Chapter 319: Crusader (4)

“Hold them! Do not let them through at all costs! With the resolve to die, one man can hold off ten!”

When the gates were destroyed, the bravest and most exceptional Vikings blocked the entrance.

“Shield wall!”

Spears jutted from behind the flawless shield wall. Though famous as axe-men, the weapon Vikings favored most was actually the spear.

It required the least iron, and if it broke, there was no need to visit the smithy—just replace the shaft. Moreover, their emphasis on group combat based on shield walls made spears even more useful.

Axes were reserved for one-on-one duels, breaking enemy morale before individual combat, pursuit and plundering situations where obstacles needed smashing and resistors slaughtered. They were also useful for driving stakes in fortified camp construction.

“Your Excellency! Give the order to charge! We’ll show them what true spearwork looks like!”

“Viking shield walls are more than worthy opponents. I’m curious how long they’ll hold before our hammers!”

Hermann’s Lantzheim Warband and Rampage’s Hammer Brothers both volunteered to attack.

“There will be no charge.”

Eugene rejected both and ordered the firing to continue.

“There are plenty of other places to smash besides here. With so many flammable buildings, why spill blood?”

Fire pots continued to streak across the sky. Flames rising above the walls indicated the fire had spread considerably.

Though the gates had been breached, the enemy didn’t come—the Vikings were confused. Overhead flew only the sound of fire pots and collapsing buildings, along with people’s screams.

“The only things worth money in there would be gold and silver. They’d risk their lives to grab those and bolt, wouldn’t they?”

“Your Excellency. Forgive the presumption, but what if they take the gold and silver and flee to the sea?”

Rampage pointed to where longships were departing the docks. Those who packed themselves to capacity wore everything valuable on their bodies, just like the Blackhand tribe before Eugene encountered them.

“Oh, what a waste.”

The tribal warriors stamped their feet. Eugene’s forces knew nothing of naval warfare, and as a port city, a perfect encirclement was impossible.

“Shouldn’t we attack before they smuggle more out? At this rate, only a shell of the city will remain.”

“That’s acceptable too.”

“Huh?”

Eugene’s subordinates couldn’t understand why he was pleased at the prospect of spoils escaping.

“Where would they go by ship? They’ve packed to the brim just before sinking—they can’t leave the coast. Food and water will run out immediately.”

“No country would welcome Vikings, right?”

“With luck, they’ll land at a nearby port village. With bad luck, they’ll march overland to the nearest settlement.”

Eugene raised his hand to halt the fire pot barrage.

“Vikings are a thoroughly clan-based society, and their culture makes it hard for neighbors to get along. If refugees appeared who had lost their power base with nothing but their bodies and precious metals—what do you think would happen?”

“They might welcome them with open arms, or greed could drive them to take up arms, or they could smile kindly and charge exorbitant prices for shelter and food… There are many possibilities.”

Rex counted on his fingers. Having lived as nomads for generations, he expected negative outcomes.

In reality, Vikings were even more warlike than nomads and always caused discord and incidents in such situations.

“If they fight each other, great. If not, it doesn’t matter. Food will dwindle rapidly, and the overcrowding will wreck the villages too.”

“They might rally the warriors who joined us and grow strong enough to intercept.”

“Let them. Most will be cut down by arrows while charging, and the rest will be trampled under hooves.”

Eugene stroked Might’s neck and smiled.

“Vikings are certainly strong. They are a calamity in guerrilla warfare. But when invaded by a real army, they’re surprisingly helpless.”

During their conversation, the shield wall guarding the entrance was riddled with holes.

“My mother grabbed the heirloom and got burned!”

“Brother! The ship is full—they won’t take us! Please, say something! You’re a Huskarl of Hraven!”

The village was becoming a hellscape of fire, families wept and pleaded behind them—how could the warriors’ hearts not waver?

“Where are you going, leaving the enemy behind?!”

“It’s over here! Take care of your own family!”

Warriors guarding the entrance began to desert.

“Oh, my house!”

Those who witnessed their own homes burning lost all desire to remain.

Now they would need to settle in another village as foreigners. To do that, they needed to preserve their wealth and health intact. Every lord wanted as many warriors as possible.

“Yarl Sven. The refugees are targeting your ship too. Our warriors are holding them off, but not for long.”

“Damn it! Retreat!”

A lord who had come as a guest but stayed out of loyalty also hurried away. The docks were already in chaos, with people fighting over the few remaining ships.

“How dare you reach for this? This ship belongs to Sven—”

“Shut up! Move aside or I’ll kill you first!”

No matter how tightly they packed, the ships were woefully insufficient for all residents.

