Chapter 4 Chase

The cool Welsh air filled Brynach's lungs as his senses sharpened, the nanobots coursing through his veins giving him a clarity he'd never known before. The landscape around him seemed to stretch out forever—rolling hills, dense forest, and the occasional mist that hung in the air like a veil. The hills loomed in the distance, their green slopes blending into the sky. The quiet was oppressive, almost unnatural, as though the land itself was holding its breath.

Every tree, every rustle of the leaves felt heightened. The slightest shift in the air sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes locked onto the smallest movement: a bird flapping its wings, the way the branches swayed under the wind. He felt connected to everything, his senses expanding to levels beyond human reach.

The weight of the sword in his hand was a constant reminder of the task ahead. It was a leftover from the Viking ship. Old, rusty, and far from ideal. But it would do. It had to.

Brynach's mind raced as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. Can I really do this? he thought, feeling doubt gnaw at him. Twenty men, all warriors... His heart pounded in his chest, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. He had no room for fear. No, he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else. I will not fail. The gods are with me.

Then his nostrils flared. The scent of them. The Norsemen. It was there, hanging in the air like a taint. He could smell their sweat, the leather of their armor, the iron of their blades. His senses were so attuned now that he could even pick up the faint trace of their breath, the heat of their bodies. They had left a trail.

Brynach crouched low, sniffing the ground like a hunting dog. His enhanced senses took in every detail—the scent of wet earth, and underneath it all, the unmistakable stink of the Vikings.

With a quick exhale, he pushed forward, running through the woods faster than he ever thought possible. His legs moved in a blur, his body powered by the nanobots inside him. He could feel the wind whipping against his face, the adrenaline flooding his system. There was a thrill in it—something exhilarating, as if the world had shrunk.

His mind churned with conflicting thoughts. All life is sacred. It was a lesson he had been taught, one that had guided him for years. But as he ran, the reality of the situation pressed down on him. He had to stop them. They had to be stopped. But the cost of that taking lives, breaking his morals would weigh on him forever.

His breath quickened, his heart ached. He couldn't let these savages destroy more innocent lives. Not when it was his fault they were here in the first place. His eyes burned with determination.

The sun clung to the edge of the day, its light stretching long but softening with the approach of twilight and ahead more than twenty men, spread out in a loose formation. They were just ahead, making their way toward the barn.

Finnr, the lookout was at the front, his thin tall frame cutting through the underbrush. His voice rumbled low, full of satisfaction. "We're close. Just a little farther."

The others grumbled, eager to reach their destination. Jorund, kicked at the sheep grazing nearby. "Look at how fat these sheep's asses are," he said, laughing. "Let's hope they're just like their owners."

Another Viking, a hulking man with one eye, let out a dark laugh. "You sick bastard. We know you'd fuck anything with a hole."

A few of them chuckled at the crude joke, but it was interrupted when Freydis, a shieldmaiden, her expression shifted, becoming uneasy. She looked down at the ground and muttered something under her breath. "A dead crow...." she whispered, barely audible. "This is a bad omen." Her eyes flickered toward the group, and her unease grew.

Kjartan, the leader of the Vikings, noticed her hesitation and squinted. "What is it?" he asked, voice calm but curious.

Freydis pressed her hand against her stomach as if to reassure herself. "I need to take a shit."

Kjartan chuckled, clearly unfazed. "Don't take too long," he said with a grin.

Halvadan, eyed her. "I've seen you vomiting. Are you with child, Freydis?"

Freydis stiffened, her cheeks flushing. "No! What? I'm not with child," she said quickly, but the Vikings weren't convinced.

"Jorund, stay with her," Kjartan ordered. "You know the path. Catch up when you can."

Jorund groaned, clearly annoyed at being ordered around, but he gave a quick nod. "Fine," he muttered, trudging off after her.

Freydis went toward a nearby tree, pulling off her clothes to relieve herself. Jorund stood nearby, his eyes darting toward the forest, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

The air shifted as Brynach pushed himself faster, the world around him a blur. His robe fluttered in the wind, the edges whipping around him like the wings of a bird in flight. The leaves rustled and whipped away as he cut through the forest, his body a blur of motion. He marveled at the speed, This is a blessing from the Gods! He thought as he amazed by how effortlessly his body moved.

He focused, his senses sharpening. His enhanced smell cut through the air, honing in on the trail of the Norsemen. Their scent was strong, sharp, and unmistakable, but ahead, something was different. Two distinct odors stood out, straying from the main path. He paused, adjusting his speed, and narrowed his senses, drawing closer.

The smells were sharp—pungent. It was fresh shit and piss, but something else lingered beneath. His mind raced, processing the unusual combination of scents. It wasn't just the usual stench of urine, sharp and metallic. No, there was something subtler this time, something... off. The sharpness of the piss was mixed with an odd sweetness, a tanginess that he couldn't place. It is a woman....must be that shieldmaiden, is she sick his mind processed the information.

Brynach's breath caught for a second, the precision of his senses momentarily stunning him. It felt like he could dissect the world with a single breath, the entire ecosystem unraveling in his mind.

But there was no time to dwell on such thoughts. The Norsemen were ahead, and his duty was clear. With a quick shake of his head, he left the two behind and refocused on the group further ahead. The trail of the invaders was fresh, and he knew his time was running out. He would come back for them later, but for now, his focus was on the larger threat. The hunt continued.

A blur of motion shot past them like lightning. Jorund blinked, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen. The figure was impossibly fast, a shadow that whipped through the trees, faster than any man should be able to move.

He turned toward Freydis, his eyes wide. "What was that!? A boar?"

Freydis, trying to finish what she had started, looked up. "What are you talking about?" She scoffed, clearly irritated. "Trying to scare me?" But Jorund was still staring at the spot where the figure had vanished.

The confusion in his eyes was clear. "It wasn't a boar. It was a man.…" he murmured, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

Freydis furrowed her brow, her suspicion growing. Must be the mushrooms he always eats, she thought, but she didn't say anything aloud.

Meanwhile, Brynach had already moved on, no longer concerned with the two figures behind him. His mind was locked on the task at hand.

Kjartan, leading his men through the dense woods, spotted the barn in the distance. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. The Vikings had been hungry for days, and now the barn was in sight. He could almost taste the food that awaited them.