Volume 1: Chapter 3 - Dragon Blooded Warrior

Wind rushed through his hair, blood pumped through his veins; He was alive again. His yellowish serpentine eyes beheld the scenery for the first time in a long while. Almost immediately in his mind the presence of an old friend made itself known. Impatient and restless, happy and bewildered.

It was his one and only true companion of the battlefield, the one who stayed with him despite all the odds.

'Grani?'

Acknowledgement. Admonishment.

It seemed that right after being brought back to life from death, the first thing his old friend wished to bring up was the matter of his death. He snorted.

He did die a pathetic death. The invulnerable hero undefeated in all the battles of his life stabbed to death during his sleep. He did not go out without a fight even after that. He dragged his raging killer down to the jaws of death with him. Vengeance was not something that he was above seeking. But truthfully, more so than for himself, he felt sad for the one who he really held the closest to his heart. What a fine pair of fools they made!

Sigurd and Brynhildr.

Anger. Chastisement.

Grani was angry now. Sigurd smiled wryly.

'I know my friend. It is just that...I wish Brynhildr had a better end. If only back then I had opened my mind to you and trusted you more. In the end though, it is something that will never come to pass.'

'Anyways, we have just been… incarnated? That is what it feels like. Don't you find that more interesting, old friend?'

Acknowledgement. Wonder and Confusion.

Sigurd knew he was brought out of his 'history' to fight. Someone immensely powerful had summoned him. His presence at the current moment almost felt like an incarnation. But there was something wrong with it and he didn't know what it was. Even the knowledge that coursed within his mind was incomplete. Fragmented.

But Sigurd had no doubt he would take some action. He had set out for lands beyond his own during his life seeking adventure. He wished to be a hero, but his definition of a hero was different from many. He was a man who lived alongside with his wishes, doing what he believed was right. Right and wrong were all subjective. What mattered the most was belief. And he held onto that belief throughout his life. He merely wished he had been more competent. By the end of his life, his beliefs were almost crumbling. He was so torn between oaths that his own wishes had become incoherent. For all the might he had, it wasn't enough to avert the tragedy that befell Brynhildr, his beloved. If this was a chance again at life, he would not be so negligent or trusting this time.

Satisfied approval.

Grani was in tandem with Sigurd. He was the great divine steed of Sigurd; he had acknowledged Sigurd alone, and no other warrior would he allow the honor of riding upon him in the battlefield. His and Sigurd's bond was immense - two beings who lived together at the battlefield. This was the epitome of the bond between a beast and a man. So Sigurd's happiness mattered a great deal to him, and his resolve heartened him.

They both saw their 'incarnation' as another chance. What was done could never be corrected, but what possibility they had in hand was endless. A new tale of a great hero and his great steed could be written on the anneals of time again - They would carve it out themselves.

Sigurd tingled with energy. There was another journey before him, waiting to be unfolded by him and his partner. He could not stop a slight grin from etching itself upon his lips. It was a draconic smile exuding ferocity. The dragon blooded warrior's blood was boiling.

'Old friend, should we begin our journey anew?'

Definitive agreement.

Grani materialised himself, and the divine power that he exuded seemed to tingle in the very branches of the trees and the droplets of water upon the leaves. With a laugh Sigurd vaulted upon the back of the massive grey beast; Grani reared up and neighed, the forest rippling at the sound of a beast of higher order. And then the divine beast and draconic human being charged ahead as one, neither asserting mastery over the other. The concept of rider and mount did not apply to them. They were partners, friends who had ridden together into a war, and this time around into the world.

The alpine forest heaved, trees bulging and being blown outward. It was as though the world itself had given birth to a legend anew - a hero who burst forth from his mother's womb. The thundering form of a man and his steed seared a trail in the skies and disappeared into the dull late-afternoon gloom.


Sparks blinked in and out of existence, swarming like a host of ephemeral fireflies in the thousands. Blades met and parted - a dance of old lovers, of life and death in a modern form refined down through the centuries. The ring of naked blades against each other permeated the air, setting the music for this dance of death. The dance floor was speckled red; the green of the summer grass glossed over by the red of human blood. Some dancers were better than others, and the lesser always dropped down in a spray of red. That was inevitable.

