Five years had passed since the wolf test.
I was ten now. My body had grown considerably. My training with father had become more intense.
Every morning started the same way. Push-ups until my arms burned. Sit-ups until my stomach cramped. Wood cutting until my hands bled.
Then spear work. Sword practice. Wrestling with boys from other families.
The routine never changed. But my body kept adapting.
"Show me my stats," I said one morning after training.
[Your Status is]
[Name: Njal]
[Strength: 28]
[Endurance: 22]
[Intelligence: 27]
[Skills]
[Listening lv8] [Learning lv9] [Norse lv10] [Wood Cutting lv7] [Strength Training lv6] [Combat lv5] [Sword Fighting lv4] [Spear Fighting lv3] [Wrestling lv2] [Fishing lv4]
[Titles]
[The Giant] [Wood Pecker] [Wolf Tamer] [Village Champion]
Twenty-eight strength was getting close to adult warrior levels. My endurance had improved dramatically too. I could train for hours without getting tired.
The fishing skill had developed over years of helping the village boats. We were primarily fishermen. Had been for generations.
But this winter had been different.
The worst anyone could remember.
The fish had disappeared from our waters. Ice formed earlier and stayed longer. Our stored grain ran out weeks ago.
People were already getting sick from hunger. The elderly first. Then the children.
We had maybe two months of food left. If we were lucky.
"Something has to be done," I heard my father telling the other village elders one evening.
I was supposed to be sleeping but I crept close to listen.
"The fishing isn't coming back," another man said. "Whatever drove the fish away isn't going to change."
"We could try trading with other villages," suggested someone.
"They're all struggling too. Nobody has extra food to spare."
The conversation went quiet. Everyone knew what they were thinking but nobody wanted to say it.
Finally, my father spoke.
"There might be another option."
"What option?" the village elder asked.
"A jarl passed through last month. Said he'd been to England. Described monasteries filled with silver and gold. Settlements with more food than they know what to do with."
England. I'd heard stories about the island across the sea. Rich lands. Weak warriors. Easy targets.
"We're fishermen," someone protested. "Not raiders."
"We're starving," my father replied. "Our children are dying. What choice do we have?"
The room stayed silent for a long time.
"How many men would we need?" the elder finally asked.
"Thirty. Maybe forty. Enough to take a small monastery or trading post."
"And ships?"
"We have fishing boats. They're not longships but they'll get us across."
I could hear them discussing details. Which men could fight. What weapons we had. How long the journey would take.
By the time they finished talking, the decision had been made.
Our village was going to become raiders.
Over the next few weeks, everything changed.
The fishing nets were stored away. Weapons were sharpened and repaired. Men who had never fought practiced with swords and axes.
My father included me in the planning meetings now. I was old enough to understand the situation.
"This isn't about glory," he explained. "This is about survival. Our people will die if we don't find food and silver."
"What about the English people?" I asked. "Won't they die if we raid them?"
"Some of them," he admitted. "But that's not our responsibility. Our responsibility is to our own village."
It was a harsh way of thinking. But this was a harsh world.
The jarl who had told us about England returned a month later. His name was Erik. He was an experienced raider from a settlement further north.
"I'll guide you," he offered. "For a share of the treasure."
The village elder agreed immediately. We needed someone who knew the waters and the targets.
"How many ships?" Erik asked.
"Three fishing boats," my father replied. "Forty men."
Erik nodded approvingly. "Good size for a first raid. Not too many to manage. Not too few to be effective."
"What about the boys?" someone asked.
Erik looked at me and the other children. "How old is the oldest?"
"Ten," my father said, indicating me.
"Old enough," Erik decided. "They can carry supplies. Help with the boats. Maybe fight if needed."
My heart jumped. I was going on my first raid.
That night, my mother tried to convince my father to leave me behind.
"He's too young," she argued. "What if something happens?"
"He needs to learn," my father replied. "This might be the only way our village survives. He has to understand what that means."
She cried quietly but didn't argue further.
The next morning, we loaded the boats with weapons and supplies. Not much food. We couldn't spare any.
The plan was simple. Sail to England. Find a small monastery or trading post. Take everything valuable. Get back before winter storms made the crossing impossible.
As we pushed off from shore, I looked back at our village. At the faces of the women and children staying behind.
They were counting on us. If we failed, they would starve.
[New Skill: Sailing lv1]
[New Achievement: First Raid]
The crossing took four days. The fishing boats weren't built for ocean travel but they held together.
Erik knew the waters well. Guided us around the worst storms and toward the English coast.
On the fourth morning, we saw land.
"There," Erik pointed toward a cluster of stone buildings near the shore. "Monastery. Maybe twenty monks. Good treasure. Weak defenses."
My father studied the target through the morning mist.
"How do we know they have enough to make this worthwhile?" he asked.
"All monasteries have silver," Erik replied. "They collect donations from wealthy English lords. Plus they grow their own food. Should be plenty for your village."
The plan was to attack at dawn. When the monks would be at morning prayers.
That night, as we made camp on the beach, I asked my father what I should do during the fight.
"Stay back," he said. "Watch and learn. Help where you can but don't try to be a hero."
"What if someone attacks me?"
"Then you kill them," he said simply. "This isn't practice anymore. This is survival."
[New Skill: War Preparation lv1]
The system was tracking everything. Every new experience. Every step toward becoming a warrior.
As I lay on the cold sand, listening to the waves, I wondered what tomorrow would bring.
My first real battle. My first kill.
The beginning of whatever I was going to become.