Chapter 2 - Chapter 2

• Lothbrok Family

The master of the villa is a direct descendant of one of the most famous Vikings, Ivar the Boneless.

He was born and raised as a noble in England, although his family never held a territory or significant influence in the country. This was because his ancestors spent generations fighting for their survival. Many enemies sought their lives—some for revenge, others to prove their strength, or simply to gain fame.

In response to this constant threat, the family founded a mercenary clan in the 1600s. Leadership of the clan could only be inherited by the direct descendants of the group's chief. This mercenary clan was known as the Greed Guild and became renowned along the western coast of Scotland, particularly in Argyll and the Western Isles.

Over time, the Greed Guild integrated with the native Scottish people and resisted noble rule, choosing to remain independent and free from any external authority. The line of leadership continued to descend directly from Ivar the Boneless.

In the early 1900s, the clan's captain made a life-altering decision. Tired of the mercenary lifestyle, he chose to become a nobleman, trusting his instincts that this would bring greater long-term security. He migrated to England and arranged a marriage with a weak noble family—a marriage secured by the subtle (and not-so-subtle) threat of violence from his loyal crew.

Once settled, the captain converted his former mercenaries into his personal soldiers and information gatherers. Despite his background, he preferred a peaceful life and refrained from unnecessary conflict. Eventually, his wife gave birth to a son, whom he proudly named Ivar after their legendary ancestor.

From a young age, Ivar was trained to live a dual life. His mother taught him noble etiquette and elegance, while his father—alongside their soldiers—instilled in him the art of combat. The mercenaries gladly shared their experiences with the boy, teaching him both strategy and survival skills.

At 18, Ivar grew restless. Eager to test his skills and embrace danger, he voluntarily enlisted in the military to fight in wars. There, he became addicted to combat, traveling the world to seek out powerful opponents. He won and lost countless battles, but one thing remained clear: he was not yet at his peak.

Ivar grew tired of dueling and sparring. He longed for the thrill of real battle—the danger and chaos that pushed a man to his limits. However, he grew disillusioned with the modern world. Technology had replaced personal strength, and cold weapons had been discarded in favor of guns and machines. He often wished he had been born during Viking times when warriors relied on nothing but their wits and steel.

Despite his resentment, Ivar was no fool. He understood the value of advanced weapons and was willing to adapt. Over the course of 10 years in the military, he amassed numerous scars and even lost a few teeth—replacing them with silver, a mark of his resilience. Eventually, he was promoted to Sergeant.

Surprisingly, Ivar chose to resign shortly after his promotion. He had received news that his father had passed away. Though he hadn't shared an emotional bond with his father, he understood his responsibility to take over the household and comfort his grieving mother.

{ Present Day }

Hours later, the elderly Ivar sat in his living room watching the show Vikings. On the screen, the character "Ivar" declared his name fearlessly, blood dripping down his face as he screamed with hysteria. The soldiers in the scene hesitated to fight him, their fear palpable.

"This actor is good," Ivar mused, stroking his goatee with an amused expression. "But this show is ridiculous. Who gets away with publicly murdering their brother, much less leading an army without any real resistance?"

He glanced at the clock. "Nearly time… about half an hour left. God, I hope this is real."

Turning off the television, Ivar stood, stretched, and made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass, filled it with tap water, and downed it in one gulp.

"No matter what, water always beats everything else," he muttered with satisfaction, placing the glass back on the counter.

He ran a hand over his bald head and sighed in mild frustration. Shaking his head, he walked back into the living room, collapsed onto the couch, and pulled out his phone. Opening the TikTok app, he began scrolling through videos.

For a short while, his expression shifted between amusement and boredom. "This app is undeniably addictive. I can't recall any other app like this. The creator must be a genius—if they made this alone, that is."

After pausing an advertisement, Ivar checked the time on his phone.

{ 10:58 AM }

"Ah, shit." Realizing how little time remained, he jumped up comically and rushed toward his room. The door swung open with a crash and closed behind him automatically. Breathing heavily, Ivar cursed himself for being careless so close to such an important event.

Suddenly, a blinding light flared throughout the room. Ivar squeezed his eyes shut, raising his arms into a defensive stance, fists clenched tightly.

Within seconds, the light vanished—along with Ivar himself. The room fell silent, completely empty, as though he had never been there at all.