Chapter 318: Crusader (3)

Every people had words they used frequently, words they were particularly attached to—and for Vikings, that word was Raid.

“In the next raid, I’ll fill this sack with spoils. Then I’ll propose to Erin with pride.”

Even a boy entering his late teens discussed raids with burning desire. His younger brothers were the same. Their father and uncles watched with pride.

“I’ll share one tip. When you search a house, pay attention to the feel underfoot.”

“Why there?”

“Britainians always build cellars. When they realize it’s too late to run after we strike, they hide down there. Walking over one, you can feel the difference.”

The grinning warrior mimed opening a floor hatch.

“When you do, their terrified faces all look up at the same time—ha! You have to see that to become a real man.”

The warrior brought his hand-axe down in a flash.

“The key thing is to split the face of the one at the very edge. Most likely it’s the head of household protecting his family. Then the rest of the family pours out. If you drag them out roughly and someone gets hurt, their market value drops, you know?”

The boys listened to such stories with wide, shining eyes. The climax was the part about torturing and killing the priests.

The blood eagle was both a cruel punishment and a test bestowed upon warriors. If endured in silence, even a sinner received the Sovereign’s forgiveness and ascended to Valhalla. That was why it was never performed on polytheistic priests.

Instead, the Vikings used the priests as targets for a dart game. Knives collected from raided settlements were used, and the key was to avoid vital organs.

Thwack!

-Gahh!

Thwack!

-Grrr!

Thwack!

-…

If the priest died or couldn’t scream, the last thrower lost.

-Winner!

-Ah, shit! Why did he have to die on my turn?!

-Your aim sucks! Ha ha ha ha!

It was a kind of sand castle game. The winner had to buy drinks for his companions.

-God.

Thwack!

-Have mercy on me.

Thwack!

-Save the souls of these ignorant—

Thwack!

Occasionally, there were great priests who died while praying for the very men torturing them.

While the Vikings shared raid experiences in their respective villages, Eugene shared the experience through his book in front of the Moving Castle.

“Isn’t this all content you already know?”

Cassandra asked.

“Of course. I’ve read it over and over again.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Self-anesthesia.”

Cassandra looked puzzled. Eugene closed the book and strapped it to Might’s saddle.

“Before I go destroy a people, I need to keep reminding myself of just how terrible they are so I can feel at peace.”

“Slaughtering those beastly bandits is a given!—that kind of meaninglessness wouldn’t apply to you.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

Eugene lightly gripped Cassandra’s shoulder.

‘Truly unknowable, this one.’

On the battlefield, his appearance was more terrifying than the incarnation of death itself. Yet sometimes he was so compassionate you’d wonder why he bothered with such details.

“Thank you for guiding us to the land of the wicked.”

“Your Excellency. I will repay the grievances passed down through generations today.”

Knights passing Eugene greeted him.

“I trust your abilities, but do not be careless. Vikings are still Vikings. Heavily armored knights might manage, but ordinary soldiers will struggle to even protect their own lives.”

Vikings were inherently strong. They stood five to ten centimeters taller than Britainians, and their fishing-heavy lifestyle meant high protein intake. Combat was their life, and following the Sovereign faith, they fought without fearing death.

“Palms must clap to make sound. Against raiders who strike and vanish to the sea, there was little knights could do. But this time is different.”

“My companions and I will charge and crush them.”

The side whose homeland was always under attack was always at disadvantage. A situation would unfold where they had no choice but to face the knights in open battle. Behind the knights marched Britainia’s specialty—longbow archers.

Moreover, Eugene had recruited people with even greater effort than the nobles.

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

“And may God’s blessing be with you.”

They were armed priests and holy knights.

Eugene had requested cooperation from every religious order in Britainia. Punishment for nearly three hundred years of raids, rape, and slaughter was an excellent cause.

“Thank you again for participating. The rescued priests and saints’ relics will return to each order without a single copper coin’s payment. I swear upon my honor.”

“A sacred crusade is the finest pilgrimage of all.”

The clergymen bowed their heads to Eugene in gratitude. Cassandra pricked up her ears with curiosity.

“Rescuing priests is one thing, but saints’ relics?”

“Vikings didn’t only abduct the living. In the early days, they only captured those who seemed useful as slaves since they didn’t understand Britainian culture. But once they learned of the ransom factor, things changed.”

