The little old woman's head barely reached Salomon's chest, and even her steps trembled unsteadily. She looked older than anyone else in the hall. No matter how The King boasted of the old woman's identity, Salomon was ultimately a burly man over two meters tall. He had no desire to take part in such an honorless fight, nor did he wish to harm such a frail old woman. But this was the final challenge. He had to win, or else remain in Valhalla.
"Are you ready, ma'am?" Salomon assumed his stance, relaxing his shoulders as he tried not to hurt the old woman too badly. "I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you."
At those words, the old woman laughed, revealing toothless, shriveled gums. Then she charged at him with astonishing speed. She crouched and locked one arm around Salomon's leg. The instant she touched him, Salomon felt his leg weaken. Those thin, fragile-looking arms possessed terrifying strength.
Salomon immediately changed tactics, trying to push her away or step back and trip her, freeing himself while making her fall. Yet she was as solid as a boulder, completely immovable. The old woman's strength climbed up Salomon's spine, forcing his knees to bend. Salomon pushed with all his might, but he still could not stop her from lifting him and jumping onto him. The old woman, who looked as though she weighed less than a sheep, pressed down on him so hard he could barely breathe.
The watching warriors began to count down, pounding their cups against the long tables with loud bangs. Even the ghosts in the corridors howled loudly. Exhausted human servants weaved among the warriors, pouring their drinks and serving meat. Often, a cup would be emptied the very moment it was filled, forcing them to make repeated trips