NOVEL NEXT Chapter 149: Noren
The inside of the longhouse was a study in fierce, practical survival. The air was thick with the rich, comforting smells of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and oiled leather, all underlined by the faint, sharp tang of steel. Heavy wool tapestries depicted scenes of hunts and battles: hardy warriors bringing down immense, shaggy-haired beasts with tusks like scythes, and driving back monstrous, sea-serpent-like creatures from a rocky coastline. Long, communal tables were arranged around a great, circular fire pit. Every object, from the rough-hewn wooden mugs to the polished axe-heads that served as decoration, was made by hand, imbued with a sense of grim, defiant purpose.
The woman who had greeted us, the innkeeper Jane, watched us take our seats. My Gaze swept over her. To a normal eye, she was just an innkeeper. To me, she was a coiled spring of lethal power. Late Tier 3, at least. Every single person in this hall was armed and moved with the quiet, economic confidence of a trained warrior. This wasn't just a settlement. This was a war camp disguised as a village. Their gear was a patchwork of hard-won survival. I saw pauldrons carved from the thick, nigh-unbreakable skulls of some local beast and cuirasses of overlapping, iridescent scales from a river serpent.
The stew she served was thick and hearty. My team, hungry from the road, looked at their bowls, then subtly glanced at me. I let my eyes unfocus for a split-second, my [Predator's Gaze] plunging into the steaming liquid. I tasted it on a conceptual level, checking for toxins, truth-serums, sleeping agents — anything. But I felt only the honest warmth of roasted meat, the nourishment of root vegetables, and the care of a cook providing for her people. It was clean. I gave a single, almost imperceptible dip of my head. Seeing the signal, Lucas immediately picked up his wooden spoon and dug in. The others followed suit a moment later. "This is a fine stew," he said to the Chief Elder Rayen, his gratitude genuine. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Elder Bjorn gave a slow, sad smile. "We have what we have built. And we have what we have fought to keep."
"Enough of this," a new voice, sharp and hard as flint, cut through the quiet. A woman had strode down from the longhouse's raised dais. She was tall and broad-shouldered. A thick braid of pale blonde hair, almost white in the firelight, was coiled over one shoulder. A magnificent, single-bladed battleaxe, its haft long and its bearded blade polished to a mirror shine, was strapped to her back. Her eyes, a piercing blue, were fixed on Lucas. She radiated an aura of absolute authority. My Gaze screamed at the power coiled within her. Mid-Tier 4, easily.
"You speak of trade," she said, her voice a clear alto. "But champions from the East do not simply wander into our lands by accident, their arrival coincidentally following a dozen failed attempts by Imperial spies."
She stopped before our table. Seven other figures moved to flank her. The grim-faced man with the wild, red beard was also a Tier 4, his aura a chaotic storm of pure battle-lust. The silent, dark-haired woman, a Low Tier 4, possessed an aura that was a masterpiece of subtle misdirection. I could sense a strange strength and kinship in her soul through my Gaze. A potential Soul Ability? I could barely contain my excitement, perhaps witnessing more evidence of our ancient lineage from before Earth.
"My name is Freja. I am the Speaker for this settlement," the blonde leader said, her gaze never leaving Lucas. "And I will ask you once, and only once. Who are you, really? And who sent you?"
Lucas met her stare without flinching. "My name is Lucas Montgomery, Speaker. We are from Bastion. And we sent ourselves."
"A convenient story," the red-bearded one sneered.
"We serve no one but our own," Silas' voice was a low growl. The tension crackled.
I let my Gaze sweep over Freja again. Her power was a crashing storm, but at its heart was the distinct crackle of lightning, the scent of ozone. The giant with the hammer had a similar, though less potent, electrical affinity, grounded and earthen. The red-bearded one's battle-lust… it was a true berserker's rage, a soul that literally burned hotter in conflict. Myths, ancient gods, are they descendants from Soul-Lines of cultivators who maybe existed in Viking, Roman or Greek mythology? The realization was a quiet thunderclap. Especially their scout, an inherited fragment of some trickster god's power, perhaps?
"You've had your scouts watching us since we crossed the Mire," I said quietly, my voice the calm tone of the Healer. "An excellent operative. Her camouflage was flawless."
My words only hardened her suspicion. Her piercing blue eyes fixed on me. "You saw my scout? How?"
"It does not matter," Freja said, cutting the conversation short. "We will speak plainly, under an open sky. Join us outside the walls. We have... matters to discuss."
Her tone left no room for refusal. I keyed a single, urgent thought to Lucas. Agree. Move it far from the settlement. This is a setup, but we need to see it play out. The less eyes the better.
Lucas gave a slow, respectful nod to Freja. "As you wish. Lead the way."
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They led us a few kilometers out into a desolate, rock-strewn field. The two moons were rising, casting long, eerie shadows from the monolithic standing stones that dotted the landscape. It was a perfect place for executions.
"You have been judged, strangers," Freja's voice was now flat and cold. "My father made the mistake of trusting charming outsiders once. He died for it. Our home burned for it. I will not make the same mistake."