The Vikings raided villages, and the wealthiest place in any village was the monastery. And the various religious orders had a custom of interring saints at the monastery where they had begun their clerical life.

“One priest was worth more than ten slaves, and saints’ remains were worth more than raiding several villages. They figured that out.”

“Because of the Vikings, the orders couldn’t change the custom of interring relics, but they also couldn’t station armed forces in remote villages. A real headache.”

“Many orders also had to endure the Vikings demanding outrageous sums. The Vikings had nothing to lose. Relics don’t decompose—whether they waited ten or twenty years didn’t matter.”

“So that’s why. Even though their relationship with you is good, there was a reason the orders were so enthusiastic about joining.”

Cassandra crossed her arms with a sullen expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Valda would have known all these details in advance…”

She was a wife who shared his bed. Pillow talk—a relationship no vassal could match.

“Hm. I have two arms, don’t I?”

“What do you mean… Ah!”

“If I have two confidantes to consult before bed, I’ll be a wiser sovereign.”

At the suggestive whisper, Cassandra’s ears trembled and her shoulders hunched.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to find a compromise if a kind advisor and a cruel advisor alternately whispered in my ear?”

“Hmph! My advice will be much sweeter.”

Perhaps her competitive spirit and heart had both been eased? Cassandra looked relieved. She watched the mixed columns of nobles and priests marching.

“But nobles and priests are natural enemies. If they mix like that, won’t there be internal conflict?”

Cassandra’s concern was natural. Priests had devoted everything to their God and were figures that neither power nor force could deal with.

-Burkey’s back hurts so he can barely walk, and his wife’s milk has dried up so the baby is starving. My lord, please have mercy…

The wailing recitation of a nameless serf’s family circumstances was just the beginning.

-God is watching. You raised taxes last year—how can you raise them again this year?

-It was only a one percent increase! Don’t look at the frequency—look at the amount!

You couldn’t just chase them away because they were annoying. Otherwise, you’d gain a reputation as an infidel.

When epidemics or natural disasters devastated the estate, it was the priests who came to help. When the lord’s family fell ill, the healer they relied on, the troublesome legal and tax work—all came from the orders’ support.

Thus, for nobles, priests were benefactors they wanted to beat but couldn’t. A contradictory existence.

“This time, the two must be mixed together unconditionally. Whether from vengeance or battlefield madness, those who’ve lost their eyes could commit excessive slaughter.”

“When you start a war, tragedy is to be expected.”

“That’s true, but I don’t want to see babies thrown into wells. If clergymen accompany them, that kind of tragedy can be prevented.”

Armed priests and holy knights were the only army that maintained morality after battle. Inhumane acts carried out to the point of losing humanity would be restrained in God’s name.

“Besides, the nobles have no reason to refuse their company. The orders came here purely in pursuit of justice.”

“Warrior-priests of outstanding combat power who even yield the slaves and spoils. There would be no fool to refuse such company.”

As a token of gratitude, Eugene promised the participating orders exemption from tolls on the southern bridges.

‘Is this why she receives the Goddess’s love?’

Cassandra knew that Eugene’s piety was virtually nonexistent. Yet he had been chosen as Banas’s Champion, and had been gifted miracles including the Holy Smite.

At first, she attributed it to the combined effect of the Moving Castle lord’s mysterious power, the grace of salvation, and the authority of a Grand Duke.

But with time, she increasingly felt that the true reason lay in Eugene’s heart itself.

“Hm? What is it?”

Eugene laughed at the sight of Cassandra suddenly making the sign of the holy cross.

“I think I had an irreverent thought. The Goddess would never bestow her grace so freely for the sake of one man’s well-being.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

No sovereign would personally tear into rat meat to let serfs live like humans, or fight nobles to carry out reforms. None anywhere.

*

The Moving Castle had descended in southwestern Midgard.

The north was ruled out—enormous mountain ranges towered there, and it was cold to boot. Sending armies to frozen wastes had never been considered since ancient times.

The east operated through inland routes and had little connection to maritime raiding. Sending troops there risked creating awkward relationships with the petty kingdoms along the borders.

But the west and south had suitable plains while bordering the sea, so nightmarish raiders thrived and operated there.

“Hold the banners high!”

The Britainian coalition army spread out in all directions, and Eugene saw them off.

