“Here you both go.”

Three women set down plates of food on the table. Sitting at the table are two men. One is an old man about five feet in height, although he would be nearly six feet if he wasn’t hunched over. He slowly strokes his goatee as he silently watches the women serving them.

“Ahhh, food. My lovelies, what have you made for me today?”

Sitting across from the old man is a towering mass of muscle that would be double the height of the hunched man if he were to stand. His chiseled face bares a fond smile for his wives.

“Wyvern, husband. Mostly wyvern. We know it is your favorite,” Emira responds with a smile and a nod.

Jokull blinks, “When did you three hunt down a wyvern? They shouldn’t be anywhere near here.”

One of the three girls, a petite woman by the name of Cole, frowns as she whips out her arm and a spike of ice forms, propels itself forwards, and shatters on Jokull’s head in less than a second.

“Idiot. How do you expect us to hunt for a meal when our dear husband is going out and playing with monsters!” She growls.

“I wasn’t playing! The kingdom has pests and I need to take care of them,” he quickly responds.

This time, Jokull tilts his head, dodging the spike of ice instead of allowing it to strike his head.

“Really, pests? I don’t suppose that you left Jotunheim because you found the preparation of the tournament boring?”

“It is boring, but you clearly took care of it!” Jokull replies before casually grabbing an icicle that is about to skewer his face. He stops, amazed that it gotten so close. Cole has become much stronger. She most likely leveled her [Ice Archwitch] class.

“Yes, the three of us had to go out and organize the tournament for you,” Cole shouts and raises her hand. A spike the size of a car begins to form in the air above her.

The spike’s creation halts when the third wife, a woman of darker skin, places her hand upon Cole’s shoulder. Cole looks to Aiya, bites her lips, and then allows the half-formed spell to disperse.

It is here that Zeek begins to chuckle, enjoying the charade between the four.

Jokull smiles sheepishly at Zeek, unsure how to explain the situation, though the old man’s knowing look suggests he’s seen similar things before.

“Cole, Aiya, let’s go clean the kitchen. We can bother our husband later when he is done speaking with Zeek,” concluded Emira with a soft and caring smile.

Cole sighs, “Fine.”

Cole, Aiya, and Emira leave the dining room, exiting through a door that softly screeches as they close it behind them. Jokull allows a moment to pass before he speaks.

“Sorry about that, Zeek. Things have been rather hectic, especially with Cole. She can be a handful with that temper of hers.”

Zeek nods, “I’ve met many [Frost Jarls], and they do seem to have a tendency to prefer more violent women. Well, that could be said of most northern men.”

Jokull chuckles, leaning forward and grabbing a large slab of meat. In the North, women rule the household, with the added caveat of keeping it in good condition and making the food. The men just have to be capable of protecting their home and their wives. It’s not uncommon for northern wives to go out and hunt for a meal, usually something not too dangerous. For that purpose, Jotunheim has a low-level dungeon nearby where wives enter and hunt food for a meal. The dungeon is restricted to only women and not even divers are allowed inside.

Jokull bites into the steak, his strength allowing him to rip apart the wyvern meat with ease.

Zeek joins Jokull in eating, except using a fork and knife. He does not want to get yelled at by Alisa over a dirty robe again.

“Well, Cole wasn’t violent when I married her.” Jokull says between bites.

He stops chewing and frowns.

“Actually, nevermind. She was pretty violent back then too, it’s just recently that she has the levels to hurt me now. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked Szuzad to train her.”

Jokull takes another bite, finishing the second half of the steak completely, bone included. The crunch of bone can be heard from [Frost Jarl’s] mouth before he swallows. High stats can come in handy.

“Speaking of which, she seemed angry at you. More angry than usual, at least. Did something happen recently?” He asks Zeek.

Zeek calmly sips a bit of soup and then shrugs.

“Not something I specifically did, but I may have forgotten to inform my student that it is frowned upon to check another’s class without permission.”

Jokull snorts, “Forgotten, eh?”

Zeek replies with a wink and Jokull can only chuckle.

“Well, your student did well. Five fights and he won them all with mostly his strength. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less from your disciple… though still. I’m curious on where he is getting all that strength. I don’t suppose you would tell me his secret?”

Zeek licks his lips before taking some breaded meat and dipping it into his soup. He then puts it in his mouth. The sounds of chewing can be heard before Zeek swallows.

“Artyom is a [Hero] summoned by the Olympian gods.”

Jokull continues to eat as he processes the information. The steak in his hand stops an inch from his mouth.

“What… How? I thought…”

Zeek snorts, “I asked a few friends and they said the Olympian gods messed up their summoning. All of their [Heroes] were summoned randomly across Orbis. Artyom is one of them.”

Jokull laughs and shakes his head, “I knew that they were summoned, but, wow. That’s some very useful information. I’ll make sure to keep my lips shut about your student.”

