Ubermensch – Chapter 122

Chapter 122

As I later learned, the transformation into a werewolf usually took about a month. Although I first transformed after killing the slave, I was infected on the day he escaped.

In that sense, I was lucky.

The process I had to endure during the transformation into a werewolf—the high fever, sweating, and other symptoms—overlapped with the treatment for the injuries I sustained from the slave.

Thanks to that, I was able to avoid suspicion from others.

And since I was roaming the mountains, I experienced my first transformation away from people’s eyes and gained time to control myself as a werewolf.

Once I became accustomed to the transformation to some extent, I returned to the village.

I had ascended the mountain in winter and descended in spring, and the people were surprised to see me.

“You’re not dead yet?”

“Did you chase the slave all winter?”

I nodded.

“It’s all over.”

That was right. Everything was over.

However, I couldn’t go back to my daily life.

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The transformation into a werewolf was controllable to some extent. However, there was one thing I could never control: the full moon.

On the night of the full moon, I would transform into a werewolf. Whether I wanted to or not.

That meant group activities lasting longer than a month—like sailing—were impossible.

My life as a warrior was as good as over.

With a bitter feeling, I hung up my axe and shield.

And I went to the Jarl and offered him the Bible and the cross.

“What’s this?”

“From now on, I’m going to live by working the fields. Please be generous.”

“There’s no need for that.”

The Jarl returned the Bible and the cross.

“Magni left you an inheritance. His field is yours.”

“What about his wife?”

“It seems she decided to remarry. She returned with just her dowry.”

The field was large enough. Magni had been a good senior.

But it would have been better if he were alive instead of his field.

I bought a few English slaves familiar with farm work and started farming with them.

And when the full moon was about to rise, I went into the forest or mountains under the pretense of hunting.

It was a decent life.

I lived like that for decades.

Until Gorm was bedridden.

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Gorm was a great warrior and sailor.

That was why he was able to survive until old age.

It was ironic.

“Damn it. To think I’d die in bed…”

To die of old age in bed, because he was too good a leader.

“Will I be able to go to Valhalla? Will the gods welcome me, old and sick?”

I held Gorm’s bony hand.

“The gods will recognize your experience. They might even line up to board your ship.”

“Hehe…”

There were dozens of warriors raised under Gorm, and some of them became close associates of the Jarl or owners of ships.

If he were to go to Valhalla and teach the warriors there, how many Einherjar would benefit from his wisdom?

Even the most discerning gods would welcome Gorm.

“Children.”

“Yes, Father.”

Gorm’s children stood solemnly with their weapons.

It seemed they were preparing to send their father off.

“Father has something to discuss with Thorkel, so please wait outside for a moment.”

“Yes.”

After everyone left, Gorm spoke in a calm voice.

“Thorkel. You… have changed, haven’t you?”

His voice held the wisdom unique to old men. To avoid his piercing insight, I joked.

“I have changed. I’ve become a solid farmer, haven’t I?”

“You fool.”

Gorm sighed.

“Do you think people won’t notice just because you grow your beard a little longer? That you don’t age?”

“…!”

“Everyone is just pretending not to know. Even fooling themselves into thinking you just have a good constitution.”

Gorm was always wise. It was impossible to deceive him.

“It was a female slave, wasn’t it? The one you brought from the monastery?”

“…Yes.”

“I knew it. You… have a bad habit of being attracted to dangerous women.”

“Maybe so.”

“Those kinds of guys end up one of two ways. Either a fool who dies a dog’s death, or a hero with his own saga…”

“Which one will I be?”

“If you die quickly, you’ll be a hero. If you live long, you’ll be a fool. When you find a place to die, don’t miss the opportunity and die. Don’t cling to life and suffer a miserable fate.”

As always, Gorm was wise.

I should have listened to him.

But I just nodded.

“Thorkel.”

“Yes.”

“You’re the best warrior I’ve raised. Can I ask you a favor?”

“…Yes.”

“Call the children.”

I gathered everyone. And I handed Gorm a longsword. The longsword we had taken from the English monastery.