“I will dedicate the victory in the coming battle to Your Excellency.”

“Long live Duke Meyer!”

Every knight who passed greeted him with full respect. Eugene waved with a smile and muttered:

“Look at these damn fools.”

“My lord.”

Cassandra hastily pulled out a handkerchief and pretended to wipe Eugene’s mouth, blocking it. Without any sign of embarrassment, she smiled and covered her lips—an excellent response.

“It’s fine. I said it quietly.”

Eugene lowered Cassandra’s hand.

“I repeatedly told them to keep their units lean for easy supply, but these fools…”

From knights to squires and men-at-arms, they all rode armored chargers in magnificent procession.

“Sir Hind.”

Eugene sighed and held his forehead.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Bring out more wagons and form additional supply units. Hay and oats at a seven-to-three ratio.”

“With the Rock Steeds replacing them, quite a few horses have been retired. We can use them as draft animals for rapid supply. Please don’t stress too much.”

“I’ll also entrust the escort assignment to you.”

After taking his leave, Hind departed, and Cassandra consoled him.

“At least with this many heavy cavalry, it’s reassuring. We won’t have to go anywhere and ask for help after getting beaten up.”

“If they hadn’t shown up, I would have chewed them out.”

Vikings were an infantry-focused army through and through. Their throwing weapons were meager, and they didn’t use pikes. Heavy cavalry charges were a surefire means to suppress them.

“Shall we get going too?”

“I’ve been waiting for those words!”

When Eugene mounted Might, the tribal warriors cheered.

As the expedition’s supreme commander, Eugene had the first right to choose attack routes and spoils. The target he selected was a small city ruled by a great chief named Knut.

*

In Knut’s hall, a merry feast was underway.

“Yarl Knut! Since King Bieren is dead, someone must take the title of king.”

“Hold on! His body hasn’t even been found—what are you—”

“If there’s still no news, it’s one of two things. He was captured and killed by the southern king, or he incurred the Sovereign’s wrath.”

It was widely believed that King Bieren had died at sea, whether by sword or storm.

Knut was a wealthy man who had lived in King Bieren’s shadow, unable to wield his power. But now no one could stop him from becoming king.

“Everyone, fill your cups! The day we call him Yarl is not far off!”

“Ha ha ha!”

“Wah ha ha!”

Just as Knut was basking in the atmosphere his supporters had created—

“My lord! My lord! It’s a raid!”

A warrior burst in from outside with his report, and the hall erupted.

“Who dares—”

“Yarl Knut! I will lead the vanguard to repel them!”

Among the furious lords, some boldly raised their axes.

Knut’s small city was a well-positioned port. High-quality timber, stone, and abundant slave labor could be obtained. While other lords remained trapped in sprawling village settlements, he had systematically constructed buildings and city walls.

A swift warrior could clear the height with a single chair, but even so, it was something. Every Viking lord who visited envied his walls.

Therefore, those who attacked Knut rarely targeted the small city directly—they mostly raided passing merchants and travelers.

The lord who now raised his axe had stood up with the resolve to repel such bandits.

“How many enemies?”

“I—I don’t know. They fill the hills and are heading this way. Just the mounted ones number over a thousand.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

Naturally, no one believed the tense warrior’s report. Even the wealthiest lord in the region, Knut, had only twenty cavalry—and those were light cavalry.

“Are you drunk, boy? Huh?!”

“No! No!”

“How dare you—”

“Please, go look from the city walls! If I’m lying, you can take my head!”

“…”

When the lords ran up to the city walls, they were struck speechless by the enemy’s force.

Thud thud thud.

Thrum thrum thrum.

The invading army did not shout wildly or beat their shields and weapons like Vikings. They simply advanced in perfect order.

“God save us.”

“Sovereign, what is this army?”

The soldiers advancing in precise formation were each armed as well as or better than the Viking lords themselves.

They had never seen so much iron armor in their dreams. The glare from the reflected sunlight was blinding.

One knight approached carrying the Meyer family banner.

“Open the gates and surrender! Then not everyone will die.”

The Vikings answered with arrows. But their bowmaking skills were poor, and the arrows fell well short of what the knight considered safe distance.

“In the name of the great Lord Meyer, I declare: you will watch this city burn today!”

At the knight’s cry, the assembled army roared. The Vikings aimed trembling arrows from their watchtowers.

