Prologue & Epilogue: I Am the Conquering King of the North

I’m an ordinary person.

At least, that’s how I see myself.

That’s why I want to live an ordinary person’s happy life.

“I think people should help each other and live together in peace. A warm home and good food would make it even better. Fighting and stealing from one another isn’t the right way to live.”

“What kind of heathen nonsense is that!? Your Majesty, everyone is waiting for you! Come now, come now, stop being so stubborn and hurry!”

My beautiful fiancée’s voice, praised as being as clear as rolling crystal, shattered my entire philosophy with a single sentence.

Reluctantly, I let myself be pulled along by the hand as she proudly led me toward the entrance of the longhouse, her magnificent golden hair shining in the light.

What awaited me outside was an explosion.

The deafening roar of people shouting, screaming, stomping their feet, pounding their shields, and sounding their horns.

An overwhelming flood of information struck me with almost physical force.

The freezing air.

The fierce sunlight pouring down from a perfectly cloudless sky.

And before me stood thousands upon thousands of large, battle-hardened elite warriors, their axes, round shields, iron helmets, and chainmail reflecting dull flashes of light until they nearly filled my entire field of vision.

Far below, the bay was packed with sails fluttering in the wind.

There had to be several hundred longships alone, their towering prows and sterns slicing through the northern sea.

If the ships hidden behind the cape were included, perhaps there were even more.

The moment the warriors saw me, they raised their finely honed steel weapons, hammered their thick round shields, and shouted at the top of their lungs.

“Ohhh! At last, the Conquering King of the North rises!”

“Great King! The hour of conquest has come!”

“Great God Odin, bear witness! Now is the time to bring Valhalla to the earth!”

“War! A great war offered to the gods!”

“Grant us victory!”

“Victory!”

“Glory!”

I looked to my side, hoping someone—anyone—would stop this madness.

Unfortunately, my beautiful fiancée had become just as excited as the elite warriors.

No, she was more enthusiastic than any of them.

She thrust her sharp spear into the sky and screamed, “Victory!!”

“This is ridiculous.”

“How did it come to this?”

Later generations would record this moment in their history books as:

“King Thorstein raised a mighty battle cry and answered the cheers of his warriors with fearless resolve.”

This is the story of how I, an utterly ordinary modern man who was reincarnated in a small rural village of the medieval North, ended up being carried all the way to the throne as King of the North—and eventually, the Conquering King.

Chapter 1: Thorstein Wants Warm Clothes and a Full Belly — Winter, Age Five

My name is Thorstein.

I’m five years old.

I only became aware of myself about a week ago.

Like most people, I don’t clearly remember being a baby.

Somehow, I spent my days crying, running around, poking insects, getting food all over my face whenever I ate, and wandering outside with a runny nose.

Then, all of a sudden, I realized that I existed.

People usually call it an awakening of self-awareness.

In any case, I had become conscious that I was no longer a toddler, but a child.

Right now, I was carrying out a little prank I had thought up.

Although I was under supervision.

“Thor, you’ll get scolded if you play with fire.”

“It’s fine. Dad, Grimr, went to the chieftain Jarl’s longhouse for the village assembly to decide who’ll represent the villagers, so he’ll be drinking mead and won’t come home until tonight. Mom, Asild, is spinning thread and chatting away at Auntie’s house next door, so she won’t scold me either.”

“Thorstein! Honestly, you’re far too clever for your own good. Are you sure you don’t have some of the trickster god Loki’s brains mixed into you?”

“That’s a terrible thing to say. At least compare me to Huginn, Odin’s wise raven.”

My older sister Erin was only three years older than me, yet she nagged endlessly.

Well, I suppose anyone would stop a five-year-old who carried a stone pot out of the house and placed it over a homemade stove.

Even so, I had taken proper precautions against starting a fire.

The area around the stove was surrounded by snow, and I had deliberately chosen a day without any wind.

There was nothing flammable behind the house, and I had even filled a wooden bucket with water just in case.

“So, what are you making?”

“You’re boiling some weird-colored water.”

“Are you drinking grass juice again?”

“It’s not grass juice.”

“It’s herbal tea.”

“Fresh pine shoots are good for your health.”

“And this is for making salt.”

“Salt!?”

Erin’s blue eyes widened.

Then she burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as her blonde braid shook.

“Ahaha! Thor, you really do have a cute side!”

“Making salt with a tiny little pot and stove like that!”

“You probably don’t know this yet because you’re still little, but making salt takes all the adults working together.”

“They use a huge iron cauldron, mountains of firewood, spend all day burning seaweed and boiling seawater until it dries out.”

“Hehe.”

“And look at your firewood.”

“You’re using nothing but little twigs!”

“I get it.”

“When you’re little, everyone thinks you can just boil seawater and salt will appear.”

“…Well, you’ll see soon enough.”

I simply continued working instead of arguing with my smug sister.

I brought a burning ember from the household hearth and placed it beneath the crude stove, where I had stuffed wood shavings and shaved twigs.

The fire quickly caught.

“Ahh…”

“It’s so warm…”

Why do people always want to hold their hands over a fire?

Perhaps because she copied me, Erin crouched beside me and stretched out her hands toward the warmth as well.

Looking at my own hands above the homemade stove, they were small, pale, and unreliable.

My fingers were short, and I couldn’t handle tools the way I wanted.

It had taken me five whole days just to build this little stove.

“I wish I could grow up already.”

“My, aren’t you cheeky?”

“You already act so grown up.”

“If you grow any faster, you’ll become an old grandpa before I even get married.”

“…Apparently I’m a Child of the Thread of Fate.”

“They say a traveling seer predicted it when I was born.”

“You certainly don’t look like anyone that important…”

For some reason, Erin sounded amused.

Then, while I concentrated on the stove, she began playing with my hair.

She was treating me like a pet dog or cat, but I didn’t really mind.

About an hour later, all my effort feeding the stove with little twigs finally paid off.

Before Erin had braided more than ten tiny braids into my hair, a considerable amount of salt had already begun forming at the bottom of the stone pot I had carried out from the house.

“What!?”

“How!?”

“How did you make this much salt in such a short time with nothing but worthless firewood!?”

“Thor… don’t tell me you used magic?”

“You watched me the whole time.”

“I didn’t use any magic.”

That settled my winter spending money.

Now then…

Should I salt some herring roe and make smoked food?

Or should I negotiate with the old leatherworker to make me some equipment for Knattleikr?

I was about old enough to start playing, but the village’s equipment looked so crude that someone was bound to get hurt.

While I absentmindedly thought about what to do with the salt, I failed to stop Erin as she suddenly jumped to her feet.

“I have to tell Mom!”

She sprinted away at full speed.

“Moooom!!”

“Thor did something!”

“It’s terrible!!!”

“Ah, wait…”

A five-year-old body had no chance of catching an eight-year-old.

Not long afterward, a thunderous voice echoed loudly enough for the entire village to hear.

“Thorstein!”

“Thorstein!!”

“Thorstein!!!”

Whenever Mother Asild scolded me, she always called me by my full name.

Calling it three times in a row meant she was absolutely furious.

Thanks to that, word of what I had done spread through the neighborhood in no time.

The family held a long meeting where I received an extensive lecture for taking the stone pot without permission and playing with fire.

To make matters worse, all the salt I had worked so hard to produce was confiscated for household use.

“My allowance…”

Rubbing my bright red backside after being thoroughly spanked, I began planning how to do it more successfully next time.

Never giving up was one of my greatest strengths.