“Ghk!”

Inevitably, accidental swordplay broke out among the warriors who had been shoving each other.

“Edin!”

“Damn it! Kill them! Kill them all!”

Warriors whose eyes went berserk at the sight of their fallen friend. Warriors who figured they’d already crossed the line. A bloody battle erupted between the two groups.

“Your Excellency. They’re suddenly fighting each other.”

“It gets hot, tempers flare.”

Watching fires and watching fights—the two most entertaining things in life, observed simultaneously. It was a rare opportunity.

*

The fire pot attack had stopped, but the fires continued to spread. With the residents fleeing to fight them, the village was being steadily destroyed.

After the last ship departed, the warriors loyal to Knut gathered before the city gates. Other jarls might flee, but Knut could not.

Once a lord, one could never return to being a mere warrior. He had chosen to sink with his domain. The warriors who had devoted everything to this port city were the same.

-Stop! Stop! With no ships left, what’s the point of fighting among ourselves?

-Knut is right!

-While we lose everything and kill each other, those bastards are just watching from outside!

Knut’s appeal united the remaining warriors. The desire to protect families who had missed the ships also played a major role.

“The Sovereign prepares a feast for us.”

“Warriors, toward the golden gate!”

Vikings clashed their weapons against their shields and roared.

“Shield wall!”

Hundreds of warriors gathered. Even though more had escaped by ship, this many remained thanks to the ethnic character of a people where a significant portion of freemen functioned as warriors.

“Charge!”

“Uwaaaaah!”

Even charging hundreds at once, the shield wall remained solid. A testament to how exceptional these warriors were.

But their opponent was unfavorable.

“Pikemaaaan!”

The Lantzheim pikemen led by Hermann blocked their path. They shouted in a mix of common tongue and regional dialect.

“We eat all of you!”

“Pudrete Vikings!”

Densely packed pikes and round shields collided.

If they had been ordinary spears, the Vikings could have pushed through with brute force. But from the first rank to the fifth, all worked in unison. With two to four spear shafts bracing each shield, the Vikings were actually pushed back in strength.

“Britainian coward bastards!”

“Are you scared to fight us up close? Huh? Scared?”

The pikemen responded immediately to the Viking taunts.

“We’re from Lantzheim! You worm-like trash!”

“You’ve never even experienced a pike push—what are you talking about? Hiding behind shields—you have no idea what real courage is!”

A pike push referred to the horrific spectacle of two pike units facing each other, each advancing until one was annihilated.

Whether they won or lost, massive casualties and serious injuries resulted, and so much blood flowed that the ground turned to mud. It was not a fight that could be survived by sheer grit.

Thrum thrum thrum!

Meanwhile, Eugene’s horse archers flanked from both sides.

“Break the spear shafts! We’ll be encircled at this rate!”

Sensing the danger, Knut ordered his warriors to cut the pikes with axes and advance. But the pikemen had been waiting for that moment.

“Stab!”

The instant gaps appeared in the shield wall, spearheads thrust through.

“Gah!”

“Aagh!”

Wrists and arms reaching out to sever shafts were drenched in blood, dropping their axes.

“Rotate!”

The warriors who had attempted to attack stepped back, and the pikemen swapped ranks in sections.

They raised bloodied spearheads to eye level. Facing a blood-soaked spearhead crushed enemy morale further—a terror tactic honed through long experience.

“Attack! We’ll be hunted like dogs if we stay like this!”

But Vikings were Vikings after all. Undaunted, they endured casualties and charged in with brute force.

“Gah!”

“Ghk!”

Warriors pierced by pikes fell here and there, but even more spear shafts shattered, and the distance between the lines shrank.

“Ranks one and two, retreat!”

Pikemen in the front ranks dropped their broken shafts and pulled back. When the third rank became the frontline, two ranks waiting in reserve joined them and leveled their pikes.

“Damn it!”

“You sons of bitches!”

Despite dozens of casualties, when the distance was restored to its original position, the Vikings cursed in frustration.

“Watch your ankles!”

Some pikemen crouched and thrust at the lower sections the shields couldn’t cover. Vikings collapsed screaming.

“Knut! Give us orders!”

“How the hell do we fight these guys?!”

Midgard was cut off from Roman’s northern petty kingdoms. The Lantzheim had fought every kind of shield wall, but the Vikings had no experience against specialized pike units.

And unfortunately, Knut had no more time to think.

Thrum thrum thrum!

The horse archers had arrived on both flanks. Arrows poured from the sides and rear, and warriors clutching thighs and buttocks collapsed.

“We—we need to protect the rear—”

As shields fell back, gaps appeared across the front.

“Charge!”