Jokull ponders his thoughts of the tournament and his daughter.

“Zeek, what are the chances that your student wins the tournament?”

“Practically zero. He doesn’t have enough levels.”

Jokull rolls his eyes, “I’m not good with Politics, and neither are you. You asked to talk with me for a reason, so just say it already. I already have an inkling of what you want.”

The [Grandmaster Martial Artist] pouts, but only for a moment.

“Artyom needs to level, and the best way to do that is to put him against people who will give him a tough fight. If he can level enough, then he might have a chance.”

Jokull slowly nods, “You want to manipulate the tournament, but in an unfavorable way for your student. I would normally disagree, but I want my daughter to have a strong husband.”

Jokull leans back, thinking about the tournament. Manipulating it would not be hard, but it could be dissatisfying for the audience. Well, maybe not, considering the fights against Artyom would be in favor of his opponents.

“Fine. It will be done, but I’m going to want some favors from you.”

Zeek raises an eyebrow, “I have done a great deal for Jotunheim.”

Jokull grunts, “Yes, I know, but you have yet to do anything noteworthy since I have become the Jarl. And don’t worry, my favors are simple. It’s just a bit of house cleaning.”

Zeek sighs.

“Fine.”

_________________________________________________________

“Alissa, how is the meat coming?” the [Head Cook] yells, “Remember not to overcook it. Most of the men like it a bit bloody.”

Alissa nods, rushing towards the blazing oven. She frowns, finding the ribs barely turning brown. The meat still looks mostly pink.

“It’s very slow, Garressa. I don’t know why.”

The [Head Cook] Garressa frowns as she steps over to the oven.

“Ahh, you made a mistake. That’s not wyvern meat, it’s mammoth. Mammoth meat takes a lot more heat to cook properly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It looked the same to me.”

Garressa waves her off, “Bah! You’re a [Maid], not a [Cook]. And, this won’t be a problem. Watch.”

Garressa raises her hand and points at the cooking meat, “[Flash Sear]”

Suddenly, the heat in the oven rises significantly. The flames engulf the ribs, scorching them constantly. The whole thing lasts for about ten seconds before the flames retract.

“There. Mammoth meat is ready. Take it out and put it on a tray. The others will handle the rest.”

__________________________________________________________

Artyom looks out with fascination at the eating hall. The place is huge with food constantly being brought out and placed on tables where ravenous men dig in with unrestrained glee. What confuses Artyom is that only the men are eating, while the women are acting as servers. Even the female contestants with combat classes are serving and helping with some aspect of delivering or making food.

It started after the last match had been completed. He and all other contestants were guided to the huge room he is currently sitting in. When he had entered, food was being placed on the tables by an all female staff. It was only when he found Alissa among them that she explained it is one of their traditions. Women feed and the men protect. Hence, it is very likely that all of the current staff are wives of a combatant. It also explains why the men are so well behaved, despite the amount of alcohol being passed around.

“Artyom, congratulations on your wins.”

Artyom, hearing the familiar voice, diverts his gaze from the staff to find Shiro taking a seat across him.

Artyom grunts, unsure of what to say to the overly friendly man. He had just spent the day beating down people for sport. Right now, he doesn't feel about talking too much, especially after the last fight.

Shiro notices the man's strained expression. “What's wrong?”

Artyom shakes his head, ”Nothing.”

The [Fencing Berserker] frowns. He notices angst in the man's voice.

“No, it's not. If you have a problem, then talk about it. Keeping it inside will just make it worse.”

Artyom looks at Shiro for a long moment before sighing and taking a large swig of his ice-cold beer. It’s a small surprise considering it has been sitting out for half an hour.

“I… don't like to hit women. The last fight had me beating down that [Guardian] girl.”

Shiro chuckles, laughing pretty amiably.

“You're an idiot, Artyom. Truly ignorant beyond all others.”

Artyom’s expression slowly darkens, “Hitting women is never right. I’ve seen it done before and it leads to further violence and a loss of restraint. I don't like it, even if classes can make them fight equally with men.”

Shiro begins laughing harder while shaking his head in clear amusement. If the eating hall wasn't so noisy already, the laughter might have attracted a great deal of attention.

Artyom, tired of the ridicule, prepares to stand, but stops as Shiro points behind Artyom.

Artyom turns and looks behind.

“I saw that fight Artyom, and I have to agree, beating her down was a grave choice indeed.”

In a flowing dress that reveals a rather significant amount of leg, stands the [Guardian] as she slowly moves around with plates in her hand. She is part of the staff and is currently delivering food to the tables. But, what Shiro was laughing about and what Artyom is finally noticing is how the woman constantly glances in Artyom's direction with an intense blush.

“The thing is, Artyom, is that women of the North value strength; but some want physical proof of that strength. You showed her that in spades.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Artyom groans as the [Guardian] glances his way and then licks her lips.

“Again, Artyom, welcome to Jotunheim.”