The village chief leaned in, his lips brushing against Marcella's in a stolen moment. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching as he questioned her about Levi and whether they could be together. Marcella's laughter filled the air, her response dismissing Levi's significance. "Levi? Don't give him a second thought. He's like a whisper in the wind, no need to pay him any mind," she said, a playful glint in her eye. Little did they know, that seemingly innocent exchange would set off a chain of events that would unravel the tapestry of their world.
The village chief's laughter was a chilling precursor to the events that followed. Together, they ventured into the room, a space where the boundaries of pleasure and pain blurred like shadows in the moonlight. The air was thick with anticipation, and as moments passed, the very fabric of the rundown house seemed to absorb their actions, transforming them into a symphony of raw desires that reverberated through the walls. Marcella's voice, a mixture of ecstasy and anguish, pierced the darkness as her cries echoed, a siren's song that resonated with the secrets of the night. Among those who unwittingly bore witness was Levi, a spectator to a tableau that stirred a mixture of emotions within him disgust and discomfort.
Levi's mind brimmed with disapproval as he bore witness to the mother's actions, carried out shamelessly in the presence of her own son. Moments later, they emerged from the room, a trail of lingering desires and secrets trailing behind them. With a jingle of coins, the village chief rewarded Marcella for her services, his gratitude a cloak for the darkness that had transpired. It was then that Levi's eyes were opened to the reality of Marcella's existence, a life woven from threads of compromise and survival, where the exchange of flesh for currency was her way of living.
Two years went by, and life remained a relentless struggle for Levi. Over this time, he endured daily abuse, subjected to hunger and beatings at the hands of his own mother. The village chief's influence extended beyond him; other men came, exploiting Marcella's services.
Levi, a prisoner of his own existence, was forced to watch the degradation unfold before his eyes, his innocence withering in the face of relentless cruelty. The agony he endured would have shattered most minds, but he clung to the edge of his sanity, a thread straining against the weight of horrors.
And it wasn't just his mother's fists that bruised him; those vile men who engaged Marcella also unleashed their sadism on him. As he suffered, his mother found amusement in his pain, her laughter a chilling accompaniment to his torment. Levi's heart swelled with an overwhelming hatred for both his mother and the village, a venomous seed taking root within him.
The urge to escape warred with a burning desire for vengeance against them all. The anguish of the past two years had nurtured this seed, and soon, an event that would alter Levi's destiny was poised to unfold.
In the days that followed, life followed its usual course, yet Levi managed to glean some insights about the village. The men who frequented Marcella shared snippets of village life, often boasting about their roles as protectors and how they would have been fierce Viking warriors if circumstances allowed. This narrative echoed even from the village chief himself, who boasted about his supposed past exploits. He spoke of a dagger and a peculiar mask, both acquired on a battlefield where he had once fought.
He tantalized Marcella with promises of showing her these prized possessions. Levi, an unwitting observer, pieced together this information through his eavesdropping on Marcella's conversations with the men. The thin walls served as no barrier, and every word echoed in his ears with crystalline clarity.
Sitting on a wooden plank that doubled as a bed, Levi's ears pricked as an odd sound reached him. He brushed it aside initially, but the sound persisted, morphing into a series of screams. In the shroud of night, confusion mingled with dread as he questioned the source of such late-night turmoil. He couldn't fathom why the village would be engulfed in screams at this hour. Yet, the unease settling in his gut was undeniable.
"Did you hear that?" Levi muttered to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. The distant cries sounded like they were slicing through the very fabric of the night, tearing apart the tranquility that had once cloaked the village.
Urgency propelled him out of the room, his eyes finding Marcella standing at the doorway. Her silhouette was framed by the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the walls. In a silence more telling than words, their gazes locked, a shared sense of foreboding passing between them. There was no need for words; the gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air.
"What's happening?" Levi's voice trembled with a mix of fear and confusion as he approached the doorway, his eyes seeking answers from Marcella's face.
Without a word, she raised a finger to her lips, a gesture that spoke volumes. Then, she turned and pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest. The scene that met their eyes sent shivers down their spines, a snapshot of chaos and terror that had invaded their once peaceful village.
A villager, a young boy with terror etched into his features, raced by in a blur. Marcella reacted quickly, her hand darting out to grab his arm. "Wait! What's happening?" she demanded, her tone urgent.
The boy's breath was ragged as he struggled to form words. "They came out of nowhere... men in armor... weapons... attacking!" His voice trembled, mirroring the trembling of his body. "The village... being raided!"
As the boy's words hung in the air like a chilling echo, Levi's heart pounded in his chest. The village was under attack. Marcella's face turned a shade paler, her features a canvas of shock and disbelief. The boy's words hung in the air like a sinister melody, unraveling the fragile tapestry of their reality. Levi, on the other hand, felt a whirlwind of thoughts churn within him, his mind racing to process the gravity of what had just been revealed. The village being raided... Those words reverberated like a haunting chant, each syllable a tolling bell of danger.
Being raided. The phrase echoed in Levi's mind, each repetition fueling a growing sense of dread. The implications were staggering—raiders, invaders, death. His mind raced through the potential horrors that could befall him. Images of flames licking at the thatched roofs, of blood staining the cobbled streets, flashed before his eyes.
Vinland Saga, his mind whispered, like a secret shared only with himself. The pieces seemed to fit—the brutality, the medieval backdrop—it all pointed in that direction. But he needed proof, something concrete to confirm his suspicions.
As his heart raced, Levi focused on one goal: survival. The years of suffering he'd endured fueled his determination to live on. He wouldn't be a victim any longer. With newfound resolve, he stared into the turmoil outside. Amidst the looming threat, Levi found strength, a resolve to face whatever this world threw at him. The village might be on the brink, but Levi was determined to rise from the ashes, to carve out a future for himself, and to prove that he was more than a pawn in this grim game.
Thoughts of survival surged through Levi's mind. He needed a weapon, and the village chief's dagger was all he knew. With resolve, he aimed to retrieve it.
Ignoring his mother's yells, Levi dashed from the house. The village was chaos—the streets deserted, villagers in disarray. He pressed on, eyeing the chief's house.
Passing through abandoned homes, he absorbed the turmoil. Then, the chief's dwelling appeared, screams and clashes filling the air. Flames danced, adding an eerie glow. Levi's heart raced, but he remained undeterred.
Drawing closer, he witnessed battles and fire's dance. Determined, he pushed ahead.
The chief's house loomed, a beacon amidst the chaos. The open door called to him. He went in and headed towards the largest room, assuming it was where the chief displayed his belongings, likely to boast and showcase them to others.
Levi's intuition proved correct—adorned on the wall was an exquisite dagger, radiating a sense of power. Alongside it hung a mask resembling an oni mask from his past life, a sight that tugged at memories deep within him. For a fleeting moment, worry gnawed at him, fearing the chief had fled with his prized possessions. But the gamble paid off; the chief's instinct for self-preservation triumphed.
As his fingers closed around the dagger's hilt, a spark of recognition ignited within Levi. It felt strangely familiar, and Levi knew the reason he felt that way. Beside the weapon, the oni mask beckoned, its presence both eerie and empowering. Seizing the dagger and donning the mask, Levi's heart raced. The mask's weight settled on his face, and with the dagger in his hand, he fled the house.
As he sprinted through the chaos, a fleeting image caught Levi's eye—a figure with blonde hair, a sight that sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine. It was a face that held an inexplicable power over Levi, a force that resonated with the very core of his being. Yet, as he glimpsed that unmistakable presence, his heart clenched with a mixture of dread and realization. This was it; this was the Vinland Saga world he had suspected.
The person was none other than Askellad.