When one of his children approached Gorm, I shook my head and took his axe.

“I’ll see him off.”

“Yes, Elder.”

Gorm gripped the longsword.

“Oh gods. Please accept this old body.”

I swung the axe.

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Gorm was a well-known figure in many countries. His funeral was grand. It was comparable to the Jarl’s funeral.

As I watched his eldest son set the ship ablaze with a flaming arrow, I gathered my belongings.

I granted the slaves their freedom and gave them enough land to pay for their own freedom.

Only two things remained: the Bible and the cross.

It was only natural, as they were the most expensive items by weight. But to me, it felt like a prank by the gods.

Gorm’s ship was sinking.

I said my goodbyes.

“Farewell…”

To Gorm.

And to my life as a human.

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After that, I lived a wandering life.

I stayed in places for five or six years at most, a month at the least.

As I aged, I overcame the limitations of the werewolf transformation process and was able to live completely like a human.

However, there was no way to fix the fact that I didn’t age.

So I had to keep wandering.

There weren’t many jobs available for a wanderer with an unknown identity and whereabouts. If I was lucky, it was dirty or dangerous work, and most of the time, it was both dirty and dangerous.

Living a rough life, my fighting skills became sharper as time passed.

Stories spread about me, like the poacher who caught a man-eating bear, or the wanderer who saved a maiden from bandits and then eloped with her from the village after having an affair.

Sometimes I would smile bitterly while listening to the bards’ songs that clearly told my story.

Then one day, it happened.

A woman with a hood pulled over her face approached me as I was taking shelter from the rain in the meeting hall.

“I heard you have a Bible. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

I had sold the gold cross during my travels, but I still had the Bible. It was heavy and valuable, so I carried it around like a kind of check.

I tapped the Bible.

“Did you come to buy the Bible? It’s a holy object, so I won’t sell it cheap.”

Although I had never read it even once.

“No. Never mind. I’ll give you a commission instead. There’s someone I need killed.”

“I don’t harm women or children. Nor freemen who haven’t been granted permission for revenge by the Jarl. The payment is in gold and silver. Half upfront, the other half upon completion.”

“They’re skilled fighters. There are quite a few of them.”

“I don’t care about skill or numbers.”

I meant it. At that time, I was over a hundred years old and had lived by the sword for decades. Even without transforming into a werewolf, I was confident I was the strongest warrior in the North Sea.

I could defeat any number of ordinary people.

The woman handed me a golden goblet. It was a treasure adorned with jewels.

“How many people can you kill for this much?”

“A hundred.”

“Then you’ll have some left over. You can keep the change.”

Only one thing remained.

“Where are the bastards I have to kill?”

The woman led me somewhere.

The fog was as thick as milk, but the woman walked as if she were in her own home. In a place I had no idea where it was, she pointed to a longhouse that seemed to stretch endlessly.

“Kill everyone inside.”

“It doesn’t look like a bandit hideout.”

“No Jarl, no moot will judge their deaths.”

“Then it’s fine.”

I entered the longhouse.

It was as vast as a house of gods, but it was empty. There were only a few warriors sitting listlessly.

They saw me and asked.

“Who are you? Were you tricked into coming here too?”

“A woman asked me to kill you.”

Only then did they regain their energy.

Like warriors looking forward to a festival.

“Ah, so this is our fate!”

I hadn’t noticed when they were sprawled out listlessly, but their weapons were incredibly large, and their armor was as dazzling as that of kings.

And when they rushed at me… they were unbelievably strong.

‘Where did these guys come from…?!’

Although I didn’t say it out loud, I was confident that I was the strongest warrior in the North Sea, even in human form. But each and every one of them was a warrior on par with me, and in their respective specialties, they were even better than me.

My shield was shattered, so I took an enemy’s shield. My axe broke, so I snatched another’s.

Blades and spearheads pierced my flesh countless times, forcing me to break my long-held taboo and transform into a werewolf.

Even then, the fight wasn’t easy.

But I won.

As I stood exhausted and battered, the woman with the hood approached me.

“I had a good eye for people.”

