The slaves lived in damp, low huts, where at night they could only wrap themselves in some hay to ward off the biting cold winds of the Nordic nights. The chilling cold seeped in from all directions through the cracks in the huts, eroding the slaves' health. But this was not the most terrifying thing; hunger was their greatest enemy.
The Vikings would not feed their slaves too much, to prevent them from having the strength to escape. Of course, the Vikings' own lives were difficult enough, and the slaves only ate leftovers, just enough to fill their stomachs.
"I wonder how that kid is doing?" The old man with the grizzled hair also huddled in a corner, looking worriedly outside the hut.
Just then, footsteps came from outside the door. Several Viking retainers opened the loosely hung wooden door of the hut, and the slaves instinctively recoiled. Usually, the appearance of Viking retainers so late at night was not a good sign; perhaps the lord, on a whim, wanted to seize a slave for a blood sacrifice to the gods, to appease his wife's nightmares.
"Come in." But to the surprise of all the slaves, the Viking retainers courteously gestured inside. One of them even bent down and kicked away a few slaves, clearing a slightly drier spot, and then brought in fresh hay to spread on it.
"You can sleep alone in the storeroom," one of the Viking retainers said to Ulfric with concern, clearly having become a complete fan of Ulfric.
"No need, this is fine," Ulfric walked in, holding his food. The slaves in the hut were greatly surprised; they hadn't expected Ulfric not only to escape punishment from the lord but also to be courteously escorted back by the Viking retainers.
"What exactly is going on?" The grizzled old man was also dumbfounded, he asked in surprise.
The Viking warrior retainers closed the hut's door. Ulfric walked to the hay pile. Although these hay piles seemed very crude, they were better than nothing, certainly better than lying directly on the damp ground, which would surely lead to rheumatism over time.
Ulfric sat on the hay, and by the bright moonlight streaming in from above the hut, he picked up the food in his arms and began to eat. The slaves smelled the aroma of the food, making their stomachs even hungrier, but no one dared to move. They could tell from the Viking warrior retainers' attitude that the lord's attitude toward Ulfric was unusual; this slave, who had once been bullied by everyone, was now different.
"Eat." Ulfric gnawed on the dried pickled meat in his hand and casually threw a few items of food to the slaves. At this moment, he didn't seem like one of them, but rather like a generous and magnanimous master.
"Oh, wow." The desire for food made the slaves forget this difference; they rushed forward to snatch the food from the ground.
"Here you go." Ulfric picked up a piece of bread from his arms and handed it to the grizzled old man. Among this group of people, Ulfric believed only he was worthy of respect.
"Odin above, I don't know what happened. Perhaps you have received the favor of the gods." The old man incredulously took the food. He didn't put it in his mouth but looked at Ulfric suspiciously and said.
"Who knows." Ulfric finished the food in his arms, placed his hands behind his head, and comfortably lay on the hay pile. His gaze could just penetrate the withered branches of the hut above, allowing him to see the bright moonlight overhead.
The old man, at this moment, couldn't bother to ask further. He ravenously ate the food Ulfric had given him, filled with suspicion and respect. After all, no slave could obtain forgiveness from the stingy and cruel Hrolf, let alone be given food. Although he was full of questions, Ulfric had already fallen into a deep sleep.
In his dream, Ulfric seemed to be back in his shared apartment, and he had a nightmare: the agency had absconded with the money, the landlord came to evict him, and he had no choice but to drag his suitcase and sleep on the streets in the dead of winter, with the biting wind chilling him to the bone.
"Achhoo!" Ulfric sneezed. He opened his eyes and found himself still in the hut. At this point, he couldn't sleep anymore, so he sat up. The hut reeked, and the slaves huddled together for warmth. No one dared to provoke him.
"You're awake. Did you sleep soundly?" The grizzled old man beside him was drawing something on the ground with a dry branch. He saw Ulfric wake up and said.
"Yes, I had some bad dreams," Ulfric stretched and said to the old man.
"It's good to dream; it means you're still young," the old man smiled and told him.
"Unfortunately, I'm still a slave," Ulfric gave a bitter smile and said helplessly. From the scattered words of the Vikings, he seemed to know that Ulfric, the person he possessed, had been a slave since childhood. If it weren't for the protection of the cook, Pahaina, he probably wouldn't have grown up at all.
"Many great warriors were once slaves; there's nothing to it. My name is Viset. I was once a temple guard, but the temple I guarded was plundered, and my master, in a fit of rage, demoted me to a slave and sold me here," the old man said calmly, his deep eyes full of sorrow and stories.
"That's truly unfortunate," Ulfric could only sigh. Most of the slaves here were bought by Hrolf from slave traders. Among them were Norsemen, Saxons, and even slaves from more distant lands.
"Don't worry, those are old stories. But you, be careful. Although the lord released you, Grünn is a despicable man. He won't let you off," the old man Viset said to Ulfric.
