"Ivar!"
Eirik called out the moment he spotted Ivar sitting beneath a tree in one of his strange positions. Truthfully, he still did not understand how his half-brother could remain seated like that for hours without moving. But by now, he, and everyone else around the settlement, had long since grown used to it.
As Eirik drew closer and noticed that Ivar still had not moved or even opened his eyes, he hesitated briefly before continuing anyway. He already knew the man could hear him and was not truly asleep.
"Ivar," he called again, "yer hearth's finished. Me ma sent me t' ask if ye want t' check it yerself first before they start helpin' buildin' the mess longhall and the latrines ye wanted built."
Eirik relaxed slightly when Ivar finally opened his eyes. More importantly, the man did not appear irritated or angry at being disturbed from whatever strange thing he had been doing while sitting beneath the tree in that odd position.
Ivar slowly rose from his lotus position before stretching his arms upward. "Ahhh…" His bones cracked loudly as he stretched, and only after finishing did he finally look toward Eirik, who had been silently watching him the entire time.
"Come," Ivar said. "We'll see what kind o' hearth they built fer me."
Then he walked past Eirik and headed off first.
"Aye." Eirik quickly hurried after him.
Ivar had wasted little time relocating his band after Hilde returned from further investigating the place they now occupied. According to what she had learned from the nearby free folk settlements, the valley had once been the site of a massacre centuries ago.
The tales claimed that a previous Magnar Beyond the Wall had ordered the beheading of thousands of free folk after their clan leader attempted to murder him in his sleep and steal the title of Magnar for himself. Blood was said to have flowed through the valley like a river, and even now, the wails of those condemned to death supposedly echoed through the valley from time to time.
That was why the place had long since been branded as cursed by the nearby free folk, a story passed down through generations by the old ones living near the valley.
Ivar, however, did not truly believe the valley was cursed.
If the place had genuinely been cursed, then he would have sensed it the moment he first stepped foot here. In his previous life in the cultivation world, he had visited more than enough cursed lands to know exactly what such places felt like. Compared to those places, this valley felt completely ordinary aside from the unsettling number of heart trees scattered throughout it.
Still, whether the stories were true or not, the tales of the cursed valley had unintentionally preserved the perfect settlement for his people. However, Ivar had chosen to settle his band in the southern part of the valley, far away from the dense gathering of heart trees covering the northern side.
He might not believe the valley itself was cursed, but he truly believed those heart trees housed something ancient within them, something he had no intention of waking up.
They had not walked far when Ivar suddenly remembered Asgeir, who was usually the one sent to fetch him whenever he was needed. While continuing to walk, he turned his head slightly toward Eirik and asked, "Where's Asgeir? Ye should've been with Hilde this time, joinin' the hunt in the northern forest."
Eirik hesitated briefly before honestly answering, "Lost a bet against him, so he got t' join the hunt instead." He frowned slightly before muttering, "Won't be bettin' against him again next time."
After saying that, he lowered his head and focused on the path ahead.
Ivar only chuckled softly and did not bother asking what the bet had been about. It was one of the small ways the younger ones entertained themselves, and he saw no reason to interfere.
Come to think of it, he himself should have been counted among the younger ones. Yet here he was, already leading a growing band and worrying about settlements, food stores, and future plans. The thought made him quietly chuckle to himself.
As they continued walking through the settlement, Ivar nodded occasionally toward his bandsmen and women who greeted him while busy setting up tents, carrying timber, or working on the newer structures around the camp.
Anyone paying close attention would notice that the tents had been arranged in a wide arc with even spacing between them. Ivar had specifically ordered it done that way so the paths between the tents would remain straight instead of twisting and crossing over one another. It would make traveling through the settlement easier once their numbers grew larger, while also making the camp appear far more organized and pleasing to the eye.
Much to the annoyance of Freya, Ylva, and several of the older members of the band. Still, after Ivar repeatedly insisted on it, they eventually followed his instructions anyway.
Before long, they climbed a small rise and finally arrived at the area where his own hut stood visibly completed.
Ivar walked closer before eventually stopping beside Freya, who appeared completely absorbed in admiring the hut and had not even noticed him approaching.
"What're ye lookin' at?" he asked while following her line of sight.
Freya jumped in fright and nearly dropped the pan she was holding. The moment she realized it was only Ivar, she relaxed before glaring at him.
