Chapter 316: Crusader (1)

The executioner kicked the device that held the rope in place.

Clunk.

Thirty Vikings plummeted simultaneously, their necks snapping taut.

“Gck… ghaah…”

“Gwah… gwaaah…”

“Keee… aaaaah… gah.”

They each let out the strange, singular sound a body can make in a lifetime, then one by one their movements ceased.

Creak.

Creak.

Only the sound of the ropes twisting as the bodies swayed in the sea breeze remained.

Drip drip drip.

More than a few corpses had lost control of their bladders, leaking from what had shriveled below. Some were releasing even fouler things.

They had been stripped bare to revoke their Einherjar qualification, exposing every ugliness in full.

“The proud Valkyries wouldn’t take someone like that, would they? Am I right?”

Engene flicked his finger at the next group of Vikings.

“No, no!”

“Ughhh.”

Thirty more were set up and the executioner kicked the device.

Clunk.

Every prisoner witnessed it. Naturally, not all Vikings were brave.

Having broken their bodies and minds so thoroughly, Eugene had produced a flood of those who buckled before fear. It was more than enough for cross-verification to ensure the guides from Midgard weren’t lying.

*

“Withdraw.”

After the work was done, Eugene declared the operation over and sent all the ships back.

He then decided to visit the estates of certain influential sea knights. They held fiefs consisting of scattered islands along the coast. The island villages ranged from twenty to three hundred households.

Their lords had naturally transitioned from mounted knights to sailing knights. As island villages, they were exempt from the obligation to deliver taxes to their liege, and they enjoyed certain privileges in trade with the mainland.

In return, their conscription duties remained active—they were tasked with patrolling trade routes and eliminating pirates and smugglers.

During the civil war, they had fought a desperate struggle at sea against the Vikings who had allied with the Kruger family.

“This is it. I’m worried it’s too humble to host Your Excellency.”

Where the sea knight pointed stood a house fit to serve as an inn in a larger town—the only two-story building on the island, his manor.

“It looks cozy. I grew up in a hut half this size until I came of age.”

“Hahaha! You do jest well.”

A few fishing boats met them in the waters before the island.

“My lord! Thank the gods you’re safe.”

The fishermen, who had been fishing, paid their respects. Sun-darkened skin meant muscled bodies regardless of age. Perhaps from eating quality protein daily, they were in better shape than most freemen farmers.

“The master of the south has arrived. Pay your respects.”

“Hail!”

The fishermen made a show of kneeling on one knee.

“Octopus?”

Eugene confirmed several large octopuses in the fishing boats. When the sea knight gestured sharply, the fishermen self-consciously used their bodies to shield the octopus.

“Your Excellency. I apologize for offending your eyes. When the sea provides, we must make use of everything… that’s our situation.”

“Indeed! So that’s why the fishermen are so muscled.”

There were regional variations, but Britainia, Gordes, and Barcia considered cephalopods to be creatures of revulsion.

But on island villages where both farming and trade were difficult, anything without poison was fair game. And the sea knights carried a certain inferiority complex about that way of life.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you prepare some octopus for tonight’s meal? It’s impossible to obtain in Haven, you see. If possible, don’t overcook it—just blanch it lightly! I’ve brought lemon and vinegar. Ah, and I’ll give you sugar too, so wash it in sugar water. That makes it chewier.”

“Have… have you eaten it often?”

The sea knight was flustered by Eugene, who was swallowing his saliva as he gave detailed instructions.

When they went ashore, the manor’s courtyard was lined with his wife, children, and servants—all assembled. Welcoming the return of the house’s lord with the courtesy of subjects was a tradition honored in every region.

“Honey? And these people are?”

The lord’s wife, about to embrace her husband tightly, was shocked to learn Eugene’s identity.

“I’ll prepare a reception at once.”

But she was not the wife of an aristocratic family for nothing. She quickly regained her composure and bustled about to honor a guest who might visit once in a hundred years.

She ordered the maids to bathe the children and dress them in their finest clothes, then retrieved a pepper grinder with precious little remaining from a locked box.

Plates carved for three years from rare large shells had surfaces as smooth as pearl. Intended as the family’s heirloom, they would hold Eugene’s food.

“It is an honor to host so distinguished a guest. Though our presentation is humble, I have laid out the finest the north has to offer.”

One might assume aristocratic ladies never set foot in a kitchen, but that was not the case.