I was in werewolf form, but the woman didn’t seem surprised. She probably knew I was a werewolf.

“Where is this place, who are they? And who are you?”

“You’re asking questions you didn’t ask at first.”

“I need to know now.”

“This is a house abandoned by its owner, they are those who were deceived, and I am the one who is trying to put everything back in its place.”

“Stop with the riddles.”

“I answered. Understanding is your responsibility.”

The woman walked out of the house, and I followed her.

And the moment I passed through the door, I was standing alone on a mountain path.

“…What is this?”

It felt like a dream. A daydream I had while taking a nap.

However, this was not a dream.

“…”

The golden goblet. And the axe and shield that weren’t mine.

All of these things proved it.

That I had experienced something bizarre.

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My journey continued after that.

It was gratifying that the bards sang of my story, but it was also unsettling.

Because it meant my identity could be revealed.

So I made a rule.

Never stay in a place where a bard sings my song.

Thus, I headed south, further and further south.

I came so far south that people started speaking languages I couldn’t understand, and I often had to find interpreters.

The meeting halls where they sold alcohol turned into taverns, and the mead they sold in the taverns turned into wine.

Only then did I feel relieved.

This was a place where nobody knew me.

The problem was that I didn’t know this place either.

Well, it wasn’t a big deal.

In any culture, laws were useless, and swords were valuable.

Even in a place where I couldn’t speak the language, it wasn’t difficult to make a living by the sword.

Sometimes I worked as someone’s bodyguard, and sometimes I formed a mercenary company and participated in large-scale wars.

Occasionally, someone would recognize me, and in those cases, I pretended to be my son or grandson. Then people would just assume I looked like my offspring and move on.

As I wandered around following the flow of blood and gold, I somehow became a member of the Byzantine Emperor’s Varangian Guard.

‘…How did this happen?’

For some reason, the emperor of this country seemed to trust outsiders more than his subjects who had sworn allegiance to him.

Their suspicion was reasonable, because the nobles here didn’t hesitate to plot against the very emperor they had sworn loyalty to.

“Why do they even bother exchanging oaths of allegiance if they’re going to do this?”

My colleagues, the Varangian Guard, would often discuss this over drinks.

Why demand an oath of allegiance that’s bound to be broken, and why swear an oath you have no intention of keeping?

It was strange.

It was as if we, who simply kept our oaths, were the strange ones.

Then one day, it happened.

One of my colleagues, drunk and trying to rape a woman, was stabbed to death by her.

“…Wow. That’s…”

We clicked our tongues.

“How pathetic must he have been to be unable to even seduce a woman in Miklagard?”

The women here were free-spirited and knew how to enjoy themselves with men. There were always women who sought out large, strong, and exotic men like us. After all, we were valiant men recognized enough to personally guard the emperor, weren’t we?

We had the stamina to please a woman until she couldn’t walk, if necessary.

No. Even if that wasn’t the case, Miklagard’s taverns and red-light districts were overflowing with prostitutes. From cheap prostitutes you could buy with a few coins to expensive high-class prostitutes you couldn’t even meet even if you offered your entire monthly salary.

So why bother with rape?

If he enjoyed rough stuff, he could have just agreed to it and done it roughly.

“He deserved to die, but if we just let this slide, won’t we be treated the same as him?”

“…Ah, that’s true.”

We couldn’t be the laughingstock, even if he was dead. After some discussion, we decided to deliver the dead man’s inheritance to the victim.

“He is our shame. If anyone seeks accountability for this, tell them to come to us.”

The victim seemed impressed by our attitude.

“The Varangians truly understand what honor is.”

“…?”

As former pirates and raiders, we could only tilt our heads in confusion.

“What exactly is honor…?”

That was the moment our drinking discussions gained another topic.

Anyway, I worked as a Varangian Guard for about ten years.

The number of people who recognized my face increased, and I made a few friends.

‘Is it time to leave soon?’

It was at that moment, as I was wrapping things up.

Among the emperor’s concubines, I found a familiar face. No, a familiar scent.

“…The woman who gave me the golden goblet.”