At Hermann’s command, the pikemen pushed forward. The Viking line crumbled rapidly with casualties mounting. The spearheads were lethal, but the shafts splitting warriors apart and spreading the formation were also devastating.

“You cowards! Just watching from there and calling yourselves warriors?! Come fight me man to man!”

Amid his crumbling forces, Knut shouted. He singled out Eugene directly.

“How dare you, lowly—”

“Stop. If it’s a challenge, I should accept.”

Eugene dismissed his bodyguards and rode Might forward. Giving his subordinates a chance to build experience and merit was good, but staying too far back was also problematic.

With each passing year, new recruits filled the ranks. The young warriors had never seen what Eugene truly was on the battlefield. This kind of duel was a good opportunity to earn their complete loyalty and obedience.

When Eugene approached wielding Blackout, the Vikings’ expressions changed.

‘That monster.’

‘No wonder even Berserkers came back to their senses when he swung that thing.’

Berserkers were a fusion of Midgard’s alchemy and shamanism—ultimate weapons who charged a hundred enemies without stopping until their last breath.

Dying in a Berserker state guaranteed entry to Valhalla. That was why criminals clearing their sentences or aging warriors seeking honorable deaths frequently volunteered.

But the sight of the enormous axe radiating a sinister aura made the blessing of frenzy understandable.

And just as Eugene was about to dismount—

“Now!”

Knut hurled his axe in a surprise attack. From experience, his nearby subordinates threw their axes simultaneously.

“Watch out!”

Pikemen nearby tried to shield Eugene with their bodies, but no axe connected. He had deflected them all by holding Blackout like a shield.

“How dare you in a sacred duel!”

“Divine punishment will fall on you! Barbarians!”

The rain of condemnation didn’t faze Knut or his men.

“There’s no need for honor against invaders who burned our village!”

“Did you forget the screams of women and children? Take your curse, you bastards!”

Eugene’s subordinates wore expressions of disbelief.

“…Do you even have a conscience?”

The logic itself wasn’t wrong, but hearing it from Vikings was beyond absurd.

“They’re not wrong. Family comes first.”

Eugene nodded and hurled Blackout.

The enormous axe flew like a giant boomerang, splitting Knut in two before embedding itself in the ground. The shrieking sound of it tearing through the air left nearby warriors pale-faced.

“And from now on, I plan to do things worse than burning the village. Quickly sweep up the remnants. The battle must end before nightfall.”

Leaderless Vikings were hunted down like game, terrified of what Eugene’s “worse things” might be.

“They truly are Vikings.”

Even so, not a single one surrendered.

*

After the battle ended and some time passed, the fires in the small city subsided.

“We’re going in.”

“No need to worry about ambushes.”

The warriors had been annihilated, and the city was burned and collapsed in places. There was nowhere to hide along the main road. Stranded residents gathered at the docks, awaiting their fate.

Tap tap tap.

The pikemen parted left and right, and when Eugene stepped forward, the residents held their breath.

“Grani!”

“He’s riding Grani.”

Grani was the warhorse the great god Sovereign bestowed upon heroes.

True to their warrior heritage, even non-combatants did not simply surrender like sheep. Women and old men held weapons and farming tools, holding their ground.

There were more young men than expected, but all wore terrified expressions and trembled.

‘Hiding behind women and old men.’

Eugene’s subordinates stared at them with contempt.

“I am Eugene Mayer, Grand Duke of Southern Britainia! I have come to this land to condemn the countless invasions and rescue the abducted people!”

His booming voice carried to the sea’s edge. When joy spread across the faces of those hiding behind, Eugene’s subordinates finally understood. The men in the back were Britainians who had been dragged away as slaves.

“If you surrender now, your lives will be spared. If you don’t want to make orphans of your children, judge carefully.”

The survivors exchanged uncertain glances. There were more than a few women holding nursing infants. If the mother died, the baby died too.

While the survivors murmured among themselves, a supply wagon arrived. Inside were clean water and tender jerky. The beef, rare in this region, drew the sound of swallowing from all around.

“Among those who have surrendered to me, not a single one has starved.”

Was showing the real thing effective? Or was it worry for the children who would be left alone in this harsh world?

A middle-aged man who appeared to be the survivors’ representative stepped forward. He had once been a famous warrior whom even Knut respected, but after losing his leg, he had lived as a net-maker.

“Is your word true?”

“State your name first. I introduced myself, didn’t I?”

“Eric. I am Eric. Please forgive my rudeness.”

Having lived a second life, his temperament had changed—he was different from the other belligerent Vikings.

“You’ll really let us live?”

