkyrie in a bird-winged golden helmet, who reached out and pulled Duncan to her feet, while two other Valkyries in bird-winged silver helmets supported him by either shoulder.

The next second, his consciousness detached from his physical body, flying up into the sky in the company of the Valkyries.

——Out of Body (Special Status).

The projected screen of the Dimensional Space split into two: one showed Duncan's physical corpse, and the other showed his soul. Brought up into the sky by the three Valkyries, a chariot drawn by six-legged war-horses materialized. Duncan's figure seated himself upon the chariot, driven by the golden-helmeted Valkyrie, with the other two Valkyries accompanying him to either side, quickly vanishing from the mortal world.

"What the fuck?!"

"Is this Odin's personal mount? Driven by Valkyries?"

"Do I really carry this much weight now?!"

Within the projected screen.

His soul still in a state of dizziness, as the mist gradually dissipated, a strange and wondrous realm emerged before his eyes.

——Asgard (Realm of the Aesir)!

This was an incomplete realm; at least within Duncan's projected screen, Asgard was not whole, featuring many lands and structures that had appeared but not yet completely solidified in form. Still, he did catch sight of the Bifrost, for the chariot was currently racing across the colossal rainbow bridge.

Asgard wasn't particularly large—at least not nearly as vast as Duncan had imagined; it was roughly the size of an ordinary human kingdom.

Yet it was indeed many, many times larger than the "Mist-Shrouded Avalon."

The Valkyries appeared to be having some sort of dispute.

A projection of a beautiful and heroic female phantom appeared within the screen, whispering into the ear of the golden-helmeted Valkyrie before vanishing swiftly.

Thus, the Valkyries began arguing whether to send Duncan to Odin's Valhalla or Freya's Sessrumnir.

There were, in truth, two halls of the slain, though Odin's Valhalla was far more renowned.

According to Norse mythology, Odin, the ruler of war, would command the Valkyries to journey to mortal battlefields to select half of the fallen brave and bring them here, while the other half went to the goddess Freya's Sessrumnir. As for those who did not die in battle, they would go to the underworld ruled by Hel.

In the end, Duncan was delivered to a shimmering golden palace.

——Valhalla (Hall of the Slain)!

Within the Dimensional Space.

The dizziness marker on Duncan's soul vanished. The golden-helmeted Valkyrie led the way ahead, accompanied by the two silver-helmeted Valkyries to his sides, directly escorting Duncan into the grand and magnificent palace courtyard.

As his soul state gradually cleared, his mortal avatar also gazed upon the Hall of the Slain before him. Viewed from afar, it seemed to float suspended in the air. The rafters of the palace were hung with spear-shafts, the roof covered in shields, chainmail scattered across the benches, and doors lining both sides of the hall, seemingly designed for the Einherjar to pour out into battle at any moment.

A colossal wild boar, Saehrimnir, was being slaughtered; it was slaughtered every single day, only to be resurrected anew each night.

The stag Eikthyrnir and the goat Heidrun stood within the valley of the Hall of the Slain. The milk of the goat Heidrun was peerless mead, and at this moment, numerous blurred, humanoid attendants were transporting barrel after barrel of mead into the hall.

"Where is this?"

His mortal avatar growing clearer, Duncan cooperatively voiced the question.

"Welcome to Valhalla."

"Noble guest!"

The leading golden-helmeted Valkyrie turned respectfully, lowering her head to invite Duncan to walk upon the wide paved stone avenue. Within the incomparably grand Hall of the Slain, countless half-ethereal figures rose to their feet, watching the 'living man' who had stepped into their midst.

Inside the Hall of the Slain.

At the long tables formed of countless lances and shields, Duncan glanced left and right, his expression composed, and seated himself with bold, imposing confidence.

The bird-winged golden-helmeted Valkyrie poured wine for Duncan!

The bird-winged silver-helmeted Valkyries carved meat for Duncan!

Duncan’s heroic and upright figure sat amidst the chainmail, flashing a free-and-easy smile toward the Valkyries before eating and drinking his fill. He gorged himself like a gluttonous warrior, single-handedly consuming enough mead and roast meat for dozens of men, causing even the attending Valkyries beside him to widen their eyes in astonishment.

——Hengist and Horsa (Lower Einherjar)!

When Duncan finally put down the mead jar in satisfaction, two shadowy, half-solid figures gradually materialized, seating themselves directly opposite him. At that moment, the two brothers also halted their gluttonous binge, simultaneously glaring daggers at Duncan as they picked up the weapons and shields resting upon the long table.

"Exhilarating! Come and fight!"

Duncan let out a long howl to the heavens, taking up a shield and battleaxe from the hands of a Valkyrie. With a roar, he strode with head held high into the main hall of Valhalla, beckoning toward the materialized forms of Hengist and Horsa.

A heaven-shaking roar of clamor and cheers erupted!

Amidst the watching eyes of countless half-ethereal Einherjar, Hengist and Horsa also stepped into the hall of Valhalla.

At some unknown moment.

In the golden, splendid midair of Valhalla, the seats of the Twelve Principal Gods emerged in succession. At their head, Odin coalesced out of a hazy giant phantom, watching calmly as Duncan challenged the various Einherjar down in the hall.

One had to admit, being invited by the Norse pantheon to visit was indeed far more grandiose than the mist-shrouded Avalon!

Duncan knew the rules of Valhalla.

He had already tasted the fine wines and delicacies meant to feast the fallen; it was time for a bloody battle right here!

Since he had already come.

How could he possibly leave Valhalla without making his formidable reputation known?!