"Ye should make some noise when ye arrive instead o' scarin' the shit out o' me."
Ivar merely shrugged. "Ye were the one starin' too hard at somethin'. What were ye lookin' at anyway?"
Freya grumbled under her breath for a moment before replying, "Nothin'." She turned her gaze back toward the hut before continuing, "Just that… Bjorn never bothered buildin' our hut like this." Then she looked back at Ivar suspiciously. "Where'd ye even learn t' build somethin' like this?"
"Didn't learn it from anyone," Ivar replied smoothly. "Just built it accordin' t' what made sense and what I liked."
It was a believable enough excuse. Truthfully, he had modeled the hut after the wooden cabins from his first life, though building it had only been possible with the help of his bandsmen. The hut itself was made from roughly two-thirds timber and one-third furs. If he truly had the time, he would have preferred building a proper cabin entirely from wood, but there was little point spending too much effort on it when they would eventually leave this place someday anyway.
"Anyway," he said while moving toward the entrance, "I'll check what ye did with me hearth first."
With that, he entered the hut.
Freya and Eirik followed shortly after. Seeing Ivar silently studying the hearth built at the center of the room, Freya suddenly asked in a slightly worried tone, "What? Ye don't like it?"
Ivar shook his head. "No. This is enough."
Then he turned toward her and added simply, "Thanks."
Truthfully, he could have built the hearth himself, yet Freya had been adamant about helping him with it. And in Ivar's mind, there was little reason to refuse free help.
"It's nothin'." Freya finally smiled after hearing his thanks and seemed visibly relieved. "Then I'll take the men and start buildin' the longhall, or whatever ye keep callin' it, the mess longhall and the latrines." She then shook her head in confusion before continuing, "Still don't understand why ye insist on buildin' latrines when people can just piss and shit in the snow."
"Just go," Ivar replied while waving her away dismissively. He had no intention of explaining it again. As long as they built the latrines and followed his rules once they were finished, that was enough for him.
Just thinking about the number of times he had nearly stepped, or worse, sat, on someone's frozen pile of shit ever since arriving in this world made him shudder inwardly.
Freya stared at him for a few moments longer, but once she realized he would not explain any further, she finally gave up and nodded.
"Aye. Come, Eirik. We still have t' help build the longhall and the latrines before we prepare the final meal of th' day."
With that, she left the hut with Eirik quickly following behind her.
Ivar let out a quiet breath after seeing them leave before following shortly after himself. He still needed to inspect the progress of the new recruits in their weapons training. Ever since he had given his approval to recruit more people, they had been gathering strugglers whenever they could, and their band had grown to more than thrice its original size.
It had not been easy separating the bad apples from the good ones, especially among the adults. Some were lazy, some caused trouble, and others simply refused to follow the rules of his band. Thankfully, the core members of his band kept a close eye on the newcomers and quickly reported any problems to him. Those who refused to change were swiftly cast out.
A few of the strugglers had even accused him of being a kneeler wearing a free folk's skin for creating rules that, in their eyes, went against the very meaning of being a free folk. But those same men quickly learned their mistake.
He had personally beaten them, knocking out several teeth and splitting their lips badly enough that they could barely form understandable words afterward before banishing them from the band altogether.
Being soft was a weakness in this world. Sometimes he needed to remind both his band and the new recruits that he was not someone to be trifled with. Otherwise, his people would eventually forget who was in charge.
It did not take long for him to arrive at the far corner of the valley where the training grounds for his warriors had been established. He had intentionally placed them there so the constant shouting and whatever spectacles occurred during training would not disturb the others busy with their own work throughout the settlement.
The sounds of the training grounds soon filled his ears.
"Haah!"
"Die!"
"Take this!"
Wood struck wood from every direction as dozens of recruits hacked away at wooden posts and training dummies. Some swung wildly while shouting at the top of their lungs, while others treated every strike as though they were already standing in the middle of a real battle.
Ivar shook his head at the sight.
Still, he did not say anything. There would be time enough to correct such habits later.
After all, his half-brothers had once been just as bad. Every swing had been accompanied by shouting, roaring, and enough noise to wake the entire settlement. Yet after moons of training and constant correction, they had finally learned to keep their mouths shut while fighting. The recruits could learn the same lesson eventually.
