An Act of Divine Evil

As I entered the Danish camp, hundreds of Danes walked about every path and corner. All rallied to their stations with their given orders. Some stood up the archer towers placed at every few intervals on the walls, watching the outer fields for traces of shadows lurking about the horizon. Others, scattered around the tents patrolling back and forth the outer fences. All were cautious, all were unresting, and all were ready for a possible attack from the great heathen army. Weeks of endless rain made the camp grounds hard to traverse through. The ground was mushy and slippery due to it mixing with water and moss. My boots were either barely sinking or slipping with every step I took. I could only maintain a certain speed while walking by taking wide steps to make sure that they were footed firmly on the ground, and that, while also not looking suspicious.

Walking further down the camp, I only found more tents. I stood near a ruin of a building where in the middle of it, was an abandoned well. Only a few tents were set up around it. It seemed like the place used to be a granary with the well, functioning as an easy access source of water. I took a peek inside and there was barely anything, it was only thanks to the moon light that I was able to see the little amount of water the well had left. Just a few moments later, a huge ruckus was brewing about a few yards from where I was standing. The ruins extended to another ruin near the source of the ruckus was coming from, there, I was able to peek through the broken blocks of stone to see a surprising bunch. It was the Jarl Olaf, finally. Him and his commanders were cheering on about their recent raid at the monastery in Lindisfarne. The poor monks there, tortured and killed by these savages, then just to be left as an afterthought. They only care for gold, glory, and women. They invade Mercian lands, take what they want; our homes, our lands, our women and children, everything. The heathens bask in their false gods, false ways of living, and false ideals. Perhaps that is why, in time, they always end up fighting among themselves. I pity their ignorance, to live in such path and be prideful of it. I know what I was doing and that has rendered me sinful in the eyes of God but, for the goodness of Mercia and all Mercians, I—, I will do anything for that.

I was rest assured then that I have the Jarl’s exact location, I just needed to wait for the moon to rise, and trust the thrust of my dagger to do the same up his throat.

The moon had risen at its zenith, the paths were brightly illuminated as if the divine evil was ready for me to embrace, showing me that path to murder. I enter the Jarl Olaf’s tent, he was lying there, resting. Such a savage man, his barbaric way of life had brought him to this moment. The suffering he has caused, and the suffering he is to cause if I don’t stop him now.

“It all has to end here; it all has to end now. Jarl Olaf dies, tonight”

With the strength of my whole body channeled to both my arms, I thrusted my dagger, exactly to his neck, piercing it without any sound. It hit his artery and a gush of blood came pouring out endlessly. In just seconds, his whole bed was drenched in his own blood. He tried to scream for help but I had covered his mouth with my palm, he was muffled. As he struggled to call for help, I can see his eyes looking frightened to his killer, I looked deep into his eyes and I can only see the horrible things he had done. As he continued to lose blood, his movement began to slow, he had lost his energy and was at his final stages of life. I watched as his essence leave his body, slowly but surely, he was finally dead. My only regret was that his death was short-lived.