They were close enough now to see each other’s faces clearly. One charge—one moment of collapse—could turn into a knot of bodies and blades in seconds. The air was stretched to its limit.
Sten’s forehead shone with cold sweat.
“This is beyond bad. The older boys and girls aren’t here. If it’s just us kids… someone’s going to die.”
Badji, shaking, had already started whispering a prayer.
“Oh… is it time? Am I finally about to enter Valhalla? Dear father, dear mother—I’m coming to see you… Great holy Valkyries, please don’t abandon my soul…”
Tallev patted Badji’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, everyone. I have a plan.”
“No. Your plans are always terrible—oh no no no no! Tallev, come back... Damn it!”
But the other side was tense too. They’d heard rumors: Oslo berserkers were unnaturally strong—and not limited by age.
“Gods! why won’t they scare off?”
“I heard the kid who twisted someone’s head clean off was their age.”
“So what? We still go! If we lose to children, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Hey! look. One of them’s stepping out.”
“Is that a duel challenge? Who do we send?”
Tallev strutted forward like a proud rooster, chest out, and began to chant:
“We are the great tribe of Oslo,
the greatest Viking tribe there is.
You weak little nobodies—say your names,
tell me what trash-hole you crawled out of,
trash even maggots wouldn’t eat.”
The Oslo children erupted—clapping hands, pounding shields, whooping.
The other side understood at once: this was Flyting.
So they answered in kind, sending one man forward. His voice was hoarse, but his words carried the venom of a snake:
“Oslo? Hahah—
so you’re the wandering parasites.
But you can’t even parasite properly.
You’re just fleas under Rome,
scratching where you don’t belong.
Go back home and find your mothers—
oh, wait.
Right.
You don’t even have mothers.
We, the Baerum tribe, have more than you—
more of everything.
Even more mothers.
But you?
Not a single mother among you.”
The Baerum line ended with a roar of cruel laughter.
The Oslo children looked as if a knife had been driven into their chests. Rage and hurt rose together. Some of them even started to sniffle. Even slow Tallev’s eyes watered. Their courage wavered—so badly it seemed they might drop what they’d gathered and run.
Then Ga—the smallest, the most fragile, and somehow the one who took it deepest—did the last thing anyone expected.
Ga rushed forward, even past Tallev, and shouted back at Baerum:
"fuck your mother
fuck your father
fuck your grandparents
fuck your younger siblings
fuck your older siblings
fuck your uncles and aunts
fuck your whole family
fuck your neighbors
fuck your entire tribe
May your entire tribe die out
Because no one in your tribe is better than my mommy
My mommy is super beautiful
You don't have a mommy as beautiful as mine
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Your mommy isn't as good as my mommy
Because you're rotten
You're just a piece of stinky poop
You're the poop your mommy produced
So your mommy doesn't love you
She'll stuff you in the toilet
And you'll die."
fast, loud, and vicious—
The words came out fluent and ringing, full of wild gestures—ugly, burning, unstoppable.
But, because it wasn’t Viking, no one understood a single syllable.
The forest fell into an awkward, stunned silence.
Lagertha leaned close to Sten. “What did he just say?”
“No idea,” Sten muttered. “Badji, can you understand him?”
Badji shook his head. “Me neither. Are we… supposed to clap now?”
The Oslo children whispered among themselves, trying to guess.
Across from them, the Baerum men also whispered, just as lost.
“What did that kid just say?”
“I don’t know. something about mothers?”
“But it sounded smooth. Was that real Flyting?”
“Damn it! who can translate? Not knowing what we’re being called hurts worse than a blade!”
Tallev saw the opening immediately. He swaggered up beside Ga and asked in a low voice, acting serious:
“Brother. What did you call them? Translate, translate.”
Ga’s anger had cooled just enough for embarrassment to creep in. Ga muttered in Viking, awkwardly:
“Uh… I… cursed their whole family.”
Tallev’s eyes lit up. He turned and shouted theatrically:
“WOOOAH! My Roman brother just roasted their whole tribe with a hundred lines—he roasted their ancestors for eighteen generations too!”
