Ivar arrived at his tent exhausted. The long march through the snow had already drained him, and the fight with Yrsa had taken what little strength he had left. His stamina was nearly gone, and the qi he had forced through his body earlier had thinned to almost nothing. Even his muscles felt heavy, the dull ache of overuse settling into his arms and legs.
Still, he was grateful to finally be alone.
Without bothering to remove more than his cloak and boots, he stepped inside and let the fur flap fall shut behind him. The small space was simple, little more than a bed of furs, a few tools, and the belongings he had gathered over the years, but to him it was enough. More importantly, it was quiet.
He had decided to build his own tent the moment their clan settled in this place four years ago. Staying with Freya and Ylva, along with their children, had quickly become too much of a nuisance. There was always noise, always movement, always someone asking for something, food, help, and answers. And when it came to privacy, there had been none at all.
Out here, at least, he could breathe.
He dropped the meat, fur, and cubs onto the ground before sinking onto the pile of furs. Leaning back, he finally let his body relax. The fatigue he had been holding at bay crept over him almost at once. His qi would take time to recover, but sleep would help. It always did.
Ivar was about to close his eyes when the cubs padded over and began licking his cheek. He frowned at the sudden wetness and gently pushed them away before settling back into the furs. Moments later, they returned and began licking him again.
He sighed and pushed himself upright. "What do ye two want?"
The cubs stared at him for a moment when he spoke, then simply licked his hands again. That was when he realized what the problem was. He hadn't fed them all day.
With another quiet sigh, he stood and walked over to where he had dropped the meat. From his belt, he pulled out the knife he had scavenged two years ago from a dead man and sliced off two small pieces from the elk. He avoided the shadowcat meat. Somehow it felt too close to cannibalism if he fed it to them. Or maybe it really is.
He tossed the pieces onto the ground. The cubs pounced at once, devouring the meat so quickly it was gone in moments. When they finished, they looked up at him again, their small eyes expectant.
Ivar stared back at them for a moment before giving in. Without another word, he cut two more pieces, larger this time, and dropped them down. While they ate, he crouched beside his satchel, poured water into the small skull-shaped bowl he found nearby, and slid it toward them.
Only after making sure they were occupied did he rise and return to his furs. He lay down again, pulling the cloak beneath his head. Hopefully this time, he would not be interrupted.
As he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come, he couldn't help but think about his cultivation. It would take only one more moon before he finally advanced to the third level of body cultivation. For four long years he had cultivated, trained, hunted, fought, and endured the harsh winters of the North, yet the lack of qi in this world had hindered his progress so greatly that it had taken more than four years just to reach the brink of the next level.
Sometimes, he wondered whether he would ever cross into the next realm before the end of his life.
That thought sometimes frightened him. Without advancing further in his cultivation, he would never gain the greatest benefit it offered, an extended lifespan. Advancing to the next level would still grant some increase in longevity, certainly, but it was paltry compared to what one gained upon reaching the next realm. In the cultivation world, immortality and long life were what people desired the most, aside from power itself, of course. He wondered if the people of this world longed for the same things, or if they simply struggled day by day, unaware that such possibilities even existed.
Still, he had already decided to accept whatever fate had been given to him by the mysterious entity responsible for his repeated reincarnations. After all, he had already lived three lives.
And sometimes he wondered… if there would be a fourth.
The thought lingered only a moment longer before sleep finally claimed him. The exhaustion from the long march and the fight with Yrsa weighed heavily on his body. His breathing soon slowed, and the steady rhythm of rest overtook him.
He did not know how long he slept. At some point, the soft flap of fur shifting in the entrance stirred him awake.
Ivar's eyes snapped open.
He did not move immediately. Three lives and years of caution had taught him better. Even a single careless moment could cost him his life. No matter how strong he became, one blade placed well was enough to kill.
The fur door rustled again. In one smooth motion, he rose from the furs and reached for the blade that never left his side. His hand wrapped around the hilt as he turned toward the entrance, body already tensed to strike if needed. But when he saw who had stepped inside, the tension eased from his shoulders.
It was only Ulf.
Ivar exhaled quietly and lowered the blade.
"Ye make a habit o' goin' inside other people's tents now?" he muttered, rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes.
Ulf closed the fur door behind him, then looked at Ivar with a grin. "Been callin' fer ye for a while now, but ye wouldn't wake. So I invited meself in."
He walked over and sat on the only stool inside the tent, leaning back as if he owned the place.
"Ye know I was tired from the march an' the fight with Yrsa. Of course I was sleepin'," Ivar replied. "Be careful next time ye barge in like that. I might cut ye by accident if ye do it again."