Wolftooth was the best among the dancers present in this great, merciless ball. He fought with all his might, and yet had a finesse and sophistication in his from that was not to be found in anyone else. He raged back and forth across the grounds; where he went, red and death followed close behind. In this battle of lesser warriors than himself, Wolftooth was a calamity.

Wolftooth was a young warrior - well built and really tall for his age. His father had been a warrior and he followed in his father's footsteps. But where his father lost repeatedly to another, he vowed that he would lose to no warrior alive. That was where his worth came from. Not once had he been bested in a battle, and his reputation earned him a generous purse.

Some days he just wished he could become an invading lord himself. His value was great in battlefield, but there were very few battles in this part of the country, and he was loathe to leave his land of birth. Helmlet was where he had been born and brought up. Helmlet was where his father had lost time and time again to that man, who disappeared after his final acquisition of some land at the border of the state. Helmlet had to be the place where he took down that man who defeated his father. Only then would he be free from the hold of this land - free to move towards other battlefields across the country. Warhounds like him belonged to the battlefield and to the land more than anything.

The battle raged on like a primitive expression of fury, as one side gradually overwhelmed the other. Where Wolftooth went, there followed victory. Such was the saying and it could not be refuted even today - Wolftooth himself would make sure his reputation of unceasing victory never diminished.

Thus, Wolftooth was surprised when all of a sudden a thunderous roar that barely sounded like a neigh reverberated through the battlefield. In all his time devoted to these small battlefields, he had never felt such power ever before, nor heard a roar such as this.

A dreadful silence fell across the battlefield as every eye was directed skywards. Something was coming, the pressure of whose presence was palpable enough to render an entire battlefield silent. What was this feeling? An invasion of mages? It could be nothing less, for not a man alive in the battlefield had ever felt anything like this. If it was indeed the work of some mage, the spell had taken hold of the battlefield now.

Wolftooth roared suddenly as he cleaved apart a veteran man into two like a butcher in a meat stall. As he moved towards his second victim, the soldiers slowly started moving back into the reality of the battlefield. But it was a half hearted battle. On every single mind the presence in the sky was something that loomed over them like a guillotine blade over the neck. It could drop down at any given second.

Yet the battle trudged on. It had to, for in a battlefield there were only two options - kill or be killed. Wolftooth was one who would definitely kill, rather than be killed. He twirled the short, oddly curved blade in his left hand, while gathering strength in his right to swing the longer and heavier axe. A blow came from the back was aimed at him, hoping to catch him off-guard, but Wolftooth was not unaware. He swung the axe from the end of its shaft with all his might, spinning in place as the axe swung with the strength of his spin and added its own weight to it, sweeping aside the opposing blow and tearing through the armor and flesh of the victim. The blade in the left hand simultaneously licked out, piercing through the newly made gap in the armor and up towards the heart, ascertaining Wolftooth's kill. The battle axe, having completed its rotation, was now held by the middle of its long shaft for better mobility. There was no gap between the actions of his right arm and his left. Another heavier and slower attempt at his life announced itself in the corner of his vision. Wolftooth pirouetted out of its way, then gracefully shifted behind his assailant, sliding the blade gracefully but powerfully across his opponent's throat. The mallet struck the ground just as his eyes rolled back and tongue lolled out. Wolftooth danced away for another kill. And then another. And another. And so the killing went on and on, just as the afternoon gradually moved to evening.

Eventually the battle was done. The crimson sash bearing side had won the ground, and the black leather wearing troops had either been slain, or put to flight towards the hills. Wolftooth kept his word - he was victorious another day.

And yet, that presence in the sky persisted. It neither moved closer, nor did it go away. It was almost as if the world had been frozen in a great state of unrest, and that was causing in everyone a certain sense of dread. Do they dare make a camp here? Or should they move further ahead? But as it stands, they were exhausted from the long day of battle. There were also the wounded to tend to, and the fallen to take care of. The camp must be made nearby, and soon.

It was then that the champion of the day did something that changed these soldiers' perception forever.

"Oy! Whoever ye may be! Come the fuck down like a man! What? Can ye do nothing but stare from the sky like a goddamn lass? If ye be a man, get down here, damnit!"

The field echoed with the power of Wolftooth's voice. The hills made sure of it. But there was no answer save for the echo.

Or so they thought.