They left daily meals to the servants, but when honored guests arrived, each had mastered a signature dish.

One had to possess at least one dish she could declare, “In this, I am the world’s finest!” This was the core of the bride training aristocratic mothers imparted to their daughters.

And this lord’s wife’s specialty was oysters. They were the one product this impoverished island aristocrat could proudly present to wealthy mainland nobles.

“This is no humble spread at all. Even in Haven, one could not find such a feast.”

“You are too kind.”

This was no mere pleasantry. Rare oysters and shellfish dishes that could only be obtained in small quantities through deep diving—since aquaculture was impossible—were laid out in variety.

As a token of gratitude, Eugene gifted her five pepper shakers full of peppercorns and one captured longship.

-Your Excellency. I humbly ask—could you leave the arrows in?

-A gift is a gift, but presenting it in this state would be rude. Pulling out all those arrows would be no small task.

The longship, damaged during an escape attempt, was completely bristling with arrows.

-My children have grown up on this island and do not know Your Excellency’s magnificence. But if I show them this ship, they will readily understand what happened during the Viking suppression campaign. I wish to plant in my children’s hearts devotion to Your Excellency—please…

This was an awkward request even for the sea knight. Arrows were supposed to be recycled, and a quantity like this was worth several coins.

-Your devotion delights me. I shall do as you ask.

But the price was no burden to Eugene. As an investment in the education of a prospective heir far removed from his control, it was well worth it.

The lady of the next estate visited had a signature dish of sea turtle.

“It has been passed down through generations of our family. I dare say it is a delicacy you will find nowhere else.”

They had used the turtle’s shell as a pot, filling it with ingredients and baking it. The eggs inside were wrapped in water plants and cooked over reduced heat to soft-boiled perfection. Brushed with the family’s secret soy sauce, the taste was the pinnacle of sweet and savory.

“This is truly delicious. The meat is wonderful, but these eggs are just…”

Given the era, Eugene enjoyed the turtle dish without a trace of conscience. Without large-scale fishing nets or ocean pollution, this species was unlikely to be endangered.

Gulp. Gulp.

Homi, seated beside him, swallowed the eggs like a python raiding a bird’s nest.

The final place they visited even served whale. They had originally intended to prepare something else, but an event occurred around the time of Eugene’s arrival.

-My Lord Duke. At this time of year, young baleen whales come through. The fishermen have spotted where they’re congregating nearby. If you grant permission, we will hunt one and present it to your table.

-Permission granted, of course!

Every aristocrat was an absolute authority within their own domain. But even aristocrats faced restrictions on certain animals.

For an island nation like Britainia, that animal was the whale. Royal permission was required for the hunt, and since the half-fey family had vanished, the great lords exercised the right in their stead.

‘Wait—if I become king, do I have to negotiate all five of these families over these rights as well?’

Even the smallest matters would require enormous attention. Neglect them and the king’s prestige diminished; claim them and backlash arose.

At the conclusion of each meal, Eugene attended to the duties expected of a Grand Duke.

“Caellan, son of Raynard.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The family’s eldest son knelt before Eugene. The face of a warrior forged by harsh training was frozen with tension.

“I, Guardian of Britainia, heir to the blood of the First Era and the strength of the Second Era, Eugene of House Meyer, do decree.”

The silver blade of the Autumn’s Last Sword tapped Caellan’s left shoulder.

“Be a beacon for the weak.

As your ancestors were before you.

Harbor the courage to right wrongs,

And stand against the evil that threatens the kingdom.”

Then a tap on the right shoulder.

“Rise, and receive the dignity of knighthood. Arise, Sir Knight of Britainia.”

A knight could invest a new knight—as Eugene’s master, Godfrey, had done before him.

And the ceremony occurred only once in a lifetime. Everyone wished to be chosen by a great knight, but it was not easily achieved.

“My son… my dear Caellan…”

“My lady. Here is a handkerchief.”

Watching from the side, the lord’s wife wept with emotion.

Eugene presented a sword to the eldest son, Caellan. Forged in the Wandering Star smithy, it bore the mark of the First Era elven royal house. A sword that only Eugene could bestow.

‘Given the circumstances, this won’t happen again in my lifetime.’

But today’s event would fuel a lifetime of loyalty from father and son alike. The youngest child, however, could not contain his curiosity.

“My Lord Duke. Why do people swear loyalty to their lord! Don’t you have one?”