“You pose no threat whatsoever. If I intended to kill you all, I would have simply swept you aside—why would I attempt dialogue?”

“I saw Knut’s dishonorable act.”

Though Eric’s leg was gone, his eyesight and instincts remained sharp.

The sudden halt in battle, the two commanders approaching each other, the axes flying at Eugene—what it all meant was simple.

‘Knut, you son of a bitch!’

The survivors had taken up arms not only because of their ethnic character. The lord had provided the excuse for being slaughtered mercilessly.

“I have no intention of killing everyone over one leader’s transgression.”

“I apologize for my rudeness, but we need assurance. Give us your Word.”

The unfamiliar term made Eugene’s subordinates tilt their heads.

“His Excellency’s Word?”

Though the common tongue spread under the influence of the ancient kingdom, regional variations were significant. Local languages, customs, and dialects created diverse modifications.

Writing was even more extreme, and the Vikings clung to the runic script inherited since antiquity. A notation system for combining a few words—this added weight to language.

That was why Vikings did not use oath-like words. A ‘man’s word’ was itself a sacred promise.

“You have my word.”

Eugene knew this culture through his reading.

“Is it done now?”

Eric bit his lip and looked back and forth between his family and Eugene several times. This was a situation where there could be no misjudgment.

“You must keep your promise.”

“My word.”

For the first time, Eugene, who had been smiling kindly all along, showed a cold face.

Thud!

Eric dropped his weapons, sank to both knees, and slammed his forehead into the ground. Since it was stone rather than earth that jutted up, the sound was tremendous.

“Forgive my rudeness. I have no room for composure.”

Blood streamed from his forehead, torn to the point of exposing bone.

“Disarm them.”

“You all heard what the king said, didn’t you? Drop them quickly!”

“I’m not a king.”

“Uh—Your Excellency…?”

Eugene smiled again, and Eric corrected the title from memory. Eugene’s subordinates herded the prisoners outside the small city.

Some searched the village for spoils, and Hermann brought a large ingot of silver.

“Good eye, finding this in the ashes.”

“I apologize, Your Excellency. I wanted to offer something worthwhile, but the fire was fiercer than expected.”

The silver had melted into a flat platter-like shape. After examining it from various angles, Eugene tossed it to Hermann.

“No matter. I was going to melt it down and forge it into your weapons anyway.”

“That puts my mind at ease.”

Hermann and the Lantzheim warriors chuckled.

Though they had served under Eugene for some time, a slight awkwardness remained. But in this moment, they felt the distance between sovereign and subject completely dissolve.

*

“How can we ever repay this kindness…”

“May every blessing in this world be upon Your Excellency.”

The rescued Britainians wept and expressed their gratitude.

“…”

“…”

In contrast, the Viking survivors wore expressions of fear about what future awaited them.

-From now on, I plan to do things worse than burning the village.

And Eugene faithfully carried out his word.

“Fill every well.”

Viking corpses were loaded onto wagons and dumped into the small city’s wells.

Eugene had intended to have the prisoners do it, but the liberated Britainians volunteered eagerly. Their grudge must have run deep.

Splash!

The sound of splashing was brief. With hundreds of corpses, it was possible to fill the wells completely.

Even if the place were recovered someday, the wells in this area would be unusable forever. The groundwater would be contaminated too.

“Leave not a single building standing. Burn it all.”

Oil was poured on intact buildings and torches set to them.

“Uwaaah.”

At the sight of their homeland being destroyed without leaving a trace, the survivors wept. Shortly after, they were lined up before several carts of salt.

“Salt—this much…”

Even given the circumstances, the sight of heaped salt drew exclamations. Their faces said how wonderful it would be if only the situation were different.

And then the prisoners were horrified. Eugene had ordered the salt scattered across their farmland.

“Please, have mercy!”

“Our land will be useless from now on!”

The pleas fell on deaf ears. Pushed by the fierce Lantzheim warriors, the Vikings scattered salt on the fields they had cultivated for generations.

“Your Excellency…”

The sight of their lord—the opposite of his usual mercy and gentleness—troubled some of the softer-hearted subordinates and honorable knights. But Eugene didn’t flinch.

“There’s no need for sympathy. Over there, Svarson is making leashes for the captured people, and Harald’s wife is excitedly showing off a blood-stained golden cross. Her husband tortured a priest to death to steal it. How many burned villages do they think it takes to sustain one generation?”

The prosperous port city on the western coast was thus erased. It could never be restored even after the war ended.

“Hermann. I’ll leave the rest to you. I’d like to rest a bit.”

“Understood.”

Eugene let out a small sigh.

“Since becoming a knight, I’ve never had a day this exhausting.”