His gaze eventually shifted toward the archery grounds occupying the other half of the training area. It was noticeably quieter there, in which he sighs in relief. Shouting before releasing an arrow was an even greater kind of foolishness.
As he stood watching, a few of the recruits began noticing him. Their swings immediately became more energetic as they eagerly tried to impress him. Many of them hoped to finish their training and earn a place among the hunters, since hunters enjoyed greater freedom and usually ate better than most.
Unfortunately, their enthusiasm only made the shouting even louder. Ivar resisted the urge to rub his forehead.
Before he could say anything, Ulf spotted him standing at the edge of the training grounds and began making his way over.
"What're ye doin' here?" Ulf asked once he arrived. "How's yer hut?"
"It's done," Ivar replied with a nod. "Anyway, how're the new recruits?"
Ulf glanced back toward the training grounds before letting out a snort.
"Better than before, worse than I'd like." He folded his arms across his chest before continuing. "The young ones learn fast enough. They listen, copy what we show 'em, and don't complain much. It's the older ones who're givin' us trouble. Half o' them think they already know how t' fight, and the other half think swingin' a weapon wildly makes 'em warriors."
A particularly loud shout erupted from behind him.
"DIE!"
Ulf closed his eyes briefly.
"What ye heard."
Ivar watched as one recruit charged a wooden target while screaming and nearly lost his footing after putting too much force into the strike.
"…Aye," he muttered. "I see the problem. But they'll get over it eventually. Just punish 'em every time they shout. They'll learn fast enough after that. Worked well enough on ye, Haldor, and Torren years ago."
Ulf chuckled at the reminder before replying dryly, "Aye. Guess we're doin' it the hard way then."
He glanced toward the recruits with something almost resembling pity. "I'll start on the morrow."
After sparing a moment of sympathy for them, he looked back at Ivar and asked, "Have ye thought about how we're goin' t' arm them all eventually?"
For the first time during their conversation, Ivar finally gave in and rubbed his forehead.
The problem of weapons had been giving him a headache for some time now. He still had not found a proper solution beyond scavenging and looting, and even that was barely enough to keep up with their growing numbers.
Bows were less of a problem, but still a problem nonetheless. There were plenty of weirwood trees around the valley, but they lacked enough animal sinew to make bowstrings for every archer they hoped to train. Then there was the issue of arrows. No matter how many shafts they made, it never seemed enough.
One problem piled on top of another. At times like this, he seriously wished he had someone whose sole job was managing supplies and logistics.
Letting out a resigned sigh, he finally replied, "Not yet. We'll get there eventually once I find a solution. Fer now, it's enough that they learn how t' swing a weapon and follow orders."
He paused briefly before asking, "Have ye taught 'em the shield wall yet?"
Ulf shook his head. "Not yet. I'm startin' with weapon trainin' first."
"Well..." Ivar considered it for a moment. "Once they're done with the basics, start teachin' 'em the shield wall and the other formations I showed ye. In a large fight, knowin' how t' hold a line and push with a shield can be just as important as knowin' how t' swing a weapon."
Ulf looked at him suspiciously. Truthfully, he had never actually seen a shield wall used in battle. Aside from the drills Ivar had forced them through over the years, he had little reason to believe it was anything special.
"Ye sure?" he asked. "How d'ye know it'll work?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ivar's lips. "I just do."
Then he reached out and patted Ulf on the shoulder.
"Don't worry so much about the weapons and everything else. I'll find a way." His gaze shifted toward the recruits still training across the field. "Ye just focus on teachin' 'em our way o' fightin'. If they learn that, then no one'll be able t' stop us."
He paused briefly before adding, "At least not here beyond the Wall."
Ulf stared at him for a long moment before eventually sighing. "If ye say so..."
Then he turned around and headed back toward the recruits.
"That's enough!" he bellowed. "Take a break! Next batch, get over here and start yer trainin'!"
Ivar walked over to a nearby tree and sat down beneath it. For a while, he simply watched the training continue.
As expected, Ulf was teaching them much the same way Ivar had once taught him. Satisfied with what he saw, Ivar eventually rose to his feet and left the training grounds.
His next destination was the tent belonging to his newest friend, the crow.
He had arranged for the crow to stay not far from the training grounds. The tent itself was unguarded, largely because there was little need for guards in the first place. The man could barely walk in his current condition, much less escape the settlement.
