The mountains of the Eirholt territory featured steep cliffs and man-made trails connecting several villages. These routes were originally established when Orario founded the nation's heartland in this region. By serving as communication routes and fortifications, they essentially thwarted any invasion attempts by foreign nations. The dangerously low temperatures endemic to Orario's environment made it perilous for anyone but its inhabitants. Consequently, facing war, Orario found himself in a unique situation; it did not require an offensive or defensive approach as nature acted as its guardian.
Bell sported a heavy bearskin coat, and his outfit suited the harsh conditions. A feathered headband adorned his forehead, restraining his white hair. His red eyes fixed on the ground as he continued on in silence.
"What awaits me at the Ceremony...?"
In contrast, Halfdan was a nervous wreck. He anxiously scanned his surroundings, flicking his gaze in different directions. Most children did not leave their villages or farms until they were old enough to pick up a sword without falling on their rears. Despite all the Viking traditions, not all parents wanted their sons to become warriors. Halfdan seemed as if he had been blindfolded since birth, unaware of Bell's identity and uninterested in embracing the warrior's path.
"Your ceremony is of secondary importance. First, we will meet with the Earl; he will discuss a few matters. Then we will discuss the summer raids."
"W-We...? But you're about the age of my older sister..."
The summer raids included sea voyages to coastal cities in search of merchandise and the enslavement of prisoners. To participate, it was necessary to be male and have combat experience. Usually, someone Bell's age wouldn't even be considered for such expeditions. However, his reputation needed only a few commendable endorsements for the Earl to grant him a way to express and execute his intentions. Halfdan's bewilderment was valid, as conveyed by his words.
"And where are you supposed to go?"
"Wherever they lead us. The Earl owns the ships. Unless he devises a method to traverse the Sea of Havgrímr, his decisions will prevail."
The Earl commanded the entirety of Orario, every town and farm under his jurisdiction. He made sure that any craft he could muster was put to use. The Earl determined when, what, and how the actions should be taken. While the traditions existed, those with influence were not averse to reshaping them.
"Still, rumors are circulating," Bell mused, "he'll send us east across the Skjöldr Sea. Same as always. But it's no longer effective; it's akin to juicing a dried fruit."
"My father says that the other seas contain nothing. He says that Skjöldr has provided our livelihood all this time, and for generations, we have depended on Skjöldr..."
"Your father thinks what the Earl says," Bell interjected. "The Count manipulates to make a farce that favors him. He is a conformist man who recognizes his power and intends to preserve it. However, not everyone wants to be indebted to the decisions of others."
"What are you talking about?"
"When you go through the mountains, you go on monster-hunting expeditions, you wield your sword in combat; in those moments, you experience life. Fear arises, the fear of being hurt, and it's exciting. But afterward, you come back to this..." Bell spread his arms, pointing at the nature around him. "This seems little to me. I am not willing to remain subservient to this place until my death." Bell paused, and his gaze went to Halfdan behind him. "Do you know the story of Prometheus, Halfdan?"
"Y-Yes, my mom tells me when I don't listen to her. She speaks of the eagle that ate Prometheus's liver because he stole the fire of knowledge for us..."
"I would endure even worse agony if it meant granting freedom to our people."
When Halfdan saw the glint in Bell's eyes, his heart seemed to clench inside his chest. For a moment, he stopped breathing, as he had never experienced such determination and such an intense gaze. His father was a farmer, and he himself did not know the blood of a man. Bell had seen things that no boy his age should have seen, and through those same eyes, little Halfdan had been frozen.
After a moment, Halfdan parted his lips to murmur fearfully, "And the Earl will let you do it?"
As the nation's capital, Orario stood tall like a colossal metropolis. Situated near the Sea of Havgrímr, it could rightly be considered a port city. However, the coast was quite far from where Bell and Halfdan were.
Coming out of the forest, they were greeted by massive stone walls that surrounded Orario's rear. The city had only two entry points: one through the sea and one through the forest. Those who ventured through the forest entrance usually came from the villages of the region. There wasn't much activity around here, as most of the travelers arriving in Orario involved sailing the Sea of Havgrímr.
Within the walls was an immense wooden gate, flanked by guards with spears and thick leather armor.
Adjacent to this line was another, though this one was composed mainly of carriages and mounted individuals. The nobles and the wealthy had priority when entering the city.
After considerable waiting, Bell and Halfdan were finally allowed in. Orario's interior was equally impressive. It was full of humans of all ages and social classes. The aromas of fish and the sea filled the air. People circulated through the streets, carrying out daily activities and promoting their products in the stalls.
In a particular area near a dimly lit alley, Bell felt a lingering gaze on him. Ignoring it, he continued on until Halfdan's shout broke the silence.
"Bell, help me!"
Turning around, Bell saw a boy carrying Halfdan over his shoulder. Tall and decked out in a fur coat, this boy sported deep red hair and a mischievous smile. Halfdan whimpered and cried as the boy hugged him playfully.
"Did you have a baby?"
Bell retorted, "Only someone as dense as you would think that a child is born in less than two months and grows up like a pig, Welf."
"You always have that sharp tongue," Welf replied, releasing Halfdan who quickly ducked behind Bell. "One day, a crazed drunk might cut you down."
"If a drunk can pull it off, I'll give you my ax to end my miserable life."
Welf took Bell's hand, and their shoulders brushed in a brotherly greeting. Welf, a resident of the capital, was both a skilled blacksmith and warrior. Their bond had been forged on the battlefield. By the age of 20, Welf was a prodigy in his own right: an expert in metalworking and a survivor of numerous solo battles.
