I need your reviews.

My friend is writing a book (or attempting to) and it's about Norse Mythology and Vikings. This is supposed to be the beginning of the Prologue and he asked me what I thought of it. I thought it was pretty good so I wanted to see what you guys thought. (Keep in mind he's only 15)

I grunted, I looked down and a glint of red met my gaze. I took a deep breath which filled with the stench of the poor souls who left their bodies behind as they journeyed to the corpse hall where they would wait for me with grins that stretched from ear to ear where we would feast and fight to our hearts content. A place where our enemies became our friends, where they envied you for letting them die with blade in hand. I looked to the right and a man with brown hair the color of mud, freckles as bountiful as the spring harvest, with a plump round belly, named Breidr, which suited him for it meant fat or broad, called my name.
“Agmund!”
I grimaced. “What is it?” I asked with a tinge of annoyance in my voice for Breidr was my impudent, worthless cousin.
“I reckon we killed 250 of the bastards. The rest have run off like children from the sceadugengan!
I touched my silver hammer of Thor at this, for all fear the shadow-walkers.
“I’m glad you can count cousin.” I replied sarcastically.
“I reckon by tomorrow many will have heard of Agmund and Breidr. Fearlessly riding into battle with the banner of the fearsome lion of Agmund and the Falcon of Breidr!” He laughed a deep and hearty laugh.
I smiled at this for the man we left alive, for this is what one must always do so others learn to fear you and so the word of the previous battle may spread and men hear of your name, was a strong and ruthless man. I had chopped off his sword arm in battle and taken an eye so I thought he was harmless now and he would be a good man for he did not look weak. I loved the battle and I smile when I think of the men that were brave enough, and foolish enough to challenge me. I hardly remember what happens during the battle for it becomes a natural part of me, I rely on instinct and I let all thoughts drain from my mind and I feel calm. I move with an acquired grace and my sword is like a third arm that feels like a part of me that I’ve had since birth. I think about it as much as I think about breathing. I don’t remember every breath for it happens without me thinking about it specifically. This is the same for every chop, parry, and jab that is performed with such grace with my third arm. I recollect the most courageous men who seek me out knowing if they triumph over me they may boast that they killed Agmund who had slain so many before. Their reputation would spread and they would grow wealthy, and in these times wealth and reputation are all a man needs to thrive.