Chapter Thirty-Three: The Wandering Knight’s Attire

Vade swung his right arm, sending the longsword in a graceful arc before it landed on the ground. He scrambled out of the puddle, using both hands and feet. His body was drenched; before the water could freeze into frost, he went inside and found a dry towel, wiping down his bones and the sword. Unable to find a suitable scabbard, he wrapped the blade in a piece of linen. This sword was extraordinary; its sheen alone distinguished it from ordinary iron blades, and the name and anvil engraved on its hilt unmistakably marked its worth.

It was wise not to flaunt such treasures—true valuables must be hidden. Securing the sword at his waist, he donned his robe anew and climbed atop the roof of a stone house. Gazing into the distance, vast snowy plains stretched before him, with nearby patches of fir and black pine woods. Beyond the forests, the mountain range unfurled. The terrain around the village was fairly flat, part of the plains; when the ice and snow melted and spring and summer arrived, this place would surely be beautiful—a fine spot to live.

But now, the village was deserted. After orienting himself, Vade left this empty settlement. He headed toward the mountains, where a river flowed; Swen’s pirate band had used the frozen riverbed and snowy roads, driving sleds into Tania. The river wasn’t far from the village; the sun hadn’t moved much overhead when Vade reached the riverbank. Vegetation abounded nearby, though most was dried up; except for the pines, all leaves had vanished, leaving only bare branches.

The two sleds, which the pirates had hidden among the trees, needed to be found. Vade and Mia split up; Mia searched from low altitude, while he slipped through the dense undergrowth. It didn’t take long—after clearing away dried branches, Vade found the abandoned oak sled.

This was a heavy sled, its frame covered in iron plating. The interior was packed with snow, having lain forgotten for ten days. There should have been two sleds here, along with over a dozen reindeer to pull them, but it seemed the surviving pirates took the reindeer and another sled when they fled. They must have left in haste; at the front of the sled, Vade found cut reins—on that night, the pirates had sliced the ties with their swords, perhaps riding the reindeer in panic across the snowy fields.

It was fortunate, as it meant the pirates had no time to sort through the supplies on the sled. Vade called Mia back and jumped inside to search.

At the sled's center was a sail made of animal hide, much like those used on ships; upon reaching open ice fields, the pirates would unfurl it and let the north wind drive the sled. The sled itself was highly valuable, comparable to a carriage—a heavy sled like this could carry twenty people at full capacity, along with loot: food, barrels of wine, and captives. The iron alone from its runners and rivets weighed dozens of kilograms, and selling this would surely fetch a hefty sum, at least several hundred silver coins.

Unfortunately, Vade couldn't move it. Vikings used reindeer and Icelandic horses to pull sleds, and when faced with steep slopes or cracks, oarsmen would have to push and pry—this was not a vehicle for one person. So Vade focused on searching for useful items.

He paced the sled like a sailor on deck. There were indeed many things: spare weapons and armor, pirate rations, clothes. He even found a helmet—a fully enclosed black iron helm, not the style favored by the Vikings, likely stolen from elsewhere. The helmet was old and rusted, tied to a seat as a pirate’s trophy; it resembled those worn by knights or town guards. It should have come with matching armor, but Vade found no such set, only the lone rusty helmet left to weather the elements.

He took it and placed it on his head. Crouching beside the riverbed, he used the ice as a mirror to examine himself. The helmet concealed his entire skull, so even at close range, none of his bones were visible inside. Perfect for disguise.

Vade stowed the old helmet, then replaced his boots and greaves with seal-skin ones suited for walking on snow. He armed himself with gloves, chainmail, and a woolen coat, making sure no part of him was exposed. He avoided equipment with distinct Viking features, such as their favorite conical helmets, only taking old, rusted items. He fashioned himself as a wandering knight, not a well-equipped Viking, fitting for the longsword he carried. He even found a scabbard for it.

Standing before the ice, sword in hand, he struck a pose. Well, he looked ready to kindle the fire. Weren’t skeletons a kind of undead?

This ensemble stripped Vade of the eerie aura of the undead; instead, he appeared as a silent, impoverished adventurer—someone whose empty wallet forced him to cobble together gear from stingy merchants, giving off an air of destitution at first glance. With this attire, he could blend into small towns and villages without much trouble. Entering walled cities required a guard’s inspection, but in smaller places, there were no such rules; with money, he could even gesture for a night’s sleep at the inn and buy a few quarts of rum.

Vade was quite satisfied with his new look. With it, he could boldly explore, attempt contact with others, and exchange information. Lastly, he packed a deerskin pouch with supplies: about half a kilogram of dried herring, two bags of wine in seal-skin flasks, an old crossbow bolt, half a rock-hard loaf of black bread, and a palm-sized piece of cheese. Skeletons did not require food, but these provisions made him seem more human, reducing suspicion.

He carried a longbow; aside from Swen’s legacy longsword, he also took an old iron sword—as if he were a monster hunter, a silver sword and a steel sword. It felt like he’d equipped himself with beginner gear, ready to embark on a journey, an adventure.

Long ago, when he first arrived in this land, he dreamed of a grand life of adventure. Sadly, reality struck him down, and he became a baker, spending his days before the oven. Yet those days were good—safe and joyful. Each day passed selling bread, chatting with customers, basking in the sun.

If he could leave that wasteland, perhaps he’d find another remote spot to open a bakery. To make bread, living quietly day by day—perhaps that would be rather nice.