It was a warm summernight, dark and stormy.
Ylva stayed near her cave, as usually, when she got the feeling to go back to the village with her sword. She also had fear that Ydagol could be seized, but her trust to her intuition was greater.
Already half the way she heard crying and screaming, and that was increasing her speed.
In the middle of the village the weaver laid on the earth - headless in his blood. All inhabitants were collected threatened from three warriors. Four others were hunting in the cottages for treasures, food and all they could find.
One of the captive-watchers walked to Ylva showing menancing his sword. When she was near to him she moved Ydagol from behind her hiding back and killed him with one strike, shouting loudly.
All persons were taken by surprise, even the village-people forgot to cry. Only one warrior, the chief, instructed the four plundering ones to murder her.
It seemed that they had great respect, because they were encircling her getting nearer slowly from all four sides. Ylva crouched down holding both hands at the grip of the sword. Suddenly she rolled back, Ydagol's tip running through the back warrior's belly. In the next moment she rolled further to the right side into a sitting position striking a circle near the bottom. The warrior's reaction was sufficient escaping with a jump.
The two others wanted to catch her on the bottom bouncing together, but she has already left this position jumping back and hurting the right warriors's leg heavy by returning her last strike to her front. The warrior fell down receiving another deadly thrust from his own mate, who wanted to reach Ylva.
She made a light blow down, which her opponent could catch in front of his chest, but she pushed forward gliding with her long sword at his blade in lightning-speed, the tip running through his throat. Moving the spitted neck in the direction of the last of the four warriors and hiding behind the slowly sinking body she pushed further and really hit the point between his eyes.
About seven seconds fight, and four terrifying enemies were dead - Ylva herself could hardly believe it.
But now the chief himself, an excellent trained warrior, started an attack. He survived a little bit longer, only after twelf seconds he had to step in front of his god or devil.
One warrior still lived, not the bravest one; he surrendered to her showing dismay in his eyes. Ylva utilized the situation to find out more, interrogating him, but he was the lowest one knowing very little useful informations. At least she sent him back to his earl demanding a charter for whole land belonging to this place.
The people of the village didn't know how to treat Ylva. There was a pretty girl growing up with them, working with them in an ancillary role and having a family background with bad name - and now such a gigantous hero?
That was too much for the mind of this naive populace. She was respected, but noone wanted to have contact with her. Even her job at the loom she lost. On the other side she could ask for every common thing, she would get it.
After a while she changed her domicile completely to her cave. There she wore white cloths, the amulet, and at least she put up the face-circlet as a lasting sign.
She had much time for meditating and dancing with the sword.