That night I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about what was coming. What we were going to do to those monks tomorrow.
In my old life, I'd never hurt anyone. Never even been in a real fight. The closest I'd come to violence was watching movies and playing video games.
Now I was lying on a beach planning to rob a monastery.
The other men seemed calm. They talked quietly around the small fires. Checked their weapons. Ate small portions of dried fish.
For them, this was necessity. Survival. They weren't excited about killing. They were fishermen who'd been forced into this by starvation.
Our village had always been peaceful. We lived in a protected fjord far from the main raiding routes. Most of us had never even seen combat.
The five boats we'd brought weren't warships. They were simple fishing vessels. Each could carry maybe five people with supplies. Not built for war.
But they were what we had.
I sat next to my father on the sand. He was staring out at the dark water.
"Are you scared?" I asked quietly.
"Yes," he admitted. "Any man who isn't scared before his first battle is a fool."
"What if we can't do it? What if we're not raiders?"
He was quiet for a long time.
"Then our families starve," he said finally. "Sometimes there are no good choices. Only necessary ones."
The crossing to England took seven days.
Seven long days of rowing and sailing across gray waters. The boats were crowded. Everyone over fifteen had come. Forty-three men total.
I was the youngest by far. Most of the others were fathers with children to feed. Men who'd never held a sword until a few weeks ago.
During the journey, we talked. Shared stories. Tried to keep spirits up.
My father told me about his first raid years ago. Before I was born. Before he met my mother.
"I threw up after my first kill," he said. "Right there in front of everyone. Wasn't proud of it."
"Did it get easier?"
"No," he said. "It just became necessary."
The other men had similar stories. Most had only fought to defend the village. Never to attack.
This was new territory for all of us.
On the seventh day, we reached the English coast.
The land was different from home. Flatter. More open. The trees were different too.
We pulled our boats up on a pebble beach and hid them behind some large rocks.
"Stay close," Erik instructed. "English patrols sometimes ride the coast."
We didn't know where we were. The coastline looked the same in every direction. Just cliffs and beaches and rolling hills.
We walked inland for most of a day. Saw no signs of life. No villages. No farms. Just empty countryside.
Some of the men started getting nervous. What if we'd landed in the wrong place? What if there was nothing here worth taking?
Then, just as the sun was starting to set, we saw it.
Stone buildings on a hill. A bell tower. High walls.
"There," Erik pointed. "Just like I told you."
The monastery sat maybe half a mile away. Smoke rose from several chimneys. We could see figures moving around inside the walls.
"How many?" my father asked.
Erik studied the building carefully. "Maybe twenty monks. Couple of servants. Nothing we can't handle."
"Weapons?"
"Monks don't usually fight. Maybe a few have knives for kitchen work."
We made camp in a grove of trees about a quarter mile from the monastery. Close enough to attack quickly. Far enough to avoid being spotted.
The plan was simple. Wait for dawn. Rush the gates when the monks were at morning prayers. Take everything valuable. Get back to the boats before anyone could organize a response.
"Remember," my father told everyone. "We're not here for glory. We're here for food and silver. Get in, get what we need, get out."
The men nodded. Most looked as nervous as I felt.
As we settled in for the night, I kept staring at the monastery walls. Tomorrow, people were going to die.
Maybe some of us. Maybe some of them. Probably both.
I'd never killed anyone. Never wanted to.
But our village was counting on us.
Dawn came too quickly.
We approached the monastery in loose formation. Wooden shields raised. Weapons ready but not drawn.
The gates were old oak reinforced with iron bands. They looked heavy but not impossible to break.
"Remember the plan," Erik whispered. "Fast and quiet until—"
The arrow took him in the chest.
He stumbled backward, looking down at the shaft protruding from his leather armor with surprise.
Then he collapsed.
"Shields up!" my father shouted.
More arrows came from the walls. Not many. But enough to show the monks weren't defenseless.
One of our men screamed as an arrow found his shoulder. Another caught one in his leg.
"Charge!" someone yelled.
All pretense of strategy disappeared. We rushed the gates like desperate men. Which is exactly what we were.
The monks were shouting from the walls. Yelling words we couldn't understand. Probably telling us to leave. Maybe calling for help.
We couldn't understand them and they couldn't understand us.
But violence has its own language.
The gates held for maybe thirty seconds. Then the oak splintered under our axes and desperate strength.
We poured into the courtyard.
What happened next was chaos.
The monks had formed a defensive line near the main building. They held kitchen knives and farming tools. A few had proper weapons.
But they were scared. We could see it in their faces.
Most had probably never been in a fight. Just like us.
The difference was we were starving. They were just protecting their home.
Hunger makes men vicious.
The battle lasted maybe ten minutes. It felt like hours.
I stayed near my father like he'd told me. Watched him cut down a young monk who couldn't have been older than twenty.
Blood everywhere. Screaming. The sound of metal on metal.
When it ended, all the monks were dead.
Forty-three Vikings against maybe fifteen monks. The outcome had never been in doubt.
"Search everything," my father ordered. His voice was steady but his hands shook as he cleaned his sword.
We found the donation pool in the main chapel. Silver coins from wealthy English nobles. More money than our village had ever seen.
"We can eat!" one of the men laughed. The relief in his voice was obvious.
The monastery was also stocked with supplies. Dried fish. Grain. Preserved meat. Enough food to keep our families alive through the winter.
"Load everything," my father said. "We leave before anyone comes looking."
As we gathered the treasure and supplies, I looked around at the dead monks. Young faces. Old faces. Men who'd chosen peace and prayer over violence.
Now they were just corpses because we needed food.
[New Skill: Combat lv6][New Title: First Blood][Achievement: Monastery Raider]
The system tracked everything. Even this.
By midday, we were back at our boats. Loading the treasure and supplies for the journey home.
Erik's body came with us. We'd bury him properly when we got back.
As we rowed away from the English coast, the men were talking excitedly about the success. About how their families would survive.
I sat quietly next to my father.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Different," I said. It was the only word that fit.
"Good different or bad different?"
"I don't know yet."
He nodded like he understood.
"The first kill changes you," he said. "Makes you realize what you're capable of when you have to be."
I hadn't actually killed anyone. Stayed in the back like he'd told me. But I'd watched it happen. Been part of it.
That was enough.
The crossing home took another week. Longer because we were loaded down with treasure and supplies.
When we finally saw our fjord, the men started singing. Old Norse songs about victory and homecoming.
The women and children were waiting on the beach. They'd been watching for us every day.
When they saw the loaded boats, they started crying. From relief. From joy.
We'd done it. Our village would survive the winter.
That night, there was a feast. The first real meal we'd had in months.
As I ate fresh bread and dried fish from the monastery stores, I thought about the dead monks.
They'd died so we could live.
In the old world, that would have been murder. Here, it was survival.
The system was right to track it. This was the moment I'd stopped being a modern man pretending to be a Viking.
Now I was just a Viking.
For better or worse.