Their positions had reversed. But there were many differences from the past, and if one had to choose the most decisive—

“Catapults?”

This invading army was not a raiding party—it was a real army.

“Load fire pots!”

“Let us deliver the judgment of fire upon those savages!”

When blazing pots were loaded onto the lined-up catapults, all Viking eyes converged on one point.

“Uh…”

This was the lord who had boldly sworn to go out and fight. If hit by fire pots, a small city like this would become an inferno in an instant. Someone had to go out and destroy those catapults.

Gulp.

But the lord in question couldn’t bring himself to do it. Before him waited pikes numbering perhaps thirty times his forces, bristling in dense formation.

*

“You call that a fortress?”

“Don’t be too hard on them. By their standards, that’s practically a palace.”

Eugene’s comment left the Dwarven engineering corps speechless.

-Counterweight trebuchets—we don’t need to bring those. They’re hard to haul and take forever to assemble.

-But, Your Excellency.

-Trust me. Small catapults are sufficient.

The Dwarves felt they had lost out by worrying for nothing. That negative energy was loaded into fire pots and sent flying toward Knut’s small city.

Viking wooden houses were extremely vulnerable to incendiary projectiles. Even a large house was engulfed in fierce flames from a single hit.

“More! Viking resistance is nothing!”

They brazenly dragged the catapults right up to the city walls and fired, so not a single shot missed.

“Don’t burn the watchtowers. Leave them standing.”

“But Your Excellency. Wouldn’t it be better to eliminate their ability to counterattack?”

“Would you seal off a fishing ground that keeps producing fish?”

“???”

While Eugene conferred with the engineering chief, the Vikings aimed their bows from the watchtowers.

“Are you just going to watch our homes burn?!”

“The invaders are making fools of us! Look—they brought catapults right to the walls!”

When dozens of archers fired at the catapults, terrible retaliation came.

“The hills! Look at the hills!”

“…Shit.”

The hills were packed with Dark Elf archers aiming their longbows. Seconds later, a dark rain of arrows poured from the sky.

Whoooosh!

Archers who had become hedgehogs toppled, and the watchtowers were likewise blanketed in arrows.

“Uwaaah! Uwaaah!”

Crack! Crack!

The cowering Vikings screamed, but the arrows did not stop. Such a dense storm of arrows was even beginning to shatter parts of the watchtowers.

Even so, the catapults continued to rain fire pots, setting the small city ablaze.

“Get up there!”

“But, my lord—”

“I said get up there!”

Knives at their backs, trembling warriors were shoved onto the watchtowers by Knut and his bodyguards.

Thwaaack!

And once again, coordinated fire rained upon them.

“Kraaah!”

“Ghk!”

The watchtowers were broken in places, and so many arrows fell that the warriors died without loosing a single shot. Cover was meaningless.

“Kyaaah!”

“My lord! The city! Our city!”

Fire pots continued to arc over their heads. Nearly thirty percent of the city was already an inferno, and the flames leapt to neighboring houses.

“Get up on the watchtowers and fire the catapults!”

“My lord, please spare us!”

With bloodshot eyes and knives drawn, Knut faced the young Vikings pleading for mercy. Their heads dropped without ceremony.

“If you don’t want to die, get up there!”

“Hiek!”

The warriors climbed onto the ragged watchtowers, trembling. Ten seconds later, they too were all corpses.

After that, the attack paused briefly.

While they hurried to put out the spreading fire, a single knight approached from the invading army.

The Vikings, not daring to climb the watchtowers, peered over the city walls with ladders propped against them.

“I am the Southern King!”

A warrior who recognized Eugene and Might screamed.

A towering knight on a massive warhorse, holding an iron shield larger than himself. The overwhelming presence made it impossible to believe he was the same species.

“How do you do?!”

Eugene waved as he galloped toward them, and the Vikings could only watch. With ladders propped against the walls, they couldn’t fire or throw anything.

Despite being alone, Eugene’s charge shook the earth. He hooked two grappling hooks onto the city gates.

“W-Wait! Surely not—”

As Eugene turned away, a thick rope rose horizontally.

The city gates that dozens of Vikings couldn’t budge even with logs stood no chance against a World Charger’s strength.

Riiiip!

The gates were torn away and sent tumbling. The Vikings’ faces went white.