![]() It represented Vidar, the old Norse silent god of vengeance. His eyes were blind to his warships, however, and all he truly saw was the stone plinth behind him, reflected in the glass.Ī statue of a burly Viking warrior, the symbol of his company, stood on top of that plinth. Right now, however, he stood in a small gallery in the Vikings’ home office in the Io Shipyards and looked out over his fleet. The tall and gaunt mercenary had the money to afford those ships and those crews, and that gave him a power few in the solar system could rival. He owned and commanded a fleet of six destroyers, staffed by over five hundred crew and ground troops. He was the sole owner of the Vikings Mercenary Company, a Platinum-rated Guild company sought after for their reputation and firepower. He was young, barely into his mid-thirties, wealthy and powerful. At a glance, there was no reason for him to be so tired. There was a feeling of exhaustion, of bone-deep weariness no amount of rest could shake, that hung over Commodore Brad Madrid. ![]()
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