He asked Eugene with still-imperfect pronunciation. Of all the lord’s children, he was the one most consumed by chivalric romance. He could recite by heart the oaths of famous Britainian knights and the varying formulas from each region.

“Rude brat!”

“How dare you be discourteous to His Excellency!”

Eugene gestured that it was fine to his flustered siblings and wife, then lowered himself to the boy’s eye level.

“As you live, there will be more than one oath you must make. The number of things you’re told to do and not to do is simply staggering.”

Eugene shrugged.

“Increasing the number of oaths turns my knights into liars. Loyalty to one’s lord? Those who will keep it will do so even with a blade at their throat, and those who would break it will do so at the slightest hunger.”

“Then what about my father?”

Eugene and the youngest both turned to look at the sea knight simultaneously.

“He’s one of the few who keeps every oath—that’s why I’m here as his guest.”

“…”

The lord who saved face for him before his family. The sea knight’s face flushed with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

“Hee hee. I can do it too. I’ll make more oaths than my brother when I grow up.”

“No. You can’t.”

“I can!”

“No, you really can’t.”

“Grrrr…”

“A prospective knight who cries?”

“Mph!”

Eugene lifted the youngest and set him on Homi’s lap.

“Kyahahaha!”

Homi curled her tail to make a seatbelt, and the boy was overjoyed beyond measure.

*

Eugene returned to Haven and began preparations for the Midgard subjugation.

The first was persuading his wife.

“Midgard?”

“This victory was merely a temporary measure. If we don’t burn out every last hornet’s nest, the larvae will pupate and take flight again.”

One might call him a henpecked husband, but this was a matter of paramount importance.

“What you intend is no simple war.”

“I will carry out construction that will guarantee Britainia’s safety for centuries to come.”

“Construction…”

Valda smiled sadly. She could imagine how much death and sorrow would flow from that fearsome word.

“They are raiders who live by killing. Not just Britainians—countless settled peoples have suffered. But what I intend goes beyond revenge or proportionality.”

To be able to grind an entire people to dust made it hard to dismiss this as simply punishing the wicked. It might not be a crime, but it could not be called anything other than karma. And the karma he would bear was devastatingly heavy.

“What are we married for?”

But Valda clasped Eugene’s hands without hesitation.

“I too will share in your hatred and your karma.”

“You will need to accompany me on this expedition. I expect you’ll see many ugly sights.”

Valda knelt before Eugene and kissed the back of his hand.

“As your wife, but before that as your subject and mage, I will join the battle.”

Her golden-gleaming eyes held an emotion he had not seen in a long while. Love had yielded its place to comradeship.

“If need be, I will use my magic to raise grass from the enemies’ corpses to feed your warhorses.”

“The logistics would be a headache, but I don’t wish to sully your honor. Your sentiment alone is enough.”

Eugene cupped his hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet.

“…”

“…”

The young couple gazed at each other for a moment, then surrendered to the sudden surge of violent emotion.

Like savages, they tore off each other’s clothes and exchanged ravenous kisses, exploring each other. Valda wrapped both arms around her husband’s neck, both legs around his waist, and hung on.

Craaash.

Her hip knocked a tea set off the finest table.

Twitch twitch.

The Dark Elf maids waiting outside the door perked up their ears. Their keen senses and practiced experience instantly caught what was happening inside.

-He’s not injured.

-If they were a fairy couple, they’d never run out of food.

This was not the first time, so they positioned themselves at a suitable distance from the door.

*

The second thing he did was proclaim the Midgard expedition across all of Britainia.

The peasant uprisings across the land were on the verge of large-scale bloodshed. The lords, having finally regrouped after the chaos of civil war, had recovered enough strength to fight.

The peasants, in turn, allied with deserters, bandits, unpaid mercenaries, and were joined by fallen nobles and robber knights, forming a ragtag army.

If it came to blows, the lords would win—but the resulting chaos would torment Britainia for years more.

“Poor peasants. I share your fury at a reality that piles more suffering upon your wounds.”

Countless heralds rode across Britainia bearing Eugene’s proclamation.

“Honorable lords of Britainia, I implore you to stay your sharpened blades.”

If Eugene had simply told them to stop fighting, both sides would have cursed him. But there was a perfect target to shift the blame to.

“Consider the two parties responsible for this crisis. One has already been punished and has atoned, becoming our neighbor once more. The other has not.”

The Vikings.

