Standing on the side of a snowy hill, a large blonde headed man held an ornate axe with one hand, and after judging the distance threw it hard.

Landing with a loud ‘CLACK!’ the silence of the nearby forest was broken when the waist-size tree was split, and a soft voice could be heard from behind.

“Excellent throw, Lord Ivankov!”

Laughing slightly, the blonde-haired man turned, and as he did so, extended his right hand which instinctually grabbed the returning weapon.

Hefting the Leviathan Axe over his shoulder, Peter looked at the Camp Defender who had followed him that morning.

Seeing her blush when his brown eyes lingered on her, he smiled and said: “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of throwing this thing, but alright, let’s head back Vara. Lezalit should be returning soon.”

After spinning the [Wheel of Fate] and getting several useful items, Peter decided to camp out in the mountains for the Winter.

The [Small Moveable Camp] was essential for this choice, but not more so than the Leviathan Axe, which in addition to being able to spontaneously cause frost bite to whoever he struck and return to his hand after being thrown, was also so durable that he never had to worry about it breaking.

Being given a weapon that could withstand his strength made Peter truly dangerous.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to become prideful, after all, if the Leviathan Axe existed then it stood to reason that somewhere in the multiverse there was ‘Kratos’… and every other powerful being.

Of course, Peter recognized that he was superhuman, and could lift around 5,000lbs, that level of strength wouldn’t be enough to walk around during the impending [Vermintide] unchallenged much less challenge some of the demigod-level beings that existed out there.

In the end, Peter told himself, he was a small existence that could never forget his purpose.

To survive in this world he needed his people, and he needed his faith.

Nothing else would be enough.

Leading Vara back to the camp, there was hustle and bustle everywhere.

Following the battle with the Beastmen, Peter had Recruited 250 more Marksmen and 150 Camp Defenders.

He needed the Marksmen to act as scouts – to constantly search for the enemy – and he needed the Camp Defenders to act as guards, manage the camp, and most importantly to make arrows.

The fact that they were female had nothing to do with it… they were just more economical than using their male counterparts.

In addition to their… value… the Camp Defender women were actually incredibly helpful with the 50 or so human women rescued from the Beastman camp.

Of course, the trauma those women had gone through would never fully dissipate, and a few hadn’t recovered their motor skills in the 2 months since they were rescued, but it had to be said that they were examples of the human mind’s ability to persevere.

In general, the women who had recovered went to work right away. Even when they were ushered back to their tents to get some rest, they would drift around and try to do whatever they saw needed to be done.

Their skills were no less so than the Camp Defenders, though they obviously malnourished and physically weaker, a couple of them even stood out.

“Wel’me ba’k, M’ Lord.” Greeted one petite Norscan women who had platinum blonde hair.

She called herself Sif and having been one of the most recent ‘cows’ captured by Beastmen; she was also one of the first to recover.

Objectively pretty, she was smaller than the rest of the women in both height and stature, and thankfully hadn’t given birth to any of the mutated monsters that the Beastmen used human women to create… because she would have undoubtedly died in the process.

But more important than all of that, she was the main figure whom Peter used to learn the Norscan language – or at least the dialect of it spoken by the tribe known as the [Sarls].

They were apparently one of the largest tribes of Norsca, and from her, Peter had learned a great deal about them.

And some of what he learned made him sick.

At best they were pagans who worshiped rogue nature spirits, and at worst… well… Peter would give Father Anderson the final judgement when it came to that.

But pushing all of that to the side, he smiled to the woman and asked her had the Marksmen returned, to which she replied in her own language: “Some of the Scouts have, but Captain Lezalit still has not.”

Then pausing for a brief second, she continued: “The Scouts are happy, Jarl.”

Nodding to her, Sif was learning to speak English, but of course she wouldn’t learn English as fast as he could learn Norscan.

Thinking that if the Scouts were happy then they found another Beastman camp, Peter himself was in a good mood.

The Winter Campaign so far had been a stunning success, but finding another large Beastman camp would really be the cherry on top.

