Chapter 179: A Tale for Two Players

Back at the barracks, Blanche set about cooking the pheasant. It turned out a little too tough, but it was tasty. And after heading back north, having something hot to eat felt wonderful.

The afternoon was devoted to firewood.

First, they had to clear away the trees that had fallen beneath the weight of the snow, then cut up the heaviest trunks and stack the logs somewhere sheltered. The work was physical and repetitive, but strangely soothing after everything that had happened over the past few days.

Rauõr eventually joined them.

He waited until the other members of his clan were far enough away before approaching Blanche. Some of the hardness she was accustomed to seeing on his face had faded, and his expression was unusually serious.

"I need to talk to you, Half-Pint."

Blanche rested her axe against the log she had been chopping.

"That never sounds like a good thing," she said with a cautious smile.

The Viking gave a brief grimace.

"No."

He glanced around them before lowering his voice.

"I'm sorry."

Blanche remained silent for a moment.

"For what, exactly?"

Rauõr drew a deep breath.

"For what happened the other day. For the chief's behavior. For the men's. And for mine."

She raised an eyebrow slightly.

"You didn't throw the dagger."

"No."

He paused.

"But I didn't do anything to stop it."

His jaw tightened.

"Where I come from, we're taught to keep our mouths shut when speaking up could get us into trouble. For too long, I convinced myself that what was happening wasn't my concern."

Blanche studied his face.

For the first time, she saw something beyond the taciturn warrior he presented to his clan.

"You're not responsible for what other people do."

"Maybe not."

He held her gaze.

"But I can choose what I do."

His answer surprised her.

Rauõr picked up his axe again and crouched beside another piece of wood.

"I'm not asking you to forgive the others. Or to trust them."

He began striking the log methodically.

"But I wanted you to know that I don't agree with them."

Blanche watched him work for a few seconds before a genuine smile appeared on her lips.

"Thank you."

He stopped.

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

She picked up her own axe.

"I'd rather have someone who admits their mistakes than someone who pretends they never make any."

Rauõr gave her a small smile.

"So you like me?"

Blanche rolled her eyes.

"Don't get carried away."

"Shame."

"You're still the only Viking around here I actually like."

He let out a short, deeply amused laugh.

"I'll take it."

Blanche smiled back.

She had to admit it: the more she discovered about Rauõr, the more she liked him.

He was probably the only man in the village capable of changing her mind about Vikings.

And considering what she'd seen so far, that was already quite an achievement.

Nicky quickly grew jealous of her newfound strength.

With every log she lifted with astonishing ease, his expression became a little more offended. He was clearly trying not to show it, but his persistent glances at Blanche's arms and his little indignant sighs gave him away.

Rauõr, on the other hand, was genuinely impressed.

He had known her when she was much more fragile, though no less courageous. He had seen the young woman arrive at the barracks with reflexes that were still uncertain, her distrust, and that determination that sometimes made up for what she lacked in raw strength.

That was no longer the case.

In a short amount of time, Blanche had become frighteningly strong.

Even she sometimes struggled to grasp just how much progress she'd made. Her muscles had taken shape beneath all the training, her movements had become more precise and economical, and above all, her newfound strength required almost no conscious effort anymore. She could move loads that would have seemed absurd to her just a few weeks earlier with an ease that was beginning to amuse her.

Almost.

Because watching Nicky stare at her as though she'd personally stolen his strength from him mostly made her laugh.

When the work finally came to an end, they settled outside for dinner.

A gigantic fire had been lit in the center of the barracks' garden. Its flames rose high into the night, casting dancing light across their faces and the surrounding fence. The heat spread far enough to keep the biting cold at bay, while smoke slowly drifted toward the dark sky.

Blanche settled down beside Nicky, a blanket draped over her shoulders, while Rauõr took a seat nearby.

The meal was simple, hearty, and rustic.

Roasted meat, thick bread, a few vegetables, and hot drinks were passed from hand to hand around the fire.

The atmosphere had changed.

After the tensions of the first few days, Blanche felt almost detached from them, but there was something peaceful about the evening.

When the plates were nearly empty, Rauõr began to tell stories.

His deep voice mingled with the crackling of the fire as he recounted the ancient tales of his people, stories passed down from generation to generation long before anyone had thought to put them down on paper.

Among other things, he told them about the birth of Freya, Odin's wife, with that particular gift storytellers possessed for bringing legends to life.

The flames danced in his eyes as his tale gathered momentum.

He spoke of the gods, ancient kingdoms, oaths, and the bonds that connected them, occasionally adding details Blanche had never encountered in books.

Nicky, despite his still-visible jealousy, eventually listened with growing attention.

As for Blanche, she allowed herself to be carried away by the Viking's voice.

Sitting before the enormous bonfire, surrounded by its warmth and lulled by a story centuries old, she suddenly felt as though she'd discovered another side of this world.

A side no book could ever truly convey.

The man was an excellent storyteller—so good that Roza, who had wandered closer toward the end of the afternoon, quietly settled down between the two Players.

Once night had fallen, Blanche, far from feeling tired, took advantage of Nicky going to shower to pretend she was going for a walk.

The young man merely shrugged. The Snow he knew often wandered off, alone or accompanied.

It hardly surprised him.

Wrapped in her cloak, she walked around the barracks until she reached the steep cliff.

The sea breeze invigorated her.

The salty scent, the rough sea, black as ink...

She loved it all.

Blanche had hardly ever left her affluent little suburb, unlike her mother, who was constantly traveling.

Roza, who was still roaming nearby, approached.

Together, they gazed out at the ocean.

"Will you look after Nicky while I'm away?" Blanche asked.

As though she understood, the wolf pressed her cold muzzle against the young woman's cheek.

"Thank you... You're not ordinary, are you?" she whispered, stroking her.

Roza growled softly before moving away.

It didn't matter.

Blanche would find out who she really was someday.

Between Roberto and Roza...

She certainly wasn't done playing detective.

She let herself fall into the void, savoring the free fall before activating her power of flight.