The Rise of Rurik

Many of Otto’s warriors, caught off-guard in the battle, had not even donned their chainmail, only wearing leather arm and knee guards, helmets, and hastily grabbing round shields and battle axes to join the fight. Ironically, an arrow struck Otto’s left arm, a spot only covered by thin clothing.

The pain did nothing to quell his anger. He furiously pulled the arrow out, indifferent to the bleeding, and continued to command his troops to attack. His brother was the bravest among them.

“Brother! Are you alright?!” Ogier, concerned about his wounded brother, called out loudly.

“Ogier, keep fighting and wipe out those damned archers!”

“Understood! I will cut off their fingers that draw the bows!”

Ogier led with great confidence, his warriors behind him in a trance-like state, perhaps unafraid of death, as dying in battle was the only way to Valhalla. Of course, living a brave life and peacefully passing away surrounded by descendants also led to Valhalla.

At this moment, the chieftain of Gotland realized the dire situation. The “Scandinavians” had formidable combat strength, like an elite force, and everything seemed like a trap. He even feared that the Scandinavians would soon go to war with the Danes. What would become of Gotland, caught in the middle?

But these were no longer his concerns. Seeing his men nearly all dead and the few who had risen in rank losing the chance to escape, he realized surrender was not an option—they would not spare him.

Thus, he chose to fight to the death, believing that after death, the Valkyries would lead him to Odin in Valhalla. Yes, even centuries later, those who stayed in Gotland, like the Ros tribe to the north, still revered Odin.

Ogier fought in the shallow waters, striking down numerous foes, becoming like a wild beast. In a moment of despair, the chieftain, armed with a short spear, charged at the bravest warrior. Caught off guard, Ogier watched in shock as the spear pierced his body.

“It’s you!” In rage, Ogier used his last strength to crush his opponent’s skull, then fell powerless into the sea.

A sudden Viking-style battle erupted, ending as quickly as it started. The Ros tribe, with 700 men, overpowered the Gotlanders landing on the shore. With only ten dead and twenty wounded, it was a decisive victory.

The warriors celebrated, especially their leader Otto, who, like his namesake derived from Odin, seemed to have gained some power, achieving such a victory with minimal losses. But was this really a victory for Otto?

His brother, barely alive, was dragged to the shore. Otto, who hadn’t cried in ages, now wept bitterly.

“Brother… don’t be sad for me…”

“No! You’ll be safe.”

“Don’t… be foolish. I already see Brunhilde calling me, I see the chariot, she’s beckoning me.”

Ogier, hallucinating in his final moments, was unafraid of death, believing he would join Odin in Valhalla.

“Brother, I only worry about one thing. My son, please take care of him, teach him.”

“Yes, I will.”

As Otto finished speaking, Ogier’s clear blue eyes dimmed.

“He has accepted the Valkyries’ call,” Otto gently laid down his brother’s body and stood up, addressing his exhausted warriors: “We must take our fallen brothers home. We must take all the enemy’s possessions, especially their weapons and their lost ships. We’re returning to our tribe to tell the elders and the young of our battle and sacrifices. Let’s go, end this.”

What else could be done but to accept it all?

This was the Viking way of life, whether for the Gotlanders, the Scandinavians, or the Ros tribe. Fighting and sacrifice coexisted in the resource-scarce “Dark Lands” of Scandinavia and its complex bays. People could only survive this way.

Otto, immersed in the pain of losing his brother, couldn’t show any more sorrow to his men. He quickly bandaged his wound with cloth and continued the voyage. Meanwhile, in a small bay in the central part of the long Scandinavian Peninsula, the Ros tribe’s homeland, nearly eight thousand people lived around the bay, mainly the Ros tribe that had persisted for generations, along with thousands who had fled other tribes and chose to coexist with them. Now, they were one.

People eagerly awaited their leader’s return with abundant goods, especially his wife Nia, who felt the stirrings of pregnancy as her husband departed. Perhaps the child would be born soon after his father’s return, and indeed, a healthy baby boy was born.

This was an exceptionally beautiful and unique baby boy. After brief distress, his bright blue eyes curiously observed everything around him. Nia adored her son, her third child. Tragically, her first child had drowned, and the second had died hunting a polar bear. After her grief, Nia cherished this child immensely, willing to give him all her love. His calm demeanor delighted her.

But a female elder in the tribe sensed something unusual. In a quiet moment, she revealed her dream to Nia and the child: “Dear Nia, perhaps it’s a prophecy from Odin. Your child is extraordinary, as if not of this world. He will bring us greatness, a bright future, leading us away from this savage land.” The elder spoke many flattering words, which Nia initially welcomed but didn’t fully believe. Could Odin have really blessed her child with a prophecy?

But over time, Nia increasingly noticed her child’s uniqueness. Now older and lucky to have a healthy child, she observed his clear eyes, seemingly understanding her words, as if born with wisdom and his own thoughts.

In their wooden and animal skin tent, Nia was pleasantly surprised to find it easy to care for her child. Though he couldn’t speak, different grunts signaled his needs for eating or toileting.

In just five days, the child grew noticeably, and a tacit understanding formed between Nia and her son. The entire tribe quickly learned of this, and the white-haired elder who first noticed the anomaly became more certain of her initial judgment.

News spread that Chief Otto’s son was blessed by Odin and would become the tribe’s leader, bringing prosperity to the tribe.

This child was indeed extraordinary. Now in a tiny body, Liu Li observed the world with blurry eyes, facing an absurd reality: he had time-traveled and become a baby.

The strange people around him had Nordic faces, speaking a language both foreign and familiar. The environment was primitive, like ancient times. This was indeed the past! In just a few days, he was certain the woman holding him was his mother, and he was in a large bay village.

Occasionally taken outside by his mother, the cold wind and salty air on his face, Liu Li observed everything with fearful eyes. Nia intentionally showed her miraculous child to as many people as possible, and Liu Li witnessed astonishing scenes.

At the rudimentary dock were ships with high sails and distinctive dragon heads, the iconic Viking longships. Liu Li saw many warriors with blue eyes and blonde hair, always carrying painted round shields on their backs and short swords, axes, or daggers on their belts.

“They are Vikings, and I… am I also a Viking?” Liu Li had to accept this absurd fact. He, a man of engineering, might have to become a Viking warrior like these Nordic men.

Fighting desperately? No! Wouldn’t wisdom be the better choice? But now that it was so, he had to survive.

Survive… just survive…