The Viking Era

[Second Quest Initiated.]

[Survive!]

Matthew blinked in confusion, his chest still throbbing from the kick. "Second quest? Already?" he muttered, dread pooling in his stomach.

Before he could process the glowing triangle's words, it blinked twice and faded away, leaving him alone with the towering Viking.

The crowd roared with cheers and laughter as the man loomed closer, his long braided beard swaying with each step. "You've got some nerve, slave," he growled, his voice like grinding stone. "Insulting my wife and thinking you'll walk away alive?"

The triangle flashed back into view briefly:

[Tell him you didn't insult her. You actually respected her…in many positions. Twice and a half.]

Matthew's jaw dropped as he read the message. "What the hell?!" he whispered.

"I—I didn't mean it!" Matthew stammered out loud, scrambling backward on his hands. "I was just trying to—uh—survive Erthan!"

The triangle's text shifted again, almost as if it sighed:

[Tch, you've got no humor…]

The Viking cracked his knuckles, his massive shadow engulfing Matthew. "Looks like I'll have to teach you some respect," he snarled, raising a meaty fist.

Just as Matthew braced himself for the inevitable, the Viking froze, his hand gripped tightly by another.

The crowd fell silent.

Standing behind him was a massive, bald man clad in a black tunic. His left eye was concealed by a weathered patch, while his long blond beard framed a face etched with scars that told stories of countless battles. His sheer presence radiated authority, the kind that demanded respect without uttering a single word.

"Enough," the man said, his voice calm but unyielding. "This is no way to settle this."

Matthew's breath hitched. He recognized him immediately. This was Eric—the father of the main character.

"Keep your slave in check, old man," the Viking growled, his rage barely contained. "How dare a slave dishonor my soon-to-be wife with such filthy rumors?" His voice thundered, his nostrils flaring in anger.

What Ren didn't know was that Elliott had indeed… respected his wife.

Eric remained calm, his one good eye fixed on the Viking. "I'm sorry, Ren the Honest," he said in a measured tone, his voice a stark contrast to the tension in the air. "But I'd prefer to be the one to discipline him myself."

Before Ren could respond, Eric subtly nudged him with his elbow—not once, but twice, each motion deliberate and filled with unspoken weight.

"Ahh… Alright," Ren finally relented, though his frustration was still evident in his tone. "But only because I respect you, blacksmith." He jabbed a finger in Eric's direction. "I expect a discount for this, old man."

Eric gave a slight nod, his face betraying no emotion. "We'll see."

While the exchange unfolded, Matthew clenched his fists, his knuckles white. His chest still ached, but what burned more was the fury bubbling inside him.

The way they talk, the way they act… he thought, his jaw tightening. And these names—Ren the Honest? Really?

But worst of all was his name. "Elliott," he muttered under his breath, the sound of it scraping against his pride. Of all the names, why that?

"Come, you filthy slave. I will discipline you at home," Eric said, his tone firm as he turned toward Matthew. "Now!"

Matthew gulped, his legs trembling as he scrambled to his feet to follow the older Viking. I'm screwed… he thought, dread coiling in his stomach. This doesn't make sense. In the novel, Eric loved Elliott—he even mourned him!

…

The silence between them was suffocating. Neither had spoken a word since leaving the crowd behind. Matthew kept his head low, too scared to break the quiet, while Eric seemed to be waiting for something. Finally, once they were alone, Eric glanced over his shoulder.

"Is it true?" Eric asked, his voice low. "Did you… sleep with that man's wife?"

Matthew froze, his mind racing. What could he say? Should he deny it? Make something up?

"Kinda?" he finally blurted, wincing at how weak he sounded.

For a moment, Eric just stared at him. Then, to Matthew's surprise, the old Viking let out a booming laugh. "Ha! Only you could answer like that." He clapped Matthew on the back with enough force to make him stumble. "But really—did you?"

"Yes, I did," Matthew admitted, deciding that honesty might be his best option.

Eric stopped in his tracks, turning to face him fully. His one good eye gleamed with pride as a broad grin spread across his face.

"I'm so proud," Eric said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You did exactly as I taught you. Beautiful!"

"Now, let's get out of here before that jackass finds out too," Eric said, glancing over his shoulder. Without waiting for a response, he broke into a sprint, leaving Matthew no choice but to follow.

The two of them bolted through the snow, their heavy footsteps echoing as they raced toward the safety of Eric's home.

What neither of them knew was that Ren the Honest had just discovered the truth—in the most gut-wrenching way imaginable.

After the fight, Ren returned home, his anger still simmering. As he pushed open the door to his house, ready to vent his frustration, he froze in place.

There, in the dim light of the room, was his soon-to-be wife, positioned provocatively, her backside in the air.

"Elliott, dear," she purred without turning around. "Did you finish beating that brat? Come, let's finish what we started."

For a moment, Ren could only stand there, his mind unable to process what he was seeing—or hearing. Then, finally, his fury boiled over.

That day, Ren the Honest screamed so loudly that the entire village heard him.