Tearing away the tense silence a roar sounded in the world, a roar unheard of since the Gods had vacated themselves from the mortal plane. Then a meteor slammed itself upon the battlefield vacated a while earlier. The power rolling off in waves from that direction was a clear indication of the presence of something or someone immensely powerful, even though the dust obscured the vision of what it was. Everyone waited with bated breath of fear and anticipation.

The dust was blown away suddenly and the first thing they saw was a huge horse with flaming eyes, its coat a dull grey akin to the thickest of smoke. Their eyes fell upon a strange man next, with outlandish armor and strange, glowing markings upon his skin. Both the rider and the steed were impossibly imposing and grim, as though the tales of old they heard in their childhood nights had suddenly come to life right before their eyes.

Slowly and deliberately the horse and the rider advanced, power rolling off them like waves from the sea. Suddenly the rider dismounted and continued advancing on foot. All aside from Wolftooth stepped back, even as the exotic warrior stopped in front of their own little legend. The rider stood a bit taller over Wolftooth, and it was visible that the young man was now sweating and tense like a bowstring ready to fire.

The outlandish man bowed.

"I apologize for having intruded upon the battlefield. Maybe I should have moved on. It was thoughtless of me. Sorry."


Sigurd was disturbed.

He had went and done something stupid again. When he had been thundering through the skies with Grani, he saw a battle taking place below. They together had stopped to observe the battle. It was the first battle they had the fortune to observe after such a long lull in the Throne, and that had made them quite excited. Sigurd had debated whether he should show himself before them. But that had seemed to him to be overstepping his bounds. It was not his place to butt in, and it would be rude to the warriors to do so. But he could not just leave like that. Maybe he should move in to congratulate the winner after the end of the battle? But...what a dilemma this was. So Sigurd and Grani had decided to merely observe passively. And then, the best amongst them had called Sigurd out and laid bare his discourtesy.

Sigurd never understood what the problem was with his luck. It never seemed to favour him at all.

Sheer amusement

Grani snorted behind him. He was laughing. Sigurd's luck never ceased to amuse him. He honestly hoped though that his luck would not bring him down to ruins again.

Sigurd now noticed though that these soldiers who had been so tensed at the beginning were now slowly regaining their composure. Even the man who challenged him, a fine young warrior, now relaxed a bit. This was good, for as far as he knew, he himself was a little socially awkward. Moreover, this young man interested him.

As for Wolftooth, the whole situation descended all of a sudden into something very awkward from a very frightening one. Here was a being of immense power apologizing to him by bowing his head. It seemed like a strange dream. Nonetheless, he needed to respond now.

"Apology accepted. But what're ye doin' here anyway? And more importantly, who're ye?"

Wolftooth asked the questions that had been prevalent in every soldier's mind and wanted answered in earnest. Who was this man? Where did he come from? Why was he here? Mysteries that demanded curiosity to be satisfied.

"I am Sigurd, the wandering dragon slayer. And that is Grani, my greatest friend."

Grani neighed, this time as simply as any other horse does.

"We were travelling through the land when we saw the battle. We became interested. So we watched. We had nothing particularly in mind anyways, the reason why we had taken to wandering. I'm sorry if I caused any disturbance."

The soldiers were all surprised this time. Where was this from? A dragon slayer? Was this man a fabled traveller from the Far Side? But then, what was he doing in the Near Side? How did he have nothing to do? His reply raised even more questions than they answered.

As for Wolftooth, all that he could be concerned with was that a great player had entered the battlefield all of a sudden. This being was so powerful, and yet so humble. He didn't understand really. But what he did understand is that if the enemy force truly did have a line of mages as the rumors floating around suggested, this man would be an invaluable addition to his own group. He must play his cards well, in this case.

"Ya did say ya're so sorry fer being so disrespectful to the battlefield, right?"

Sigurd narrowed his eyes, but then he nodded.

"Then ya'know, ya should try going with us. I'm not askin' ya to fight anyone fer me. Nah. I'll ask fer help if the time comes an' be sure ya have the choice to reject me. An' ye don't have anythin' to do anyways. What say?"

