Chapter 320: Crusader (5)
Eugene led the prisoners to the Moving Castle. For subsequent battles, siege engines would not be needed, so he planned to reorganize the units around cavalry.
Moreover, since the invasion was in its early stages, all manner of news would be flying in. Intelligence passed from messenger to messenger accumulated noise. Seeing and hearing things firsthand was best.
“What happens to us?”
Eric, the temporary leader of the Viking prisoners, asked. Individual questions were not permitted—they could only speak to Eugene through Eric.
“It’s difficult to explain every detail. Roughly imagine the prisoner life you’re expecting. Food, drink, clothing, punishment, labor, and so on.”
The faces of nearby prisoners listening in turned to despair.
“Have you imagined enough?”
“Yes.”
“Probably everything will be better than you imagine. It couldn’t be worse than that, could it?”
The sharp-witted ones detected the barb hidden in the answer and composed their expressions. But the rest felt relieved. Especially the mothers with children.
When they arrived at the Moving Castle, the prisoners’ eyes grew as wide as they possibly could.
“Impossible!”
“There was nothing like this here before!”
The oldest among them reacted most strongly. Midgard, backward in both pioneering and architecture, experienced almost no change in natural environment. The sudden appearance of the Moving Castle gave them the shock of their known world collapsing.
“It looks bigger than Valhalla.”
“Shh. The Sovereign will hear you.”
“How disrespectful. You mustn’t say such things.”
“Mmph! Mmph!”
The words the child had let slip were quickly muffled by surrounding adults.
The shabby-dressed child held a picture book. An orphan who had worked at the manor, when the fire spread to the main building, he had seized the chance to steal the picture book he’d always coveted. There was no one left to punish theft.
“It’s true. Look.”
The child seemed to be either strong-willed or unable to endure injustice. He unfolded the illustration he had studied again and again.
On the left was a painting of a Valkyrie coming to collect a fallen warrior, and on the right was a palace rendered with remarkable effort for this era’s illustrations.
But to anyone’s eye, the Moving Castle’s scale and majesty were overwhelming. The final legacy of the ancient kingdom, which stonemasonry itself called divine.
“That’s drawn from imagination.”
“Is imagination inferior to the actual thing?”
“Are you talking back to your elders!”
People living everywhere were the same.
“It wasn’t built by people. The gods must have given it.”
“But why would the Sovereign abandon us…”
Even Roman’s nobles were merely awed by its structure. For the Vikings, who were in their infancy regarding fortification, the Moving Castle looked like a palace of the gods.
“You hicks. How laughable that you lot would crown a king. Do you know how grotesquely Knut died on the gallows? True royal authority is like this.”
“It’s even more impressive on the inside. Hot water flows year-round, and there’s a huge space where everything freezes.”
The Lantzheim warriors boasted proudly.
“It has everything.”
The eyes of the child holding the picture book shone brightly. The illustration currently open was the Prison of the Glacier, accessible only to non-believers. He desperately wanted to see this castle’s frozen vault.
*
“Welcome back, my lord.”
In the large tent before the Moving Castle, priestesses of Banas welcomed Eugene.
“You’ve had it harder than I have. They’ve been utterly wrecked.”
The priestesses were treating prisoners who had been beaten black and blue. It appeared a unit had stopped by to drop off prisoners after devastating a village.
“There should be no threat to life.”
“Your compassion is admirable, but treating everyone brought in is impossible. The expeditionary forces scattered across the land will all be brimming with rage.”
“As priestesses serving the Goddess, it is our duty.”
The priestesses carefully tended to the prisoners caked in sweat, blood, and dust.
“…The fairy maidens I knew weren’t this type.”
The Dark Elf maidens of the Blackhand tribe combined elven arrogance with nomadic belligerence.
Their tendency to view humans as inferior species had largely vanished with their long association with Eugene, but their pride rivaled even the nobility’s.
-Is this the one? The commander who targeted our supply unit.
-Yes. He wouldn’t stop cursing, so we gagged him. Since he’s a noble, we couldn’t strip his skin.
-Ransom is important. Couldn’t you at least spit in his face? That much would be fine.
-I cannot issue such a reward.
-Wow.
These maidens genuinely believed their own filth was more precious than humans. They were not the type to perform such acts of kindness.
“I met the Goddess and received a new life.”
Smooch.
The Dark Elf priestess kissed Banas’s necklace.
“The prisoners you brought are all intact. Truly befitting your role as her guardian knight.”
“Don’t flatter me. I need more scriptures. Prepare as many as you can.”
The priestess covered her mouth in surprise.
“You intend to convert them all?”
“Nothing so grand. I’m confining them in the Moving Castle, and thought these might help with control.”
“Oh! Ohh!”
“Calm down.”
‘Religion is something else. These maidens who were the priciest of the priciest…’
The priestess’s face was a mixture of devotion and ecstasy.
“They’re either non-warriors or warriors who’ve been away from battle for a long time. Their Sovereign faith should be weak, so the Goddess should be able to approach them easily.”
The priestess brought a single scripture. By the way, the scriptures of all religious orders went through 99% the same production process. They were books compiled from records made by prophets receiving divine revelation.