Having run into scores of monstrous beasts, and even a small Greenskin camp, after 2 months Peter had almost 800,000 Denar and hunted so much pork, venison, and leathers that the Marksmen no longer took aim at the giant boars or jumpy deer.

Not needing to ask her anything else, Peter just mentioned for her to inform him when Lezalit returned, and heading to his tent, Peter didn’t say anything as Vara followed.

Spending two months in the wild had been lonely without Anna to accompany him, but where she had to stay in Rivacheg for obvious reasons, Peter had gained the company of Vara.

On her deathbed at the age of 65, like Anna, Vara had never had a family.

Unlike Anna, Vara had spent a life in one mercenary band after the next.

Strong enough to never be regulated to the level of ‘Camp Follower’ – or a night-maid as some vulgar men called them – Vara had learned to live the life of a soldier.

If she had come into contact with the Sword Sisters at a young age, she may have become one, but unfortunately that wasn’t her fate. Instead, she lived the life of a Camp Defender from the time she was a young woman.

Sometimes she was thrown into a battle, but mostly her life revolved around keeping everything in order.

When she was given the chance at a new life, she naturally accepted it, and it wasn’t that she was aiming for Peter, but one had to admit, Peter was handsome.

Even before the Super Soldier Serum, with his blonde hair and brown eyes, he was always confident that he was never the ugliest person in the room.

After the Serum though, he could make even an old woman blush.

Or more accurately, he could make all the old women blush.

And while he had never thought of himself as a hound dog when it came to the opposite sex, Peter was man in quite literally perfect health and since he had no obligations to any other, he naturally wouldn’t push a pretty lady away.

As for Anna specifically, he would naturally support the child, and support her too, if need be, but there had never been any promises or oaths made that had him feel like he was betraying her.

So, as nature tends to do, one thing led to another and now Vara let herself into Peters tent to ‘stand guard’.

“What did the Nord say?” She asked as Peter went to sit down at a table littered with crudely drawn maps and path markers.

Shrugging his shoulders, he just answered it was about Lezalit, then feeling her wanting to say something else, he asked: “What is it?”

“My Lord, we should send those women to a convent… it’s just not safe to have them walking around…”

“Because they were kidnapped by the Beastmen?” Peter asked, somewhat incredulously, but not totally ignorant of what Vara was going to say.

“No! because they are… or were! devil worshipers! and who knows what else!” the Camp Defender replied, speaking with emotion but not raising her voice.

Shaking his head, Peter knew this was what she was going to mention, but still said: “We don’t know for sure that they worship the demons, and after what happened to them, I’d be surprised if they could still believe in the gods of their youths.”

“But what about the Werekin? And what you told me about what she said about her tribe being close to the gods!”

This Peter had no good answer for.

After learning the Norscan language well enough to speak – which took less time learning thanks to his familiarity in learning Kislevite – Peter had spoken at some length to Sif about the gods of the Norscan people.

They were pagans, but speaking of the ‘god of change’, the ‘god of courage’, the ‘god of rebirth’, the ‘god of love’, and a myriad other minor spirits, nothing that the woman said indicated that they were absolutely Chaos worshipers.

Now Peter was totally ignorant, and he saw the disgusting rituals and human sacrifice carried out by the marauders who sacked Mazen.

But to this, Sif had responded in clear disgust as well, claiming that it sounded “something the Aeslings would do”.

This was the first time that Peter had heard the name of that tribe, and after hearing about them, while he was sure that the Aesling were demon worshipers – and so would either convert or be sent to their gods – it cast doubt on the whole of Norscan society and made him question how far their planned Crusade should go.

‘Suffer not the monster to live.’

‘Suffer not the worshiper of chaos.’

These were something Peter was not in doubt about and killing these sorts of creatures – Peter wouldn’t consider a demon worshiper as a person – would be something he never hesitated on.

But the idea of killing people, or otherwise non evil men, was something he held great reservation about.

After all, even though he was prepared to launch a Crusade as soon as the snow thawed, Peter believed in the role of Missionaries and would-be Saints.

He was resolved to be a Warrior and so everything that entailed but would forever resist turning into a madman.

