The first time I watched the Vinland Saga, I thought I knew what I was getting: Vikings, sword fights, blood, and epic battles. And sure, it delivers on that front. The clashes are brutal, the ships glide across icy seas, and the battles feel weighty in a way that makes you flinch. But the real impact—the part that stayed with me—wasn’t in the clash of blades. It was in the silence afterward, when the characters were left staring into the emptiness they’ve created.
Hardest I was struck by Thorfinn, the main character. It was gutting to watch his childhood innocence be ripped away in the most violent manner imaginable and then to watch the sorrow turn into obsession. Almost you can feel the anger beating away through his skin, every step he makes is one of revenge. However, what is about revenge, and this anime makes you experience it, is that it consumes you. It doesn’t heal. And watching Thorfinn become an adult, bound to the fury, the child having forgotten what happiness even is, it was as though it nipped. And not because it is sad, as it were, but because you see a fraction of yourself in the effort to release, implying itself in his struggle to release.
Then there’s Askeladd. God, what a character. He is coaxing, cunning, maddeningly attractive, and, at the same time, so tragic. I was not able to hate him even when he did things that were worthy of hatred. Certain motivational speeches of his, namely regarding his background, as well as how he perceives the world, left me standing at my drink and simply staring at the screen. It is difficult to witness such a contradiction of character in a character, the bad and the good, the killer and the one who trains. His presence was pervading all the scenes and when he had gone, I felt that vacuum.
However, the scene that truly hit me in the gut was not a battle at all, and it was when Thorfinn understands that vengeance is not what he needs to find peace. The sunken, broken expression on his face when he is robbed of the one thing he believed would make his life worth living-it is still scalded on my groin. It was not victory, it was not a reconciliation. It was a defeat of deeper sort, you question yourself what you even are.
That scene alone made me sit back and think about how often we cling to anger thinking it’s strength, when really it’s a chain.
And then there’s season two, which slows everything down. Some people called it “boring,” but for me it was the heart of the story. Watching Thorfinn on the farm, forced to confront himself, stripped of war and vengeance—it felt like breathing after drowning. His conversations with Einar about freedom, about what it means to live without violence, about choosing a different path—it hit me in a way I didn’t expect. It’s rare for an anime that begins with blood and conquest to pivot into something so quiet, so deeply human, and still keep its grip on you.
What I actually remembered after viewing the Vinland Saga is this: it is not the story of warriors. It is the tale of rejoining the human world having been returned to violence. It is partially about how that pain can make you, but it is also about the fact that you can decide not to be that. The cruelty and coarseness of all this renders the gentler scenes, such as a smile, or a common meal, or even the dream of Vinland itself, almost sacrosanct.
So, it was like being anatomically dissectioned, gutted and reassembled in a slow manner to watch the Vinland Saga. It left me raw but hopeful. Neither of us should have thought everything was pinned up in a pretty little bow, just because it gave me a reminder that you can always get yourself back on your feet again, and pick yourself another tale.
Thumbnail is designed by me on pixelLab and other images are screenshot from the movie
