Chapter 52: The Danish Troll!

Denmark, Vík Island.

As a ship slowly docked, patrolling guards at the harbor immediately hurried over.

"Who are you? Where are you from?"

A burly, bearded barbarian approached, followed by seven or eight men armed with long spears and battleaxes, some clad in full studded leather armor. Though their expressions were cautious, they relaxed slightly upon seeing Galawan at the lead, as he bore the unmistakable appearance of a Saxon.

Galawan stood up, his expression fierce. "The British Isle."

"We are Enfes's subordinates."

In the lands of the barbarians, showing weakness was not an option; if someone gave you trouble, you fought back, and if all else failed, you took to the sea as a pirate.

Here, laws were worth less than a private brawl, and only formidable warriors commanded respect.

The man who appeared to be the leader thought for a moment, then let out a disdainful, mocking laugh. "Enfes, the Maiden-Taker?"

"Didn't word reach you that he died at the hands of the Britons?"

News traveled fast, amplified by Duncan’s rising renown. Even Greater Germania was aware that the Saxons had suffered a crushing defeat on the British Isle. In the local rumors circulating here, Duncan was described as a descendant of giants, possessed of boundless strength, able to mount a ballista and fire bolts as if wielding a heavy crossbow—even more exaggerated than the legends on the British Isle.

As long as the stories sounded grand enough, no one cared for the tedious details.

If this legendary figure had slain the Germanic barbarian heroes—the founding king brothers Hengist and Horsa—then he surely had to be as mighty and majestic as the giants of old!

That very smile.

Damn it!

Ever since Enfes acquired the moniker "Maiden-Taker," his subordinates had found it hard to hold their heads high in front of others.

Damn it all, everyone they met seemed to mock Enfes, driving many Saxon pirates to abandon his banner in disgust.

Such a loss of face!

Galawan cast an inadvertent glance at Duncan. Seeing that Duncan remained indifferent, he could only nod and say, "We need to rest here, replenish our food and water, and incidentally recruit some men."

This was the region known in later generations as Denmark.

At this time, Greater Germania was still a loose confederation of tribal kingdoms. The Germanic barbarians had not yet birthed a powerful monarchical state, with numerous barbarian chieftains and petty kings sharing power. When war approached, they would assemble to form a temporary war-leadership system.

The Germanic barbarians living around Denmark were both merchants and pirates; when they could win, they were pirates, and when they could not, they were merchants.

Any Germanic people seeking to expand outward and plunder would return to Greater Germania to recruit men.

This was somewhat akin to modern society, where those who found no way forward in their hometowns yet fancied themselves capable would head out to make a living in the big cities, while the county-town elites lived comfortably and well right back home.

The situation was much the same; the native nobles and warriors of the Danish region rarely expanded outward themselves.

The burly leader glanced at them, his eyes lingering on Galawan’s money pouch. In truth, these men were also wary of traveling pirates causing trouble, for they would occasionally prey upon their own kind, fleeing afterward to the British Isle or elsewhere.

Who wasn't fair game?

Why shouldn't they rob their own?

Germanics had never been soft-handed when it came to cutting down their own kin.

"Keep to yourselves. Don't cause trouble," the burly leader warned with a threatening glare before signaling for them to dock.

Duncan had brought Galawan along on this journey because he was intimately familiar with the Danish region.

Vík Island was a small settlement with a population of just over a thousand, while the surrounding villages housed only a couple of hundred souls each. It was far more primitive than Britain; the dwellings were entirely low-built wooden huts, and the most conspicuous structure was actually a tavern, complete with private booths for wandering bards, allowing returning raiders to vent and carouse.

This was presumably the local economy's greatest pillar.

Duncan stepped onto the muddy paths of the settlement.

The town carried a pervasive stench of fish mingled with the smell of dung. The residents he passed looked rugged and hardy, reasonably well-built, and vastly superior in physical constitution to the Romans.

They had meat to eat, primarily fish, and sustaining a couple of thousand people in a coastal region was a simple matter.

There was virtually no trace of agriculture here. Early North Germanic peoples had practiced slash-and-burn farming, only changing after making contact with the Empire. Local merchants were relatively numerous, trading along rivers and coastlines, sometimes traveling as far as the port cities of later-day France.

***

"It's barely more than a ragged fishing village, yet the military units are plentiful enough—there are even one-star and two-star barbarian fighters here," Duncan observed inwardly.

Their strength was formidable.

Old people were virtually nonexistent; young and middle-aged men formed the vast majority.

The average life expectancy of a Germanic person in this era was around thirty-five, and seeing someone aged forty or fifty was exceedingly rare.

"No wonder Total War players never liked expanding into the Germanic regions; there's hardly any economic value here!"

"You'd waste countless years just developing the land."

The group made their way toward the tavern and inn.

Duncan brought only five men, led by Galawan, the rest being barbarian foreign legionnaires who had sworn fealty to him. Concealing his identity, Duncan walked behind Galawan, looking every bit like a fierce personal guard.

Inside the tavern.

No sooner had they stepped inside than a wave of boisterous, raucous singing washed over them, delivered in the uniquely crude cadence of the Germanic barbarians.

The heavy door pushed open.

The room was filled with scantily clad waitresses and slave women, alongside a dozen fierce-faced, half-drunk barbarian warriors, predominantly identified as Saxon pirates and Norse raiders.

"There were so many enchanting women... Frisians, Danes, Franks... We took them only for wanton pleasure, yet in the end, we can only..."

"Oh, we are mighty warriors... We sack ports, plunder riches, and carry off their women..."

"That fattest woman... she's a whore at heart..."

"Her sister hailed from Norway... cost me twenty grants... her mother came from Sweden... sexy and alluring... she'd need an iceberg... just to quench her burning lust..."

