As the wedding festivities reached their peak, laughter and music filled the grand hall of the lord’s castle. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, and the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the revelers.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors burst open with a thunderous crash, and Vigi and his Viking warriors stormed into the hall, their weapons drawn and faces twisted into savage grins. Panic swept through the room like wildfire as the guests scrambled to flee or find cover.

The once-glamorous hall devolved into a scene of bloodshed and mayhem, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the anguished cries of the wounded.

Vigi’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding before him. Amidst the bloodshed and screams, a strange sight caught his attention: the bride, the epitome of innocence and purity, now stood with a fierce expression etched upon her face, a table knife clenched tightly in her blood-stained hands.

His memory flashed back to the moment when he had struck down the old, fat bridegroom with a single blow of his axe. At that moment, the bride disappeared in the commotion and Vigi lost sight of her.

One of Vigi’s comrades, emboldened by the bride’s seemingly vulnerable state, attempted to approach her with a mocking laugh. But before he could reach her, she swung the knife with surprising speed and accuracy, forcing the man to stumble back with a startled curse.

Vigi couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before him. “What’s the matter, scared of getting a new scar?” he teased, clapping his fellow warrior on the shoulder. Despite the chaos and carnage surrounding them, there was a twisted sense of amusement in Vigi’s voice as he watched the bride defend herself against his own men.