Sigurd knew this chance was something double edged. On one hand what the young man was saying was true. It was a good opportunity for him. But on the other hand, he was not sure if the side he would be picking is the right side. He had committed too many mistakes during his life to make a rash decision again. Sometimes he found himself wondering if the massive cursed blade upon his back had really cursed him too.

Questioning. Encouragement.

Grani really wanted him to push past his fears. Sigurd's fate tied in with Grani's fate, and whatever he did, this time Sigurd would not be alone. This thought comforted Sigurd. He might have died alone during his life, but this time he had his dear friend. He might have burst forth into the world out of excitement immediately after coming into being, but this would be his first true step into leaving a mark upon the world as a hero. And his loyal steed, his greatest friend would forever be by his side.

'Very well. I shall try my best, old friend. And thank you.'

Sigurd smiled. Something struck him as funny in its irony. He was a man who was not good with other people. In fact, the 'person' he could really call his greatest friend was a divine beast. If he had not really been as renowned as he was, or really as powerful, people would probably have called him an eccentric shut-in. Nonetheless, all legends did have a touch of madness upon them. That is what separated them from the mundane in the first place.

"Very well. Grani and I shall be following you and your company. Please do take care of us."

Wolftooth smiled something of a grim smile. He had made the deal with the devil; he could be damned, but it did seem he had the luck of the devil. He could feel the power of this horse and horseman. He could see that they had for sure come from the Far Side of the world. And he could definitely see that huge sword upon this man's back. That thing was definitely dangerous. Even without considering anything, any weapon of that size would be devastating if properly wielded. Add to that the exquisite craftsmanship of the weapon, no doubt forged in some mysterious and powerful forge of the Far Side. But what made him wary of that weapon the most was the feeling it was radiating. It was most definitely a cursed sword. He was sure of it even though he had never encountered any cursed weapon ever before during his lifetime.

But firstly his duties as a warrior preceded over everything now, and so he turned towards his men.

"Oy! Everyone git to work! Pitch up the damn camps! We've delayed ourselves like women fidgeting in their skirts long enough! Blackspike! Take yer men and look fer the wounded! Thornhall! Round up the dead! Falsebird! Take a look at the blasted enemy camp an at the total supplies! Choose yer men an git to work! Off yer asses damnit! And the rest, pitch the camp and rest! We rest till the day after tomorrow, an then break camp at dawn the day after, so better pitch it up real well! Off ye all go!"

Everyone shuffled off to do as their young commander ordered them. He might be young or a bit rough around the edges, but he was a good commander and an excellent warrior. Under this man, never have they once tasted defeat. But most importantly, he a good man, and so they found it easy to follow him.

Sigurd watched all this with a patient stance. He really was interested in this young man. He seemed to be a good leader, judging by how he called out Sigurd when his men were troubled. Or looking at how his men seemed to have a fond smile at his barks of command, despite how harsh he sounded or how young he was. He himself could probably never be able to command men in the manner this young warrior did. That was commendable.

And then the young man turned and gave Sigurd his full attention. He motioned Sigurd to walk with him, which amused Sigurd. He was so used to commanding people even at such a young age that he unknowingly commanded even a being he had been so afraid of just moments before. A smile again broke across Sigurd's face.

"I'm Wolftooth."

The young man, Wolftooth, cut through Sigurd's contemplations with the declaration. Sigurd paid him more attention, but said nothing.

"I know yer from the Far Side of the World. Any lad with half a mind would guess that. I dunno why you came to the Near Side, an' I'm not askin' ya ta tell me. But, ya know, I think ya should know why I want ya 'ere and which side yer joinin'."

Wolftooth looked at the impassive man. Was he smiling? Or was that his imagination? Whatever.

"Ya see, this war….'tis a war fer power. A rebellion. There's us the Tides, an' there's them, the Royals. Four years ago, the Old Duke died, and his son took over. He must'a been the shittiest this land had ever seen. Anyways, the entire country is already at war. So we plunged this land into it too. Everyone's tired with a lotta these nobles in power. 'Tis worst at the centre."

A grim countenance fell over Sigurd's face again.

"Here though, it's a bit tame. Good ol' blades clashin. Nothin' else. An' ya see, we're all bein' financed by the populace an' the merchant guilds. I think the merchants want to make themselves the power. Make money the greater power. Dunno. Should be good. The bastards who work hard gets the best of money, aye? Ya see, even I'm workin' so hard fer money. No matter what my ideals may be, ideals don't feed a hungry stomach. So my side was chosen."

