Chapter 147: An Eye for an Eye

Vecz took a seat across from her while the man who had so graciously ordered her to sit poured her a drink.

This time, Blanche merely wet her lips.

Around Rauõr, caution was always advisable.

The ale was stale.

It also happened to increase her poison resistance.

So she drank it without difficulty... and poured herself another.

"This is my father," Rauõr announced. "Godi Blàr Ereknisen."

The woman seated on the smaller throne rose and moved to stand behind her husband.

"This is the first time we've seen you," the Chief said. "Where do you come from?"

"I've just returned from a journey," the redhead replied.

"Are you a warrior as well?" the woman asked, her gaze openly fixed on the axe protruding over Blanche's shoulder.

Blanche nodded, shooting Rauõr a pointed look.

He hadn't considered it worth finishing the introductions.

"This is my wife," he added at last. "Hvítr, Loeknir."

"A pleasure," Blanche replied.

Then, lowering her voice so only the man she'd once pulled from the sea could hear:

"What does Loeknir mean?"

"An honorary title. 'Important female.'"

She nodded.

Not exactly thrilled.

Still, technically, it was a title.

She took another sip.

At that moment, her quest window appeared.

She had stayed long enough.

It was time to leave.

The young Viking woman, however, seemed to disagree.

"What a shame," she said. "I'd have preferred you to be a healer, like your son. That would have explained your absence from the battlefield... and during the rebuilding."

Oh.

There it was.

Blanche could hear the intelligence—and the hostility—hidden beneath that pleasant tone.

The kind lady had disappeared.

Yes.

It was definitely time to go.

"My husband doesn't like exposing me unnecessarily," Blanche replied, rising to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, I should be heading home."

The Chief suddenly erupted into booming laughter.

The sound filled the Great Hall, echoing from the heavy timber beams and deliberately drowning out the conversations—and the protests that had just begun to rise.

It was calculated.

A crude diversion.

But an effective one.

Every head turned toward him, drawn in despite themselves by the sudden display of merriment.

Every head...

Except one.

Vecz.

The giant never took his eyes off Blanche.

His arm moved without warning.

For a man of his size, the speed was terrifying.

A dagger left his fingers with a sharp whistle, cutting across the hall like a streak of steel.

The blade spun through the air with surgical precision, catching the flames of the great hearth with every rotation.

It wasn't a throw meant to intimidate.

It was a throw meant to kill.

Blanche didn't think.

Instinct took over.

The world seemed to slow around her.

No.

It stopped.

Time itself.

One of the Queen of the Players' newest powers answered her call instantly.

Everything plunged into an eerie silence.

The Chief's laughter froze in his throat.

The flames stopped dancing.

A droplet of ale hung motionless on the rim of an overturned mug.

Smoke from the hearth became strange sculptures suspended in midair.

Even the children froze halfway through their game.

Nothing moved.

Nothing lived.

Except her.

She felt the difference immediately.

The ability had evolved.

Before, those precious seconds had always slipped away too quickly.

Now...

Frozen time felt almost comfortable.

Long enough to think.

To observe.

To act without the crushing urgency that had always frayed her nerves.

Her gaze calmly followed the dagger's path.

The weapon hovered before her.

Only a few centimeters from her face.

One more heartbeat...

And it would have pierced her eye.

She simply raised a hand.

Her new reflexes made the movement almost laughably easy.

Her fingers closed firmly around the leather-wrapped hilt.

The metal was icy.

Surprisingly heavy.

She spent a brief second studying the gleaming tip pointed directly at her face before quietly exhaling through her nose.

"Seriously..." she muttered.

Then she released her power.

Time lurched forward.

The roar of the hearth returned all at once.

Conversations burst back into existence.

Smoke resumed its climb toward the ceiling.

The Chief's laughter reached its end.

And the dagger...

...never completed its flight.

Blanche stood perfectly still.

One arm raised.

Her hand wrapped firmly around the weapon she had intercepted.

Its tip had stopped mere centimeters from her cheek.

A crushing silence settled over the Great Hall.

The warriors remained frozen, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

Some were certain they'd seen the dagger flying.

Then...

Nothing.

The next instant, it was simply resting in the stranger's hand.

As though she'd been holding it all along.

Even Vecz's brow furrowed ever so slightly.

For the first time since her arrival, something resembling surprise crossed his face.

At the head of the hall, the Chief stopped laughing altogether.

His eyes slowly shifted from the dagger...

...to Blanche.

He was no longer smiling.

He was thinking.

One man, however, hadn't reacted at all.

Rauõr.

As if none of this concerned him in the slightest, the old Viking calmly picked up his ale jug, refilled Blanche's mug with almost insolent composure, and slid it toward her.

"You're going to need this," he said matter-of-factly.

Blanche lowered her eyes to the mug.

Then slowly looked back up.

A smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Apparently...

Not everyone in this village had the same sense of priorities.

"She's a warrior," Rauõr continued. "But more importantly, she's a witch. This insult will cost us dearly."

Blanche tilted her head and took a drink while Vecz rose to his feet.

"Fenrir may be your god," he growled at his brother, "but he isn't mine. Thor will protect us."

"And Aaron?" Rauõr shot back. "That's the woman you just tried to murder."

Vecz smiled.

Cruelly.

Far more like the shapeshifter god than he realized.

"We'll finally see what he's worth. Killing monsters is one thing. Killing men is another."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Blanche said at last. "Fen loses his patience rather quickly when it comes to me... And as for my husband, I don't need him to kill you."

"You have no right to speak, woman!" Vecz roared.

"I don't need your permission."

She rose to her feet, casually spinning the dagger around her fingers at dizzying speed.

The effect was immediate.

"I could erase this village from the map without lifting a finger. My son heals everyone here, doesn't he? What if he stopped? The Blue Dragon is an old friend. What if he decided to cover your rooftops in ice? Or perhaps the orcs would make better neighbors..."

She let the silence settle.

If she had to play the villain to earn their respect...

So be it.

Then she sighed as her eyes met Rauõr's.

She owed him more than she could repay.

"But let's keep the last ten minutes between ourselves. I'm feeling generous today."

"A favor..."

"For a favor."

Rauõr inclined his head.

Vecz stood there pale-faced.

The Chief looked shaken.

His wife was openly furious.

Blanche twisted the knife one last time.

"And this," she added, examining the finely crafted dagger in her hand, "I'm keeping."

"A welcome gift."

She walked out of the hall before anyone had the brilliant idea of trying to stop her.

A shame.

She was in a thoroughly murderous mood.

It was definitely time to head back to Epsilon.