The tavern roared with din as a group of barbarian drunkards cackled hysterically.

The Norse pirate chieftain at the head of the table seemed to have just returned from a raid. He was fondling a plump waitress while casually drawing a gold coin from his pocket and pressing it against her pale, exposed bosom. The plump waitress giggled, deftly slipping the coin into her pocket before pouring the pirate leader a cup of pale yellow mead.

Due to their heavy mead consumption, the older barbarian warriors all possessed rotting teeth, making them look all the more menacing.

Duncan swept his gaze across the tavern, concluding that it was an eye-opening spectacle living up to its notorious reputation.

The remaining lyrics grew increasingly unprintable. Fortunately, seeing their group enter, the Norse pirates quieted their rowdy celebration. The lead pirate chieftain glanced their way, his eyes fixing on Galawan with an unfriendly expression, while casting a cautious secondary look at Duncan, sensing that this man was dangerous.

Fellow tradesmen were natural enemies.

Unlike the Saxon pirates, their raiding grounds were primarily along the coasts of Europe.

Galawan led his men to a table near the corner. Seeing them voluntarily yield space, the Norse pirates burst into loud laughter and settled back into the center of the hall, jesting and playing with the wandering tavern maids. Every now and then, someone would haul a maid off toward the back rooms, instantly drawing raucous laughter from their companions.

Galawan murmured in a low voice, "My lord, they are Geats."

Early Vikings, primarily inhabiting the Swedish region; those Germanic barbarians who did not migrate later evolved into the Vikings.

Beowulf was the hero of the Geats, renowned for their unmatched valor in battle.

Duncan nodded slightly. "Stick to the ways of pirates, pay them no mind, as long as they don't start trouble."

Galawan nodded and signaled a waitress for roasted meat and mead.

The Norse pirates reveled without restraint. One couple practically began coupling right there in the open hall, stopping just short of a full union, yet the tavern keeper paid it no mind, focusing solely on counting coins at the counter. Pirates returning from raids were always generous spenders, willing to pay a shining gold coin for a single night of revelry.

The air in the tavern was thick and foul. As the crude ballad came to an end and the pirates tossed a few coins, a wandering bard made his way toward their table.

Norse bards were numerous and highly popular in taverns.

Galawan moved to chase the man away, but Duncan raised a hand to stop him, asking, "Are there any fresh rumors of late?"

The bard wore a subtle expression. Galawan immediately produced a silver coin and tossed it across.

With the coin secured, the bard sat down, surveyed the group, and let his gaze linger on Duncan, sensing that this man possessed an extraordinary bearing unlike any ordinary Germanic. He mused, "I hear the king of the Jutes is dead, and both brothers were shot down by a mighty warrior named Duncan."

Duncan waved a hand. "Next."

The bard continued, "The Sea-Monster Slayer, Curs, sacked a port in Gaul, seized a mountain of gold, and is currently recruiting men. If you're interested, you can head north and join his banner."

He assumed these men were down-on-their-luck, defeated pirates.

Duncan frowned. "Next."

The bard took a sip of mead, frowning in thought. "What is it you wish to hear about?"

Duncan tossed over a gold coin. "Strange and fresh occurrences—tales of monsters, bounties, or bizarre legends."

At the sight of the gold coin, the bard's reluctance vanished instantly.

Monsters?

Another glory-seeking warrior looking to make a name for himself?

Germanics revered glory and yearned to become legendary figures. Slaying powerful monsters and challenging other champions were the fastest paths to renown.

The fame pursued by Norse barbarians roughly equated to Duncan’s "renown," with some even leveraging their renown to become petty kings in their own right.

He turned his gaze back to Duncan, smiling broadly as he pondered. "I hear the Norwegians discovered an island in the northern seas, and those waters are infested with a North Sea leviathan!"

"They lost quite a few men."

Oh?

Iceland?

Clues detected!

Duncan inquired further. It wasn't Iceland; it must have been the Faroe Islands, situated midway between Norway and Iceland as a stepping stone along the route to Iceland. These North Germanic people were on the verge of discovering Iceland itself.

He pressed on. "What else?"

The bard lowered his voice. "To the north of Denmark, they say there are powerful trolls; every time they appear, they slaughter countless men and livestock."

"The king of those parts is offering a heavy bounty to recruit champions to eradicate it."

This overlapped with information Duncan had already gathered and held little value.

The bard cast his mind back. Seeing that Duncan seemed deeply interested in the sea, he added, "There is said to be a sea monster in the strait north of Norway—a colossal sea serpent."

This fellow knew a fair bit, rattling off a杂杂 mixture of reliable reports and groundless rumors.

Duncan tossed him two silver coins and dismissed him on the spot.

The night passed uneventfully.

The following day, Duncan and his company pressed further north. As they reached northern Denmark, rumors of giants began to multiply, and tales of sea monsters grew frequent along the strait between Denmark and Sweden.

With so many fishermen living in these parts, any supernatural event was invariably blamed on sea monsters.

"So all the supernatural creatures came scurrying over here!"

It took Duncan three days to pinpoint the exact location of the rumors, and leading his men all the way to the Struer region, he finally tracked down his first marked supernatural monster.

——Troll (Ogre / Giant-kin / Blood of Giants) (Three-Star Silver-Gray) [Hostile]!

Under the God's Eye view.

Duncan bypassed ordinary sight, directly scanning via the dimensional map space, and quickly locked onto the target's lair—a cavern nestled near the coastline, surrounded by vast stretches of primeval forest.

This very region somehow felt vaguely familiar to him.

"Wasn't it in Denmark that Beowulf slew Grendel and his monstrous mother?!"

"I hope I'm not stealing his legend!"