The Oslo kids didn’t care if it was true. They howled and pounded shields like lunatics, cheering for an insult they hadn’t even understood.
And Baerum—stupidly—believed it.
Their faces twisted. Teeth ground.
“What did you say with that filthy mouth, you little rat?! I’ll crush you with one punch!”
“That doesn’t count! He’s Roman! Romans don’t Flyte—doesn’t count!”
Tallev fanned the flames, drunk on the momentum.
“Don’t feel hurt—my Roman brother will do it again in Viking, and he’ll smash you so hard you’ll be face-down eating dirt!”
He slapped Ga’s back urgently.
“Come on, Ga-Ga! Say a few more lines and they’re finished. Remember—Viking this time!”
Ga hesitated—then shouted in rough, clumsy Viking toward Baerum:
“Duel me.
Cowards.
Pathetic.
None of you dare.”
Silence slammed down.
Because both sides had been trying—up to this moment—to avoid real bloodshed.
And Ga had spoken the word that changed the rules:
Duel.
Under Viking custom, that meant real weapons. One-on-one. No “just words” anymore.
Oslo’s children went pale.
They had all seen Ga’s weakness—especially during the bear-cage disaster. And Ga carried no weapon. By tradition, that meant bare hands.
Across the line, Baerum’s men were delighted. They could tell Ga was Roman—no berserker blood. The weakest possible pick.
Tallev’s eyes darted. And of course, another terrible idea formed.
“Okay,” Tallev whispered. “New plan. Ga-Ga stalls them, and we run back to the settlement.”
“Hold it!” Sten snapped, jabbing a finger into Tallev’s face. “First: your plans are trash. Every single one. Second: the gods witness every part of a duel. If we run, we’ll never reach Valhalla.”
“It’s not running,” Tallev argued. “It’s going to get reinforcements.”
“What reinforcements?” Lagertha barked. “We are the reinforcements!”
Badji closed his eyes and clasped his hands.
“Let’s pray. Maybe Ga can at least die comfortably.”
“Bullshit,” Tallev growled, swinging his fist like it proved something. “My Ga-Ga won’t die! You forgot? He got smashed by a bear and still lived!”
Sten had had enough of Tallev’s logic. He stepped past him and spoke to the Oslo children, loud and steady:
“We can’t shame Ga-Ga’s courage. So when they try to kill him—we swear by Máni and we fight. Be brave. We can win even without the older kids!”
The Oslo children straightened. Eyes hardened again, fixed on Ga.
But Lagertha didn’t look relieved. She looked… heavy.
“Ga-Ga…” she murmured, staring at him. “Are you really going to Valhalla first?”
Ga stood there, stunned.
A Baerum man built like a bear stepped forward, wearing a crooked, vicious smile. With a short sword in hand, he strolled closer like this was already decided.
“Relax, Roman boy,” the man said, pretending to be generous. “You’re the one who called for the duel. When you die, you’ll count as Viking—and you’ll be escorted straight into Valhalla.”
Ga’s eyes went hollow, as if something had fallen out of him. Ga sank down like a puppet with cut strings.
“Oh, and one more thing.” The Baerum man raised his sword to his chest and recited solemnly:
“In the name of the gods, I enter this sacred duel. May fate’s thread guide us to the ending that fulfills their will. May the gods bear witness!”
Both sides answered together:
“May the gods bear witness!”
Ga lowered his head, fingertips brushing the grass.
The Baerum man snapped impatiently, “Your turn, Roman boy. You say: ‘In the name of the gods—’”
Ga gave a thin, contemptuous smile.
“Heh,” Ga said softly. “You… and your gods… can all die.”
The Baerum man sighed, shaking his head. Then he slowly lifted his sword high.
“Pitiful young soul,” he murmured. “No faith at all. Let me free you…”
Everyone held their breath.
Lagertha couldn’t bear to watch—she squeezed her eyes shut, tears forcing their way out.
BANG!
The sound was heavy and sharp.
Not bone breaking.
Not a body hitting ground.
Steel had slammed into a shield.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the Oslo children exploded into a piercing cheer—
while the Baerum men muttered in baffled disbelief.
