As I slowly noticed what this world was about, it became clear this was a dog eat dog world. If you were weak, you wouldn't survive.
The strong took what they wanted. The weak got nothing.
I'd been living in this body for almost a year now. Walking was getting easier. Talking was still hard but I could manage simple sentences.
The more I observed, the more I understood how brutal this place was.
People died young here. Disease, violence, starvation. I'd heard the adults talking about neighbors who didn't make it through winter. Children who caught fever and never recovered.
Life was cheap. Death was common.
My father had been gone for months. I guess he's on a campaign in England. That's what I overheard my mother telling another woman who visited.
England. That means we're probably in Norway or Denmark. Somewhere in Scandinavia during the Viking Age.
The timeline was starting to make sense. This was when Norse raiders crossed the sea to pillage English monasteries and settlements.
My father was apparently one of those raiders.
Right now my mother was reading me a book. Well, not exactly reading. Books were rare here. She was telling me stories while I sat on her lap by the fire.
The flames cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. Outside, wind howled through the trees.
[New Skill]
[Listening Lv1]
Thank you system, I thought.
Another skill. Finally. I'd been wondering when I'd start developing abilities beyond just existing.
"Want to hear a story about your father?" my mother asked.
Her voice was soft but tired. She always looked tired these days. Probably from taking care of me alone while he was gone.
"Yes," I said. The word came out clearer than usual.
She smiled at my improving speech. "Good. Here's the story."
She adjusted me on her lap and stared into the fire. Her blonde hair fell around her face like a curtain.
"Your father was an Aesir," she began. "He was kind only to his fellow clan members. I met your father when he was doing a raid."
[Skill Leveled Up]
[Listening Lv2]
The system was tracking my progress. Every time I paid attention and learned something new, it rewarded me.
An Aesir. That was one of the Norse gods. But she probably meant he was from a prominent family. Maybe descended from the god Odin's line.
"We fell in love," she continued. "I was a young English girl with blonde hair. He was a strong Norse man with brown hair and a magnificent beard."
Her eyes got distant. Like she was remembering something precious.
"I was working in the fields when his longship arrived. Most of the village fled. But I was too scared to run."
She paused. The fire crackled.
"He could have killed me. Could have taken me as a slave. That's what usually happened to English girls during raids."
Instead, she said, he'd been different. Gentle. He'd spoken to her in broken English. Offered her food instead of violence.
"Why?" I asked. The question came out garbled but she understood.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe he saw something in me. Maybe the gods guided his heart."
She told me how he'd visited her village multiple times. How they'd met in secret. How he'd eventually asked her to come with him to his homeland.
"I left everything behind," she said. "My family. My friends. My old life."
The sacrifice in her voice was obvious. She'd given up everything for love.
"Was it worth it?" I tried to ask. The words came out wrong but she got the meaning.
"You're here," she said simply. "So yes."
That hit me harder than expected. In her mind, I was the result of their love story. The proof that leaving everything behind had been the right choice.
If only she knew I was actually some guy from the modern world who'd been murdered and reincarnated.
"Your father is brave," she continued. "Stronger than most men. Smarter too. He leads raids because other warriors trust him."
[Skill Leveled Up]
[Listening Lv3]
As I thought about it, I might be the child of someone important. If my father was a raid leader, that meant he had status. Wealth. Followers.
That could be useful. Important people's children got better treatment. More opportunities. Protection.
But it also meant expectations. If my father was a great warrior, people would expect me to be one too.
The thought made me nervous. I had adult memories but I'd never been in a real fight. Never killed anyone. Never even thrown a proper punch.
How was I supposed to live up to a Viking hero's legacy?
"He'll be back soon," my mother said. "Before the winter storms get too fierce."
She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as me.
"He promised to bring back silver and gold. English treasure for our family."
I wondered what would happen if he didn't come back. If his raid went wrong. If he died in some English field far from home.
Would we survive without him? A foreign woman and her half-English child in a Norse settlement?
Probably not.
The fire was dying down. My mother stood up and carried me to my sleeping area. A pile of furs in the corner that served as my bed.
"Sleep well, little one," she whispered. "Dream of your father's victories."
As she tucked me in, I stared at the dying embers and wondered what kind of world I'd been born into.
A world where children grew up hearing stories about raids and pillaging. Where love meant abandoning everything you'd ever known. Where survival depended on strength and the protection of dangerous men.
The system had given me some advantages. But I was still just a baby in a brutal world.
I'd need to get stronger fast.