He paused, letting the warning sink in, and absently rubbed the cubs' fur as they stirred awake beside him from the noise before continuing.
"So why've ye come? What's so important that ye had t' invite yerself in an' wake me?"
"Eh…" Ulf cleared his throat before answering. "The clan elders are outside. They're waitin' fer ye to come out an' tell 'em what to do on the morrow."
"What?" Ivar thought he had misheard and asked again.
Ulf avoided his gaze this time before replying. "I said the elders are outside. They're waitin' fer ye to come out an' give 'em instructions on what to do on the morrow… and the days after."
This time, Ivar heard him clearly, yet he still stared at Ulf as if the man were joking. At the same time, he found himself momentarily at a loss for words.
"Why're they waitin' outside? An' what's all this about askin' me what t' do on the morrow?" He paused, then frowned. "Wait… I haven't slept that long, have I?"
Only then did Ivar notice how dark it was. If not for the light of the fires burning outside his tent filtering through the small gaps in the fur walls, the inside would have been pitch black. He wondered briefly if Ulf could even see properly inside.
For him, though, it was no problem. With a small effort, he could enhance his sight enough to see in the dark.
Ulf finally looked at him again and shook his head. "Nay. It just got dark. Wasn't long after yer fight with Yrsa."
He hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"About the elders outside… they held a meetin' after yer fight. Decided ye should lead us." He shifted slightly on the stool. "That's why they're out there. They want t' tell ye their decision…."
Ivar did not answer. For a long moment he simply stared at Ulf, as if the words had not reached him properly. The quiet inside the tent stretched. Even the cubs seemed to sense the stillness, curling back into the furs without making a sound.
Lead the clan? The thought hung in his mind like something absurd. He had only meant to survive here for a time, long enough to grow stronger, long enough to advance to level-three in his cultivation. Then he would leave. That had always been the plan.
If he were given a choice between pursuing personal growth and strength or becoming the leader of the clan, he would choose the former without hesitation. No matter how enticing it might seem to lead a group of people, having the authority to command them and order them about, save perhaps ordering them to kneel, it would all be meaningless out here, far from any civilized lands. More importantly, he didn't even know whether they would truly follow the rules he would set if he became their leader. So the answer was simple, no. Personal strength was enough for him, without the headache of leading a clan of barbarians who might one day betray him.
Maybe… just maybe… he could take his own band with him, if they were willing to follow him. But certainly not the entire clan.
Yet now the elders had decided something like this… without even speaking to him first.
Ulf shifted uneasily on the stool. "Ivar?"
No response.
"Ivar?" he called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
He waved a hand in front of him. "Oi. Ivar."
That was when Ivar finally blinked.
His gaze sharpened, and the stunned look slowly drained from his face. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. "Why?"
Ulf stiffened.
Ivar's eyes narrowed. "How could they decide somethin' about me without me consent?" he asked slowly. "Hmm?"
Ulf knew Ivar was already angry. He had been hesitant to come inside when the elders asked him to, but he had no choice but to give in. No one in their band wanted to face Ivar alone when he was like this. Ulf still remembered how Ivar had pummeled them one by one during training whenever they made mistakes. Those beatings had made the entire band extremely wary of him, Ulf included.
But there had been no escaping this task. The elders had forced his hand, even his own Ma had urged him to go.
"Yrsa's band left the settlement soon after what happened," Ulf said carefully. "They were scared ye might fight them once ye woke. Said they'd rather join another clan to survive than face ye."
He shifted slightly before continuing.
"The elders had no choice then. With Yrsa and her band gone, there's almost no warriors left in the clan… other than us. So they decided t' make ye the leader of those who chose to stay behind. Ylva an' Freya were the ones pushin' fer it earlier. I swear, the band had no hand in this."
He paused for a moment to catch his breath, then looked at Ivar carefully. Seeing that Ivar seemed to be deep in thought, he continued.
"I think some of the elders who chose t' leave the clan will want ye an' the band t' escort 'em on their journey. They're too scared t' travel on their own. Some o' those who meant t' stay behind have changed their minds an' decided t' leave the clan instead."
He hesitated slightly before adding,
"They still don't trust that ye can lead 'em, me think."
Ivar had no problem with them not trusting him. They could go wherever they wished, and he wouldn't even blink an eye. In truth, he might even smile as he watched them leave. He was certain of that.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to think of a way out of this mess. It seemed the fight with Yrsa had brought him more trouble than ending the problem right there and then. He hadn't considered this outcome when he decided to kill her earlier. Back then, he had thought life in the settlement would finally become peaceful and worriless once she was gone, at least while he waited for his cultivation to reach the third level before leaving the clan. It seemed he had miscalculated. Perhaps he should have endured her provocations and those of her band a little longer.
