Chapter 9: Accidental Kill

A pirate emerged from the building. Wade spotted a relatively thin and short pirate standing by the doorway with his head lowered, brows furrowed, and hands stuffed in his pockets while looking around cautiously. 

He carried no torch, relying instead on the light from nearby burning houses. A single-shot crossbow hung across his back, and a shortsword rested at his waist. 

Unlike the double-edged straight sword approximately 1.2 meters long that Wade gripped, this pirate’s shortsword measured only half a meter. 

This man clearly wasn’t skilled in combat, likely serving as a scout or logistic support within the crew. 

His choice of weapon revealed much – crossbowmen held low status in many regions, including among Vikings. These mechanical weapons, unlike longbows, were considered “coward’s tools.” 

In some mercenary groups, crossbowmen weren’t even entitled to share spoils of war. In the Duchy of Netherlands, Philip VI had once outlawed knights from using crossbows, with violators facing revocation of their titles. 

Wade observed the pirate scanning his surroundings with moderate vigilance. Unfortunately for him, Mia was a flying phantom. After finding no traces of anything amiss, the pirate moved beneath the thatched shed.

“This ain’t no barn dance, you damn animals! Shut the hell up!” 

The pirate vented his frustration on the sheep, even kicking one of the support beams. 

Snow accumulated on the shed’s roof shook loose from the impact, yet the sheep continued bleating. Scratching his head in irritation, he roared again: “SILENCE!!!”

Wade quietly monitored the pirate’s every move, intending to draw his attention to the silver coins in the sheepfold. 

The moment this thought reached Mia, Wade noticed the lead ewe behaving differently. Previously just restless, now it seemed actively controlled. 

Had Mia taken command of the ewe’s mind? 

That appeared to be the case. The ewe walked to the coin-filled sack and deliberately scraped its hoof against it, exposing the glittering silver coins. 

The shouting pirate suddenly froze, craning his neck to peer at the ground. 

He’d spotted the coins. 

Noticing his abrupt silence, someone called from the warehouse: “Mite! What’s happening out there?” 

“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” replied the pirate named Mite. “I’ll have these stupid sheep quiet in no time.” 

Mite held his breath. 

Eyes wide, he swallowed hard while staring fixated at the alluring gleam of silver. 

He guessed some villager had hidden their money here in the sheepfold – perhaps recently when pirates attacked, perhaps earlier. 

Regardless of who hid it, Mite had found the sack now, making its contents rightfully his! 

Maybe today wasn’t entirely terrible after all! 

His improved mood made him regard the woolly sheep with kinder eyes. 

While he couldn’t claim the sheep for himself, other things… well, that was different. 

Finders keepers – that was the pirate code! 

A smirk twisted Mite’s lips as he eagerly climbed over the fence. 

Had Mite been more cautious or generous enough to share this windfall, he wouldn’t have entered the sheepfold alone. 

But alas, he was a pirate. 

Many words described pirates – cruel, cunning, treacherous… 

Yet none defined them better than greedy. 

Mite scrambled over the wooden rail, his clothes catching on rough splinters that he tore through without hesitation. 

The biting wind whipped straw fragments against his face as the sheepfold gate creaked ominously. 

Restless sheep trampled hay underhoof. 

Wade conceived a new plan – could he engineer an accident? 

The perfect assassination left no witnesses. Until eliminating all targets, an assassin should remain undetected. 

He had Mia position the lead ewe behind the pirate. 

On the tool rack before the sack, a three-pronged rake and two-tined pitchfork swayed gently in the cold wind. 

As Mite bent to collect the scattered coins, the lead ewe suddenly let out a piercing bleat and charged like an enraged bull. 

The sudden noise startled Mite just as the wooden rack emitted an earsplitting groan – the damned sheep had toppled it! 

The rake slipped first, its metal teeth piercing Mite’s boot and pinning his foot. 

Pain shot through his toes as he yelped, instinctively yanking at his trapped foot. But his specially-made snow boots – crafted from tough, durable tanned oxhide – resisted. 

He’d crisscrossed leather straps around the ankles for snow travel, with cylindrical greaves covering his calves and compressed sealskin securing his right leg. 

These boots took effort to don and even more to remove – extraction would take time he didn’t have. 

Grabbing the pitchfork for balance only destabilized the rack’s last support point. 

The structure tilted and collapsed, sending the rusted pitchfork arcing downward with eerie precision toward his skull. 

Staring up at the descending tines, Mite felt a phantom sting between his eyes as he reflexively raised his arms to shield his head. 

Then the “panicked” lead ewe rallied the flock for another charge, ramming its head squarely into his backside. 

His sphincter clenched involuntarily as he yowled, toppling face-first into sheep dung, losing a tooth on impact. 

When his forehead struck ground, the pitchfork completed its descent amid splintering wood, driven by momentum and wind. 

Brief resistance preceded the tines pressing against his throat. The fork’s weight alone couldn’t pierce his neck, merely drawing blood. 

Mite exhaled in relief before fury overwhelmed him. 

Damn it! Taking orders from his captain and Sven was bad enough, but now even sheep were ramming his ass! 

His glare turned murderous as he tried shifting the pitchfork, but before regaining balance, new pressure gradually increased at his throat – as if… someone was pushing the implement deeper. 

Someone was here! 

Cold sweat broke across Mite’s back. 

But it wasn’t a person – it was Mia. Having left the ewe’s underside, she now hovered at the pitchfork’s end, staring down at the helpless intruder. 

Rage, sorrow, pain… 

These emotions surged through Mia in a sudden eruption, perhaps residual feelings from when she’d been alive. 

She desperately wanted to drive that rusty tine into the iron-helmeted man’s throat. 

She’d lived peacefully here – her father likely a hunter, explaining her familiarity with that cabin. Young but vibrant. 

These invaders had destroyed everything. 

Wade didn’t stop Mia’s vengeance. These pirates had taken her life and burned her home – why shouldn’t she retaliate? 

When law and justice fail to punish the wicked, we still have blades in hand. 

Little Mia strained against the pitchfork, forcing it into Mite’s throat. 

The effort taxed her – a breeze-like phantom possessed little strength. Without the initial impact embedding the rusted tip slightly and gravity’s assistance, she could never have killed a pirate alone. 

But fate had intervened – meeting Wade gave her this chance at revenge. 

Just one among many pirates, but this one died by her hand. 

Mite felt searing pain as the pitchfork lodged in his throat. After momentary resistance, it stopped, the corroded point resting against his windpipe. 

He couldn’t comprehend why the sheep had turned so violent, why they now trampled him. 

Agony wracked his body as he struggled feebly before finally lying still. 

Beside the dead pirate, coins spilled from the sack, their gleam as mesmerizing as ever amidst the filth of blood and waste.