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It was a cold winter day in England. Snow had fallen, blanketing the land with a layer of blinding whiteness.

In the north-western part of the former kingdom of Mercia, the young Viking warrior Thorfinn stood ankle deep in snow, holding his two knives in front of his chest. He was gearing up for what would undoubtedly be the hardest fight in his seventeen years of life. A wave of adrenaline washed over the young warrior, heightening his senses and further fuelling his anticipation of the imminent battle.

A cold wind picked up, ruffling Thorfinn's blonde hair.

Thorkell stood opposite Thor's son, facing off against him in a duel of honour. The mighty moe warrior towered above his opponent by two heads as he gripped his two Danish axes in a ready stance, an eager grin in anticipation of the upcoming confrontation adorning his bearded face. There was no doubt in Thorfinn's mind that Thorkell was looking forward to their battle. Only this time, the older warrior would not get away with merely losing two of his fingers.

Roughly a hundred men, all belonging to Thorkell's band of warriors, had formed a ring around the two combatants and were loudly cheering them on, shouting for bloodshed and dismemberment; Thorfinn didn't hear their demands for brutal violence, his whole focus on the upcoming fight.

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes at his opponent, his grip around his his knives tightening. He would beat this monstrous horse-punching beast of a man, and he would be one step closer to getting his revenge.

Once he had killed Thorkell, Thorfinn would go on to kill his older brother Itachi.