After a moment, Ivar finally spoke.
"How many d'ye think want t' join other clans among those outside?"
Ulf frowned, not quite understanding why Ivar asked that question, but he answered anyway. "Don't know… maybe half? Should be about half, me think."
"Hmmm." Ivar stood up and stretched for a moment before speaking again. "Come. Let's go end this nonsense o' theirs."
He was about to leave the tent when he suddenly remembered the cubs. Turning back, he pointed at them and warned, "Stay there… or else." He had no idea if they understood him, but at least the warning had been given.
With that, he turned and walked toward the entrance of his tent, lifted the fur flap, and stepped outside. Ulf followed right behind him.
When Ivar stepped out of his tent, he was greeted by a sea of faces.
A large crowd had gathered around his tent, essentially all that remained of the clan. The elders stood near the front, while behind them clustered the rest: women, children who were mostly grown now, there had been no new babes for almost four years now since the warriors last went south to raid, and the old who had managed to survive the past winters. Fires had been lit in several places around the clearing, their flames dancing against the rock walls and casting long, shifting shadows across the crowd.
Some sat close to the fires, warming their hands. Others crouched on the ground, quietly eating their evening meal. The smell of roasted meat and boiling roots drifted through the cold air. They spoke among themselves in hushed voices, glancing toward Ivar every now and then, as if waiting for something to happen.
Ivar stood there for a moment, staring at them. The gall of these people. They had gathered outside his tent like this, lighting fires, eating, whispering, as if this were some evening gathering. As if they were watching a performance rather than deciding the fate of their clan. It almost felt like a picnic.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. The murmurs began to fade as more of them noticed he had come out. One by one, heads turned toward him. Conversations died away. Even the crackling of the fires seemed louder in the sudden quiet.
The elders stepped forward slightly. All eyes were now on him.
"Ivar! Ye finally came out. We had a meetin' earlier, an' we decided t' make ye the chieftain o' the clan! Ain't that amazin'? Ye'll be like yer Pa!" Freya spoke excitedly as she stepped forward, trying to get closer to him. But his gaze alone stopped her in her tracks.
Amazin', my ass. Ye just handed me a pile o' trouble, Freya, Ivar thought bitterly.
Still, he offered her a small, restrained smile and spoke. "I don't recall tellin' ye I wanted t' be the chieftain, Freya." He paused and gestured toward the crowd. "And what's all this? Why's everyone gathered around me tent?"
Ylva was the one who answered, stepping closer beside Freya. "They want t' hear what ye'll decide fer the clan. Some of us chose to stay, including me and Freya."
Ivar scoffed and crossed his arms. "I haven't even decided if I'll accept yer decision. Ye should've asked me first before decidin'."
Runa, Torren's ma and one of the elders gathered there, spoke next. "Ye have t' accept, Ivar. Otherwise we'll starve. Yrsa's band left earlier. They got scared o' ye. Yer band's the only one left that can keep us fed."
"Aye, Ivar. Ye must be the chieftain," Nessa, Haldor's ma, added at once, backing up Runa. She gestured around the crowd. "We asked if anyone wanted t' challenge ye fer the place. Not one stepped forward."
Ivar looked around and saw some of them nodding in agreement with Nessa's words, while others lowered their heads when his gaze fell on them. He couldn't help but shake his head inwardly.
Still with his arms crossed, his eyes settled on Nessa. "Does this mean I've got t' feed all o' ye now?"
He hadn't forgotten how Nessa often took Haldor's meat and knew well enough what she truly wanted.
Nessa met his gaze without flinching. "We'll work fer our food, o' course. Ye can even have me in exchange fer food if ye want. I'm still young an' strong. Many men wanted me before, ye know."
"Pff…." A laugh almost escaped Ivar, but he managed to swallow it down by covering his mouth quickly with his hand.
"Good luck with that," he said instead, offering her a thin smile.
Nessa narrowed her eyes at him. "What d'ye mean by that?"
Ivar ignored her. Instead, he turned to Freya, who was standing closest to him.
"We haven't chosen a chieftain fer years," he said. "Why now?"
"Eh?" Freya hadn't expected the question to be directed at her and scratched her head awkwardly. Even she hadn't really thought about why now.
But before Freya could start spouting nonsense, Ylva answered the question instead.