"Whose piggy is this?"
Bell lifted Halfdan up by the collar of his coat as if he were a sack of fish.
"Halfdan, the son of Snorris. He is here for the Ceremony."
"Huh? He wants to become a real man, huh?" Welf chuckled, looking into Halfdan's eager eyes. "Then, let's put it to the test."
In Orario, alcohol was a necessity to combat the cold, and the locals preferred a potent variety. It was a strong elixir that could awaken the dead and make monsters flee.
Halfdan, after downing half a glass, collapsed face down on the table, making Welf laugh. Bell hoisted him over his shoulder and set him down gently by the tavern fire.
Welf cleaned Halfdan's glass and poured the remaining alcohol into his own. Taking a drink, he turned to Bell.
"As usual?" Welf asked, with his old joking tone replaced by seriousness.
"The Earl intends to send us to the Skjöldr Sea," Bell replied, taking a seat.
"Damn it all. Last year we were in the Sea of Skjöldr, on its eastern shores... Muddy land, withered trees, not a single fruit, not even a wild creature. Repeated looting of the same chest will only lead to famine."
"I am aware..."
Hearing Bell's muffled voice, Welf stopped drinking and met Bell's gaze. He knew what it meant when Bell spoke like that.
Without waiting for an answer, Bell got up from his seat and leaned across the table near Welf.
"Don't you think it's time for a change? I've heard things, Welf," Bell stated. "There are great cities of stone, lush lands, bitter cold, and treasures galore..."
Welf set his glass aside, and his gaze went to the other patrons in the tavern. Even if Bell spoke out loud, his words remained confidential.
"I've heard stories of other beings, lovely women with pointy ears, dwarven masters of weapons, gods... I've heard of thousands of them..."
"Do you think I haven't heard those stories?" Welf intervened, interrupting Bell. "But they are only whispers in the wind. We are not the only ones who venture into the Skjöldr Sea. We keep coming back to the same place because aimlessly sailing the open sea is stupid. There is no fixed route. It's crazy."
Beneath the Earl's desire for authority, altering the route of the raid could not be accomplished on a whim. Despite the Earl's faults, he had risen to power for a reason, and even he understood that the scarce resources of the eastern shores would eventually be depleted. The problem lay in the absence of a map revealing solid ground in a particular direction, be it west, north, or south. Throughout Orario's history, no one had dared to venture beyond the known lands, sailing on familiar seas. The reasoning was simple; no one dared to brave the open sea in the hope of discovering new lands. After all, there was no telling how many days or nights you could navigate without sighting land. Even with plenty of supplies, one could traverse the seas for years without success. If there were a method for navigating open water, something capable of providing directions, there would at least be a chance to map distances, secure a return trip, and travel for months without worry. However, such a tool was still non-existent...
"I think I've found a method," Bell smiled, his eyes bright.
Welf's eyes widened in surprise. Normally, he would have ignored Bell's wild ideas since he had been subjected to his war-brother's ramblings more than once. However, at that moment, Welf noticed an unknown gleam in Bell's eyes: a mysterious spark.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I've been having dreams, Welf..." Bell reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden contraption.
"What's that?" Welf asked, skepticism evident in his tone.
"Silence and listen. I recently came across a black-haired woman wearing a white dress adorned with two blue ribbons. She revealed to me a method of venturing beyond the open sea to the north... using this."
Welf hesitated, then moved closer to examine what Bell had placed on the table.
It was a small circular wooden disk, with a metal rod attached to the top: a simple but intriguing design.
"She calls it the 'Compass,'" Bell said, putting down the device.
Welf let out an exasperated sigh.
"Another of your dreams? If a woman appeared in your dream, I can tell you a guess about its meaning..."
"This time it was different. The dream was so vivid that she guided me in the creation of the 'Compass.'"
As Bell cleared a space at the table, setting aside bowls of food and cups of alcohol, Welf addressed him with a dry tone.
"Please, Bell, has this beautiful woman with black hair and a white dress from your dreams really gone north?"
"She… she just tells me what to do," Bell replied. He raised his head and pointed to an unkempt, bearded man sitting at the nearby table. "Dear sir, could it be that you are a sailor?"
The man stood up abruptly, his movements unsteady from obvious drunkenness, and he muttered, "I've sailed Havgrímr more times than I can remember, and I've walked that road for over 10 years."
"What's up, Bell?" Welf asked, his gaze fixed on the scruffy drunk.
"Sailor, I'll give you a mug of drink if you'll please me with an answer." The sailor nodded enthusiastically, balancing on his feet as he positioned himself in front of Bell. "Please tell me, where is north?"
"What?" The sailor lunged at Bell, grabbing at the front of his shirt. Clearly agitated, he yelled, "Are you making fun of me?! Of course, I know where north is!"
With an emphatic nod, the sailor pointed his finger directly north. Unfazed by the sailor's actions or the foul odor of his breath, Bell kept his cool demeanor and handed the man a mug of alcohol.
"Here you go, sailor."
"Hmm! Clever for your own good, brat…" The sailor released him and returned to his table, the jug of alcohol in tow.
"Was this your way of showing your tolerance for that old man's smell?" Welf commented, but Bell pointed to the "compass" on the table. "Huh...?"
Inexplicably, the thin metal rod had moved from its initial position and was now pointing precisely in the direction the sailor had indicated.
Without saying a word, Bell raised the compass, and the metal rod lined up directly with north. Bell moved it back and forth, but the metal rod continued to lock in a northerly direction.
"With this, we will always know where we are and how to return. It does not depend on the sun or the stars. This changes everything, Welf."