Thinking to himself, not answering Vara right away, he thought this may be another way that he was a hypocrite, but just shrugging, he could only be himself, and looking up he answered: “We’ll keep them separated from the towns and settlements, while keeping an eye on them.

If they act suspicious, we’ll set up a convent and send them to it, worst comes to worst… more drastic measures will be taken.”

Nodding her head in agreement, Vara was still wary but satisfied.

And while Peter and Vara continued talking, across the camp another conversation took place.

*******************************************************

“To be captured by the savage-kin… then to be rescued by soft-hands, the gods mock and scorn us.”

Looking over her shoulder, Sif snickered at the larger woman and said: “Do not speak ignorance, lowly thing, we have been favored. Only you are not faithful enough to see the gift laid out in front of your fat face.”

Taken aback by the sudden jeer, the larger woman looked at the smaller one and said gravely: “Do not speak to me like that and do not forget what you are now, ‘Little Princess’.

The Jarl isn’t here, and even if he was, tsk, he wouldn’t lift a hand to protect a sullied cow like you.”

Holding a leather working needle in her hand, Sif restrained herself and didn’t kill her old Thrall.

On one hand, she knew the fat bitch was right. Sif was no longer a ‘little princess’ after allowing herself to be captured in the Beastman raid.

Even if she had never let herself be… sullied… it wouldn’t matter for the tribe, and her father would probably never recognize her as his daughter now.

But none of the mattered now, Sif knew.

Because, when she saw Peter move, when she saw him rip apart the female Beastmen with his bare hands, she knew he was the Chosen.

As the gods were the source of her suffering, they were also the source of her triumph.

And only after seeing Peter, did she know she was truly favored.

Holding back her rage, her will to offer the head of the fat bitch to Karnath, Sif calmed herself.

She now had a task that superseded mere sacrifice.

She would serve the gods by leading their Chosen to his fate.

Rubbing her face and looking down, Sif thought she needed to gain a bit more weight. The Chosen liked women, she knew, and while she was small, she had always been praised for her beauty.

So, thinking this, she ignored the larger woman who continued talking.

Using the leather working needle expertly, she held a serene look on her face.

Then suddenly, a barely audible whisper touched her ears, and standing up, she moved to the opening of the tent.

“Where do you think you’r” -- BAM!

Slamming a needle down through the woman’s hand, Sif quickly pulled out another and held it to throat.

Still smiling serenely, she said: “Lowly thing, if you can not see the favor shown us, at least shut your mouth.”

Then, rubbing the point of the needle around the woman’s hideous-looking face, she continued: “Or… I’ll shut it for you.”

Turning to leave, she suddenly stopped, turned around and yanked the needle free – sending the woman to the ground in the process.

Not sparing another look, Sif walked out of the tent, and rushing over to where the whisper said to go, she saw Lezalit return.

Using this as her chance, Sif ran to Peter’s tent, slightly bowed to Vara, and said in Norscan: “My Jarl, the Commander is back and as much as he smiles, surely he brings good news!”

*******************************************************

Interrupted from talking to Vara, Peter heard what Sif said, and with a laugh he stood up, thanked her by patting her slim shoulder, and went to the side of the camp where Lezalit would be returning from.

Seeing the dark haired former noble, Peter didn’t start with small talk, and immediately asked: “Have you found them, soldier?”

Nodding to this, Lezalit did a perfect salute, and replied: “Lord Peter, yeah we found them alright, and only about 20 miles north from here.”

“That close… I’m not sure if they’re cows or rats, alright so how many?”

Shaking his head, Lezalit answered: “Several thousand at minimum, and kinds bigger than what you described. The area was too large for us to get a good look, but from the smell, my God, there was a lot.”

Hearing this, Peter wondered just how such a large herd could have gone undiscovered by he and the Marksmen for 2 months.

‘Then again… 20 miles in this mountainous wilderness could hide a lot…’ he corrected himself.

Either way, now that another Warherd was discovered, they would naturally take it out as soon as they could.

Smiling while thinking about the battle ahead, Peter himself didn’t see how much he had changed in the many months since he arrived in this world.

No, at this moment he only thought of 1 thing.

‘Suffer not the monster to live.’