"Winter came fast years ago, an' we were all busy tryin' t' survive. We didn't think much about a chieftain then, since ye an' Yrsa were already actin' the part with yer bands and we will join other clans after anyway. Now we reckon Yrsa wanted the place fer herself and won't let some of us leave to join other clans. That's why she tried t' kill ye, ye were the only one standin' in her way."
She paused before continuing. "We were thinkin' of lettin' her be the chieftain without contest in exchange fer allowin' those who wished t' leave t' do so an' lead those who chose t' stay an' keep livin' as we do now. But now that she's gone… we think ye're the most suitable one left to lead those who chose to stay behind. Even if ye're still young, ye've shown us ye can feed yer band. Fer us, that's enough."
"That's right!" Freya nodded eagerly beside her once Ylva finished. Several others around them nodded as well.
Ivar's brows furrowed slightly, though the expression soon faded as he nodded toward Ylva and Freya. It seemed he truly had acted rashly earlier and shouldn't have killed Yrsa. Now he could only regret what had been done and face what stood before him.
He rubbed his jaw in thought for a moment before speaking. "How about this… Me an' me band will escort those who want t' join other clans. Me think the Frostborne an' the Howlers should be easy enough t' deal with. Last we heard, they were short on women in their settlements."
He glanced around at the gathered people, most of whom were indeed women.
The elders who chose to leave the clan nodded at his words, clearly relieved by the thought of having an escort for the journey. None of them wished to risk traveling alone without warriors to protect them.
Ivar then continued. "As fer those who wish t' stay here… why don't ye choose one o' yer own t' be chieftain? I won't be stayin' here fer long. Maybe a moon from now, I'll leave."
That drew an immediate reaction from those who planned to remain. Some tried to hide their excitement at the chance of becoming chieftain, though Ivar could see it plainly despite their efforts to conceal it. Others looked uneasy, worried about surviving without enough warriors or hunters to keep them fed.
Still, Ivar hardened his resolve. He had no other choice. This was the only path forward for him.
Those who intended to leave and join other clans, meanwhile, seemed relieved. Their decision now felt like the right one.
"What? Yer leavin', Ivar?" Freya asked once his words finally sank in. She had been thinking of staying behind as she knew she'd survive with her daughter if she stayed with Ivar and her son, Eirik.
Ivar nodded. "Aye. I want t' see the world with me own eyes. Not just snow."
He then glanced beside him at Ulf, who still looked stunned by the revelation. "Don't worry. I'll ask everyone in the band if they want t' come with me on the adventure."
That seemed to ease Ulf's expression slightly, and he nodded in return.
Ivar then looked over the gathered crowd. "What d'ye all think?"
The elders and the others began asking questions, and he answered them as best he could, about where he wished to go, why he wanted to leave, and what would happen next. Eventually the questions faded, and the crowd seemed satisfied with the arrangement. For the time being, he would remain their chieftain for a moon before leaving the clan, since they had already chosen him. After he departed, those who remained would choose one of their own to lead them.
Seeing that everyone had no questions left, Ivar decided to end the matter.
"A moon from now, we leave," he said to those who had chosen to join other clans. "Now go back t' yer tents. I want t' sleep."
With that, he turned and was about to lift the fur flap of his tent when someone called out.
"Wait!"
He looked back and saw it was Ylva.
"What?"
She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I want t' join yer band. Me an' me daughter, Kara. Me son Asgeir's already in yer band, surely ye can take us as well."
Ylva had intended to stay behind with Freya if Ivar became the chieftain of those who remained. But now… now that she knew Ivar had no intention of taking that role, she saw little reason to stay. She could only follow him, knowing that if she joined another clan with the others, she would likely be taken by some man and passed around among them, something she had no desire for. Besides, she knew her son would follow Ivar wherever he went.
Ivar frowned at her. "Me band only takes warriors… an' those willing t' follow me orders, Ylva."
"I was a spearwife before," she replied firmly. "I can handle meself with a blade. An' I know how t' make wound pastes an' tend injuries. Ye'll need someone like that in yer band, Ivar."
Ivar considered it for a moment before nodding. "Yer right. I suppose I could use yer help."
"What about me?" Freya asked immediately from beside Ylva, pointing at herself with eager eyes. "I can cook. Ye always ask me t' cook yer meat. Ye'll need me too! An' me daughter can learn from ye an' the others while she grows."
Ivar sighed and waved a hand dismissively. "Suit yerself. But if anyone slows me down, I'll leave 'em fer the direwolves."
With that, he lifted the fur flap, stepped inside his tent, and closed it quickly behind him, determined that no one would interrupt his sleep again.