Wolftooth grinned wolfishly, and his teeth gleamed with the white light which had started replacing the red of the sun.

"Here in Helmlet, I'm the undefeated man, ya see. Not once have me or my company suffered defeat."

And then he grew grim again.

"But the rumors worry me. They say there be a line of mages in the Duke's place, ready to blast us to smithereens. Knowin' the bastard, he's holdin' them back just to let us advance and crush us all at the last moment. He's one sick fuck."

Now Wolftooth looked at Sigurd with a blazing intensity upon his eyes.

"That's where ya come in, an' that's why I asked ya to stay and be with us. See, if we attack those mages like we be now, we'll get butchered like damn pigs. But if he were to keep them bastards in check, we'll take Helmlet! An' fer me, the only real thing left to do would be to challenge the man who my father never seemed to win against. I'll find that man. He's called Helm. He named the whole damn land after him, ya see. And it stuck. Well, whatever…"

Wolftooth now bowed his head before Sigurd, surprising him.

"Every man's gotta dream. I got one. Please, don't let my men die like pigs. Help me outta this. Please let me live this war so I can challenge this man."

Sigurd was rather taken aback by the developments. He had never expected to be confronted so honestly, nor did he expect someone to beg something of him so earnestly. He was right, this young Wolftooth in front of him was a fine man. A good leader.

Acknowledgement.

'So you agree too, my friend? It looks like our journey has truly begun.'

Sigurd smiled and looked at the boy in front of him. He had made his choice a little earlier, and now he would commit to it. He was, after all, a hero - he would always live like one. He would fulfill this wish requested of him. He wanted to.

"Very well. I shall look to your survival against these 'mages'."

Wolftooth looked at him with gratitude and grinned. Sigurd nodded, then turned away and mentally urged Grani to come to him.

"I will be back soon. I wish to look around this world a bit more. Sorry if that causes you any inconvenience. I really did intend to travel."

Wolftooth nodded in understanding. A being from the Far Side who came to the Near Side voluntarily would of course like to explore a bit. And he did not look like a man who would break his promises and run away. Truthfully, Wolftooth was lucky that this powerful being had agreed to listen to his selfish wishes.

"I will be waiting at the camp."

Grani arrived, Wolftooth turned back. He crossed the mighty beast and was awed. What a regal creature!

Grani likewise looked at the human and snorted. He was a simple creature with a good heart.

Sigurd stepped forward into the night as fog began to swirl all around. This world was some other world, he was sure of it. The immensely bright moon, the purity of the mana - everything pointed to it. But whatever world he may be in, he was still the same and his dreams the same too. Everyone has a dream. Wolftooth has his. His men have their own. Sigurd and Grani had theirs too, and for Sigurd and Grani, it was worth living and striving for.

Sigurd felt Grani stop beside him. Both of them were silent. They looked at the world as one amidst the silence. Words could have immense power, but the absence of it was something powerful too.

Sigurd leapt upon Grani's back, and the great steed reared back neighing powerfully. With a powerful leap, beast and man together once more thundered towards the sky.

The great moon seemed close enough to be touched by an outstretched arm. The world itself was starting to hide from this celestial body by spinning silken webs thick enough to obscure the land. The world was whitewashed - white above in a black sky full of twinkling white stars, appearing and vanishing as whimsically as the gods, and the white below of an ever shifting, ever thickening silken web of fog. Silhouetted against the great white moon for a fleeting moment were the forms of a great man and steed. Together they thundered across the sky like some phantom from long forgotten times, and the ground below shifted and changed, but never once dropped the veil of fog.

Together the great hero and beast took their first step as legends once more - and in such a manner their first day of return galloped away.


A.N. - And the third chapter is done. As you might have noticed, this is not the usual Siegfried that we are all used to, but a different iteration of the same or at least a similar legend, Sigurd. More to be revealed later. Hope you like the characterisation that I have in mind.

Now, I'm quite sorry for taking so long for an update, but updates will be quite sparse for now, because I have things to take care of IRL. Thank you all for your patience, and hope you can keep it for longer...at least till I have everything sorted out by the end of the first half of December. Thank you all, and see you in the next update.