"Hmph, I won't let him off either." A hint of darkness flashed in Ulfric's eyes. If others don't offend me, I won't offend them. If Grünn wouldn't let him off, then he would fight back.
As soon as the sky began to turn a fish-belly white, Grünn wielded his whip, driving the slaves out of the huts and sending them to the fields to turn over the soil, a very arduous task. When Ulfric prepared to go with them, he was stopped by Grünn, which surprised him slightly, and he couldn't help but become wary.
"You don't have to go. This kind of work isn't suitable for a slave like you, who knows the skill of a bard," Grünn said with a fake smile.
"Oh, then what is my job?" Ulfric asked him with a calm face.
"The esteemed Lord has asked you to go to the longhouse. You will work there," Grünn pointed towards the longhouse on the hill and told him.
"Working in the lord's longhouse?" Ulfric's brows furrowed slightly, pondering if this was Grünn's trap. But then he thought that being able to work near the lord was actually an improvement in status. In any case, he would deal with whatever came his way.
Ulfric, led by Grünn, arrived at the lord's longhouse. Upon entering the great hall, he was met with a mixture of foot odor and alcohol stench, a strong smell that almost made him faint. Several maidservants and female slaves opened the windows, cleaning the messy floor, and a few drunken Vikings were dragged by the female slaves to the corner, left to lie on the ground.
"Ulfric?" Among the people cleaning, Ulfric saw a familiar figure. The cook, Pahaina, straightened up and happened to see him, blurting out his name.
"You wait here. I'll go report to the Lord," Grünn pointed to the ground and said to Ulfric, then walked towards the corridor, which led to the lord and lady's quarters, and of course, a few rooms prepared for the Viking retainers and guests.
"Ulfric, I heard about what happened yesterday. Why didn't you listen to me and risk provoking the lord and the overseer?" When she saw Grünn leave, Pahaina quickly stepped forward, speaking cautiously.
"Uh-huh." Ulfric didn't know what to say to Pahaina, so he just mumbled vaguely.
"Be careful. The lord was not in a good mood yesterday. Don't offend him again. You are a child blessed by the gods; you must preserve your life," Pahaina said quickly, and heavy footsteps came from the corridor. She had no choice but to leave with her wooden bucket, and as she exited the great hall, she cast a concerned glance at Ulfric.
"What exactly is going on?" Ulfric couldn't help but wonder again if Pahaina was truly his birth mother, otherwise why would she care so much about him.
"Cough, cough." Hrolf, draped in fur, coughed softly a few times, with Grünn beside him like a pug, and a tall, powerful hound following at Hrolf's feet.
"My Lord." Ulfric placed his hands in front of him and bowed his head, saying to Hrolf.
"Yes." Hrolf nodded, walked to the heavy, high-backed oak chair, and plopped down. A female slave quickly came forward and offered him a mug of ale. Hrolf rinsed his mouth with the ale and swallowed it, which made Ulfric feel a shiver of disgust.
"Have you told him everything?" After rinsing his mouth, Hrolf pointed at Grünn and asked him.
"Of course, I have told him, my esteemed lord," Grünn quickly nodded and replied, like another dog crouching at the lord's feet.
"Lord, what exactly will my job be?" Ulfric knew he couldn't leave the decision to Grünn, so he immediately looked up and asked Hrolf.
"Insolent slave!" Grünn immediately said angrily, his eyes almost spitting fire.
"It's alright. Your performance at yesterday's feast was very good, which made me realize I still lack a bard. From now on, you will be my personal bard, providing our feasts with your wonderful stories about the magical ring," Hrolf said to Ulfric, waving his hand, not showing any anger.
"A bard?" Ulfric pondered for a moment. He remembered that not only Vikings but all tribes in Europa were very fond of bards. Wandering bards could bring them joyful or sorrowful stories, providing entertainment for their dark and dull lives. Especially in Norse culture, bards were considered incarnations of the gods, so their status was generally very high.
"What, do you disagree?" Hrolf's brows furrowed, and his eyes showed displeasure, even a hint of coldness.
"Of course not, thank you, Lord," Ulfric quickly replied.
"I will have someone provide you with a private room. You must serve me diligently, otherwise, you know the consequences." After Hrolf dropped these words, he stood up and returned to his bedroom, where his beautiful wife and warm bed awaited him.
"Lucky fellow." Grünn's eyes showed a hint of jealousy. He never expected a mere manual labor slave to suddenly become the lord's bard, which was the most prominent role at a feast.
The lord arranged the smallest and most secluded room for Ulfric in the manor, almost at the end of the corridor, but it was already much better than the slave shacks. At least there was a narrow, old wooden window. The wooden bed creaked when Ulfric lay on it. He didn't have any luggage to bring, and as he lay there looking at the wooden beams and thick thatched roof, he couldn't help but let out a long sigh.