It did not take long for Ivar to arrive.
The area around the tent was quiet. Most people had already learned to leave the crow alone after Ivar had made an example of the few fools who had tried to cause trouble for him.
Knowing the man was inside despite the silence, Ivar continued toward the entrance of the tent and called out loudly, "Oi, Edric. Still alive?"
"Get lost! You witch! Get lost! Don't come near me!" The reply came instantly from inside the tent.
Ivar ignored the outburst entirely. Pulling aside the fur flap covering the entrance, he stepped inside.
Once within, he found the crow lying on his bedding and glaring at him with undisguised resentment.
Nevertheless, Ivar simply smiled at the man and said, "Come now. I've protected ye from all the troublemakers. Surely that's enough fer ye t' believe I'm not the reason ye suddenly lost the ability t' walk."
He paused before flashing the crow an annoyingly cheerful grin. "I'm yer friend, after all."
"Friend my ass..." Edric muttered before closing his eyes in resignation, refusing to look at the man any longer.
He had replayed the events of that day countless times in his head. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Ivar had somehow done something to him. He distinctly remembered the young wildling poking him shortly before he lost the ability to walk.
Just the thought of it filled him with resentment. A witch who could inflict pain with a touch and somehow steal a man's ability to walk was not someone Edric wanted as a friend.
More than once, he had found himself wondering if death would be preferable to living like this. Yet whenever the thought surfaced, something deep inside him stubbornly refused to give up.
Ivar, meanwhile, sat down on the only stool in the tent and let out a sigh.
"Look, I'm not here t' talk about what happened t' ye." He leaned back slightly before continuing, "I came here t' ask whether ye're still valuable."
Seeing that Edric continued pretending not to listen, Ivar revealed the real reason for his visit. "I'm thinkin' about sendin' ye back t' Castle Black."
Edric's eyes snapped open. For several moments, he simply stared at Ivar, wondering if he had somehow misheard him. Then he slowly pushed himself up on one elbow.
"Did ye just say ye're sendin' me back t' Castle Black?" he asked cautiously. "Did I hear that correctly?"
"Aye." Ivar nodded. "That is, if they're willin' t' pay fer yer return."
He tilted his head slightly. "Do ye still hold any value t' them?"
Edric gulped before hurriedly answering.
"Aye. Value. Aye, I'm valuable." He leaned forward as much as he could. "Just send me back there, and they'll surely repay ye fer savin' me life."
Then he suddenly remembered something and quickly added, "Though... they probably won't pay ye with weapons. They'd more likely pay with somethin' else. Food, perhaps."
If they do not try to kill you first. He wisely kept that part to himself.
Ivar studied the man for a moment before asking, "Ye said ye're the bastard o' some lord in the Riverlands, farther south, right?"
Edric nodded immediately. "Aye. I'm not lyin'."
"Then could the crows at Castle Black send a letter t' yer father?" Ivar asked. "In case the men at Castle Black don't have what I want, could he pay fer yer return instead?"
Edric fell silent. His thoughts immediately drifted toward his father and his half-brother. He had left them behind years ago, joining the Night's Watch partly to escape the rumors that he intended to steal his half-brother's birthright.
After a long moment, he shook his head.
"I'm just a bastard," he said quietly. "Me father wouldn't bother himself over me if he heard what happened."
It was a lie. He knew very well that his father would send men for him the moment he learned of his situation. Bastard or not, his father had given him opportunities and privileges that most bastards could only dream of having.
Ivar continued staring at him. The crow was hiding something. That much was obvious.
But it did not really matter for now. What mattered was figuring out how to exchange the crow for something valuable. At present, Edric had little use to him beyond being another mouth to feed. If the men of the Night's Watch at Castle Black were truly willing to take him back, then perhaps there was something to be gained from the arrangement.
For that, however, he would need to think on the matter further.
After a while, Ivar finally rose from the stool.
"I've got other matters t' attend t' fer now," he said. "But once everythin's settled, I'll send ye back t' Castle Black. Just not fer free."
With that, he turned and left the crow's tent.
Edric stared at the fur flap for several moments after it closed.
Then he slowly lowered himself back onto his bedding.
For the first time in a long while, he felt a faint spark of hope that he might truly survive. Now, he only needed to walk again. But the moment that thought crossed his mind, his hope faltered. Would his brothers truly take him back while he was crippled?