-Today is a momentous day. The lord’s devotion will be remembered by the faithful forever.
Naturally, the Banas Order’s scripture was authored by Eugene as the Goddess’s proxy. Only he could produce unlimited miracles of hearing her voice or receiving audiences in dreams.
But Eugene, who valued branding, made the scripture different from other orders’.
“Will one copy suffice?”
“Of course. Viking illiteracy is the world’s highest.”
“Your lordship’s far-sighted vision is always an inspiration to us.”
Considering the world of illiterates, the first scripture was produced in a picture-book style. Easy words, short sentences, and colorful illustrations made it understandable even to the uneducated.
It contained Banas’s history, her benevolence, her miracles, and things the faithful must observe. The Wind Cavalry’s usual duty was illustrating this single scripture.
In particular, the passage granting reprieve to those facing sudden death so they could exchange farewells—this was rendered across four pages with full-color double-page spreads.
The second volume was the main text. A gift for those who could read fully and burned with faith, it corresponded to the scriptures of other orders.
“Isn’t this excessive grace for barbarians?”
Some priestesses viewed the distribution of scriptures to prisoners negatively.
“The Sovereign is the opposite of our Goddess. Can those who worship battle, destruction, and death on the battlefield embrace tolerance? Even if they convert, they’ll revert to their old ways.”
“No. Once they convert, they can’t go back. Especially not if the other party is the Sovereign.”
Gods were merciless to those who abandoned them. Particularly so for divinities presiding over war and violence.
“The Vikings serve only the Sovereign. Planting a different faith in them would be far more devastating than scattering salt on their fields.”
Eugene opened the final page of the first scripture.
“She’s beautiful every time I see her.”
Depicted was Banas’s voluptuous figure rendered as a giant, the paradise behind her, and people fleeing toward it.
The dark clouds and storms pursuing them were blocked by the outstretched arms of the Goddess. A scene representing salvation, and also symbolizing protection from the god who would punish converts.
*
The prisoners were led into the Moving Castle. The moment they entered the great hall, the last vestiges of resistance crumbled. All the monsters Eugene had defeated across the world were taxidermied and displayed.
Trophies set up to impress nobles also served perfectly to intimidate prisoners.
“I’d like to take them to the bone museum too, given the chance.”
“I remember when I first joined this family. Now I understand why everyone was so eager to guide me around.”
The Lantzheim warriors escorting them chuckled. The world truly worked in mysterious ways.
Shortly after, the prisoners met the Moving Castle’s detention center director. This sturdy Dwarf had grown even more refined since his days commanding the Lantzheim Warband.
Dressed in a neat uniform with a Banas Order necklace around his neck. He wore no armor, not even a weapon, his body hair was bleached white, and his wrinkles were deep.
But not a single Viking prisoner dared look down on the director. Many among them were former warriors.
The reason was simple—the director’s neck and arms were thicker than their thighs.
“Duke Meyer and the Goddess of Mercy, Banas. These two are your new masters.”
The director pointed behind him. A large painting hung where everyone could see it.
It was the work Eugene had named ‘The Accolade’ and distributed. In paradise, a beautiful Goddess was tapping the shoulders of a kneeling Eugene with a sword. The sword was, of course, Last Autumn.
For Vikings who had only known crude idols and ugly paintings, it was a shockingly sophisticated work of art.
“I am Victor, the detention center director. I will be your temporary overseer. The Duke has guaranteed your lives, but that does not mean license is granted. Escape, destruction, rebellion, and similar acts will naturally be punished by death.”
The prisoners accepted this naturally. They themselves had swung axes over a prisoner’s single sneeze.
“There are many rules for life here, but I won’t explain them all now. You’ll learn quickly as you live. Just keep one most important thing in mind.”
Director Victor held up the first scripture.
“Do not damage the scripture. Desecrating sacred teachings will be punished without exception. A dog that bites the hand offering salvation must be boiled in water. Any questions?”
“I serve only the Sovereign alone! Though long retired, I have sworn my entire life to devote my death to him! No one can strip me of my right to reach Valhalla!”
An old man with two thick sword scars on his face shouted. His clenched right fist had only three fingers. But his muscles, still firmly wrapped around his withered frame, spoke of his former strength.
“Do as you please.”
Victor nodded mildly.
“Wh-What did you say?”
“If you’re interested, look. If not, keep your distance. We have no intention of forcing the Goddess’s teachings.”
“Ahem.”
Those who had worried about forced conversion let out sighs of relief from all around.
“However, you must not interfere with those who are interested. Any attempt to interfere in any form will result in severe punishment.”
When Victor withdrew, armed guards emerged.
“Those with children, raise your hands.”
“Don’t hesitate—raise them quickly!”
When the guards raised their batons, women throughout raised their hands. Necklaces bearing matching numbers were placed around the women and children.
“If you lose your child, this number will be used to find them.”
“Men and women, stand separately! Men on the left! Women on the right!”
The intake began with bathing. Children who could wash alone were separated by gender; those who couldn’t were assigned to the women’s bath with their mothers.
“Everyone, remove clothing and shoes and place them in the collection bins. After bathing, you will be issued new clothes.”