Her piercing eyes were filled with a genuine, weary sorrow. "There are only two paths for you now. Turn and walk away. Leave our lands and never return, and we will let you go. Stay… and your bones will join the stones of this field."
This wasn't a bluff. It was a promise, hardened by the brutality of the new world. I needed to see what we were truly up against. Just as Freja took a breath to give the final order to attack, I activated my Soul Ability. [Glimpse of a Path].
The universe tore open. The battle erupted, and my Glimpse-self became an observer, then a participant. I wanted a true measure of their strength, their will.
Freja's axe became a thing of pure lightning. She moved with a frightening, brutal grace, each swing a clap of thunder that sent arcs of lightning lashing out, forcing Lucas and Marcus onto the pure defensive.
The red-bearded berserker, another man they called Bjorn, exploded in a wave of crimson energy. "For Noren!" he bellowed, his voice a raw-throated roar. "We'll see no Imperial thralls on our land!" He charged, becoming a living engine of destruction, his great-axe carving a path towards my team's support line.
My phantom-self moved to intercept, manifesting a simple, single blade of solid blue flame. "Is this the full might of the Norenki?" I taunted, easily parrying his wild, powerful blow. The clash was powerful. He was incredibly strong, stronger than Lucas or Silas.
"We die on our feet before we live on our knees, Imperial city-dweller!" he roared back, his eyes glowing with red light, his next blow coming even faster, stronger.
The trickster, a woman named Astrid, was the most dangerous. She didn't attack. She wove a tapestry of battlefield illusions. The ground buckled, phantom warriors rose from the earth. I saw her look at my phantom-self, a flicker of fear in her eyes as I cut through her illusions with ease, but she held firm. "He sees everything," she called to Freja. "Be careful!"
I let my phantom-self play their game. I throttled my power, meeting them on their own terms. I engaged Freja, my own violet blade clashing with her lightning-axe in a shower of incandescent sparks. Her technique was magnificent — powerful, economical, every blow a potential fight-ender.
"What are you?" she grunted, straining against my guard, her arms trembling with effort as my seemingly equal defense absorbed her all-out assault with unnerving ease. "Some Kyorian abomination?"
"We are free people," I replied. "Just like you."
Their synergy was terrifyingly perfect, forged in a hundred desperate battles for survival. They were, without a doubt, the most formidable group we had ever faced. But as I slowly, deliberately let my violet flame burn hotter, brighter, more intensely, I watched their wills begin to fray. Bjorn's berserker rage, which fed on victory and the spilling of blood, found only an unbreachable wall and began to gutter into confused frustration. Astrid's illusions, which relied on misdirection and surprise, were rendered useless by a foe who seemed to know her every thought, and a cold panic began to creep into her eyes.
And Freja… she was the strongest. Her will was a pillar of iron. But as my power continued to effortlessly match and then surpass her own, as she poured every ounce of her strength into blows that did nothing, I saw a hairline crack of despair form in her warrior's soul. I had seen all I needed. I ended the Glimpse.
The real world snapped back into place. I was standing in the cold field, the wind still howling, the eight warriors across from us just beginning to surge forward, their faces masks of grim, deadly resolve.
The friendly healer vanished. The patient strategist disappeared.
My [Domain of the Ashen Phoenix] erupted.
It wasn't a blast of fire. It was a silent, absolute, crushing imposition of will. A sphere of gray, twilight authority slammed outwards.
I issued a single, silent command into the heart of my Domain. An [Ashen Edict]. Halt.
For most of them, it was like the world had simply ended. The Tier 3 warriors froze instantly, their forward momentum stolen, their bodies locked in place like statues. But the Tier 4s… they fought back. Bjorn the berserker roared, and his crimson aura flared violently, his muscles trembling as he physically strained against the conceptual weight of my will. Astrid's form flickered like a dying candle, her Soul Ability fighting desperately to find a loophole in my absolute authority. And Freja… she was a pillar of pure defiance. A corona of crackling lightning erupted around her, pushing back against my Domain. Her axe, halfway through its swing, shuddered, moving in slow, agonizing increments, her teeth clenched in a snarl of utter disbelief.
They were magnificent. Their souls were strong. But it wasn't enough.
I narrowed my eyes, focusing my will, and pushed. The struggling auras sputtered and died. Freja's lightning was snuffed out. Bjorn's roar caught in his throat. Astrid's flickering ceased. They were caught, held, rendered completely and utterly helpless by a power so vast it defied their comprehension, their faces now masks of pure, undiluted terror as they stared at me.
I didn't move. I let the crushing weight of my Domain hold them for a long moment, allowing the full scope of their powerlessness to sink in. Then, I spoke, my voice calm and quiet, yet it carried across the windy field with the weight of a falling mountain.
"Your two choices," I said, my tone patient, like a teacher correcting a promising but misguided student, "were insufficient." I took a single, slow step forward, my boot crunching on the gravel. "I am adding a third option."
I looked at Freja, meeting her terrified, defiant blue eyes. "But first," I said, a faint smile touching my lips as I held up a pre-prepared, glowing soul-contract, "I'm going to need your signature."