"I never thought it would be Mr. Tolkien who saved me," Ulfric couldn't help but smile wryly. Although he didn't have to do manual labor like other slaves now, he still felt a sense of crisis. Grünn had, after all, been with the lord the longest, and this was essentially his territory. If Grünn wanted to kill him, wouldn't it be even easier?
Thinking of this, Ulfric decided to stay extremely vigilant. He couldn't relax his guard just because he had moved into the spacious lord's manor, otherwise, he wouldn't even know how he died.
Of course, apart from being wary of Grünn, life in the manor was quite good. When he was hungry, he could go to the lord's kitchen to get food. The Vikings had a tribal communal system, where members worked, fought, and lived together. Besides weapons and tools, food was also shared.
"Hehe." As Ulfric was in the lord's kitchen, picking up a piece of barley bread and dipping it in meat broth, several young female slaves subtly passed by him, whispering and giggling foolishly.
"What's wrong?" Ulfric's heart stirred, and he deliberately looked at them and asked.
"Ah?" The young female slaves didn't expect Ulfric to suddenly ask them a question, and they all lowered their heads and continued working. Only one girl with golden hair, a slightly plump figure, a few freckles on her nose, but a pair of lake-green eyes, smiled in return.
"Are you the one who sings about Ulfric?" The girl asked, wiping a wooden plate in her hand as she approached Ulfric.
"My name is Ulfric," Ulfric said, chewing his bread and looking at her with interest.
"My name is Heide," the girl Heide said openly. If it weren't for the collar around her neck, indicating her slave status, no one would have thought that this well-dressed girl was a slave.
"Your story is very captivating. Is there really a place like the Shire in the world?" Heide asked, her green eyes full of expectation.
"Perhaps!" Ulfric put down his half-eaten bread and nodded slightly.
"Warm fields, thriving crops, fertile land… if only such a place truly existed," Heide lowered her head and wiped the plate in her hand, lost in thought.
"Why do you seek such a place?" Ulfric asked curiously.
"Our land is too barren and cold. The dense forests prevent us from farming, and with the increased population in recent years, if we can't find more land, something unfortunate might happen to us," Heide hesitated before telling Ulfric.
"Enough, Heide, don't say any more! If the lord hears you, he'll cut out your tongue!" The other female slaves quickly stopped Heide. They seemed very afraid of Hrolf.
"Is food very scarce?" Ulfric secretly took note of this. Whether in ancient or modern times, food security was always paramount. No matter how powerful or wealthy a nation, if it couldn't solve its food problems, it would be vulnerable.
"Don't worry, the lord has gathered warriors from all over to solve this problem."
"Perhaps it's a raid."
"Do you know where they will raid?"
"I don't know, maybe the Slavs to the south?"
"I heard a guard say it might be the Finnish tribes across the sea."
"Oh, how did you get involved with a guard?"
The female slaves began to discuss animatedly. Unlike the manual labor slaves in the shacks, young and beautiful female slaves served the lord and his wife. If they were lucky enough to be noticed by the lord and become concubines, their status would immediately change.
"A raid?" Ulfric, however, silently finished the food on his plate. From these female slaves, he had gathered much valuable information: Lord Hrolf was planning a raid to alleviate his territory's food and population crisis. He just didn't know if he could benefit from it.
As dusk approached, people streamed into the lord's hall. Vargarr and his companions also entered and immediately spotted Ulfric. Although Ulfric's storytelling was good, Vargarr still resented him for disrupting his plan to claim a bride, so he walked over.
"Slave!" Vargarr shouted loudly at Ulfric.
But Ulfric ignored him, which angered Vargarr even more. He slammed his fist on the wooden table where Ulfric was sitting, making the heavy table almost jump. The loud noise attracted everyone's curiosity.
"My name is Ulfric," Ulfric retorted, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of ale, which the lord had specially rewarded him before he began his story.
"A slave's name doesn't need to be remembered," Vargarr said with a mocking laugh. His companions also burst into laughter.
"But this slave, whose name doesn't need to be remembered, defeated you," Ulfric also laughed, draining the ale in his cup and saying calmly.
"That doesn't count. I don't recognize such cunning tricks with riddles," Vargarr's face turned red. He shook his head, his braided beard swaying on his chest.
"Oh? What do you want to do then?" Ulfric frowned, asking curiously.
"I swore an oath to the god Thor that I would defeat anyone who hindered me from marrying my bride, unless they could defeat me in battle," Vargarr's lips curled into a cruel smile. Since birth, he had been trained as a warrior, confident that he was inferior to no one in terms of physical strength or combat skills.
"Battle?" Ulfric's brows furrowed even deeper. Although he enjoyed Norse epics before his transmigration and occasionally played Assassin's Creed-like games, he knew nothing about real combat. If it came to a duel, he would probably be easily killed!