“They live in luxury across the sea in Midgard. They feast on the wealth they stole from us, and put the people they abducted to forced labor and nightly servitude. All righteous souls—come to Haven. The time has come to reclaim your property and your families from the savages.”

Eugene’s declaration sent massive shockwaves through the land.

An external enemy was always an effective tool for uniting a nation, and between Britainia and the Vikings, the effect was supreme.

The rebel peasant armies didn’t want to fight the formidable lordly armies, and every last one of them had lost family or friends to Viking raids.

The lords, for their part, didn’t want to slaughter their own serfs. Moreover, preparing military forces for war had already driven them into deeper debt.

-I’ll join Lord Meyer. Slaying serfs won’t do anything but increase the debt we owe mercenaries.

-If we recover even ten percent of what those damn Vikings plundered, we’ll all be rich.

-Those bastards must have thought the sea and mountains would protect them forever.

The lords sheathed the swords they had been brandishing and headed south.

Eugene repeatedly emphasized that this was a subjugation of hostile territory, making supply lines difficult. Accordingly, the lords assembled their forces with a focus on knights and elite infantry.

Eugene welcomed them and issued a second proclamation.

“This is an expedition to bring prosperity to Britainia and restore justice. Respect the lords who have left their seats to perform this sacred duty. Should anyone target their absent homes, I swear upon my honor to deliver the judgment of fire.”

This was meant for the peasant rebels and rival families to hear. Making this clear would ease the lords’ concerns about their estates and encourage them to join the expedition.

“May God’s blessing be with Your Excellency.”

Eugene summoned priests from every religious order to Haven.

“Please look after the common folk in our absence. This is a task only the ordained can perform.”

“We will devote ourselves wholeheartedly to the duty you have entrusted. Please—strip the savages of their faith from this world.”

The priests made the sign of the holy cross and paid Eugene their respects.

Though the custom was to respect each other’s beliefs, exceptions existed. Midgard’s religion was infamous for its barbaric practice of promoting plunder and burial sacrifice.

The religious orders had no reason not to support the Midgard expedition. They had to prevent the shedding of innocent blood between peasants and lords. Furthermore, it was a perfect opportunity to pre-empt the calamity to come.

*

The third was the preparation of horses.

A horse’s lifespan was fairly long, but warhorses were used hard on the battlefield, so their active years were short—a few years at minimum, ten at most before retirement.

They therefore needed periodic replacement. Eugene was eyeing a breed raised in northern Britainia.

His plan was to reduce the share of the Meyer clan’s primary warhorse—the fairy race’s coursers—and replace them with this new breed.

“That one’s really ugly.”

“He looks like a pony, but his lower body is superb. He seems sturdier than most chargers?”

The Dark Elves stroked the new additions.

They were inferior to fairy coursers in strength, speed, size, and appearance, with comparable stamina. Yet the Dark Elves regarded them with full favor for one reason alone.

Their feed efficiency was outstanding. They could eat any grass without drying it first, suffering no stomach trouble, and their caloric needs were proportionate to their size.

“Deep in the great steppes of the northeast, there are nomadic tribes who breed these as their primary mounts. They can be deployed in large numbers even in barren lands.”

Everyone had suffered through the horse-fodder crisis during the Britainian civil war, so these were welcome friends with open arms.

“They’re gentle-tempered too. Good for training the children.”

“The appearance is the problem. Riding one of these, the Vikings are sure to laugh at us.”

“Let them laugh. Let’s see if they’re still laughing with an arrow in that ugly face.”

At Eugene’s words, everyone’s lips curled upward. They all looked eager to hurry to Midgard and ravage the mainland.

A warrior kissed the horse’s cheek and whispered with affection:

“Our ugly little one. Let’s only walk flowered paths from here on.”

Fwooof.

The small horse whinnied happily, not displeased by the fairy’s touch.

*

The final thing he did was issue a declaration of war.

It was rare for a settled civilization’s sovereign to send such a thing to a barbarian tribe that lived by plunder. Surprise attacks were the default. Many took notice, and the content was simple yet powerful.

The wars of this era were fought over inheritance rights, mines, and various privileges. The demands—”we want this and that, hand them over”—were always included.

But Eugene’s declaration demanded nothing.

“To Midgard, which worships murder and plunder: We rise to avenge every Britainian who died at your hands. You will pay for what you have done.”

It was a terrifying pronouncement that simply stated, in brief, what he intended to do.