Dark Elf guards composed of retired female warriors handled the female prisoners.
The Vikings couldn’t believe the detention center had bathing facilities, let alone separate men’s and women’s baths. But this was expected of a place forged from the Ark of the Selected of the ancient kingdom.
*
Meanwhile, the Britainian expeditionary force scattered across the land was attacking every village it encountered.
The sight of a spark falling on Midgard’s map and spreading outward in a circle, burning everything—it was as if that image had been made reality.
“They outnumber us.”
The Huskarls looked at the Britainian army and spoke. They held the same position as Viking knights.
“No matter how many, they’re weaklings. Today is their funeral. Whether dead or alive, we’ll castrate them all and offer them to the Sovereign’s altar.”
At the lord’s words, the warriors beat their weapons and shields with belligerence.
-To fight Vikings, you need double the forces.
This was acknowledged even by Britainian knights of enemy nations. Naturally, the Vikings demanded an even higher ratio.
“Yarl. Perhaps we should observe the situation a little longer?”
“We hold the higher ground, and they’re unfamiliar with the terrain. The Sovereign watches over us—we must charge now.”
The tone was aggressive, but the content was not wrong. Logically and religiously.
“Advance! The first victory will be mine to dedicate to Lord Meyer!”
Meanwhile, Eugene’s vassal, a Britainian noble, advanced an infantry force 1.3 times their own size. He was Baron Leicester, who had led the southern army’s right wing in the past civil war.
“They’ve lost their fear.”
“Today the ravens will feast!”
The Vikings advanced as if refusing to be outdone. Fighting on home ground, they could mobilize more forces than a typical raid. With no voyage to exhaust them, their stamina was full.
“East! Look east!”
Just then, a warrior issued a warning. An eighty-strong lightly armed force appeared on an otherwise empty hill.
The Britainian longbow archers, regarded as the most feared militia. In Viking raids, there was no time to summon them, so they were rarely encountered—but now the situation was different.
“Nock!”
At the sergeant’s command, arrows were placed on bowstrings.
“Halt! Halt!”
“Form shield wall!”
The Vikings hastily formed a formation. They couldn’t go after the longbow archers now—that would expose their flank to the Britainian infantry.
“Fire!”
Arrows soared into the sky, then rained down on the Vikings.
“Kah!”
Amid the sound of shields being battered, men groaning with arrows through thighs, insteps, or elbows.
Crunch!
Those carrying thin shields had their hands pierced through by penetrating arrowheads. Not a serious wound, but being limited to one hand on the battlefield meant death.
Pew pew pew pew!
A second volley flew in. The Britainian infantry advanced carefully to avoid friendly fire.
“Now!”
The moment the rain of arrows ceased, Baron Leicester ordered the charge. The infantry roared and rushed forward.
“Kill them!”
“Valhalla!”
The Vikings charged like maddened bulls, swinging axes and spears.
The clashing of weapons rang out amid curses and screams. Naturally, the Britainians fell at a higher rate.
“Those demon-spawn.”
Baron Leicester spat. Despite bringing experienced mercenaries and his personal guard, and holding numerical superiority, he could visibly see his forces being pushed back. But he had two things he believed in.
“Fire!”
Amid the ongoing melee, longbow fire poured into the Vikings.
“Kyaaah!”
Vikings who hadn’t formed a shield wall collapsed everywhere.
One warrior grabbed an arrow that had pierced through one cheek and out the other, screaming. He didn’t know whether to pull it out or not—he simply held the shaft.
Shooting during infantry combat normally caused friendly casualties, but now it was different. The longbow archers held the flank. They only needed to aim at the Viking rear ranks.
“Maintain formation! Don’t break ranks!”
Baron Leicester desperately organized his infantry. He had never expected to defeat Vikings with infantry alone. Securing angles for his marksmen to fire freely was sufficient.
Pew pew pew pew!
“Gah!”
“Aagh!”
After five or six volleys, the Vikings could no longer hold.
“Damn it! Holfrson! I’ll give you thirty men—sweep away those archers!”
“Understood!”
The Huskarl led a detachment toward the longbow archers.
“Ignore the ones coming at you! Raise your bows, you idiots!”
The longbow archers panicked and aimed at the detachment, and the sergeant shouted.
“Can’t you see our infantry dying? Your job is to save them! Fire!”
The Vikings were incredulous as arrows flew over their heads toward the battlefield.
“Are these bastards insane? Ignoring us?”
As they charged even more fiercely, another wave of arrows passed overhead. The already-struggling Viking main force, now past even odds, began to be pushed back.
“Our job is done! Retreat! Retreat!”
When permission was given, the longbow archers fled in a panic. They wore no gambeson and carried no shields.
The detachment that had charged up the hill during battle was physically superior. The Vikings chased the sprinting longbow archers but couldn’t catch them.
“Coward bastards!”
Once the detachment was far enough away, Baron Leicester played his second card.
“They’re split. Signal.”
“Yes.”
When the herald waved a large flag, cavalry emerged from the west—the opposite side from the longbow archers.
“Yarl! New enemies!”
“…!”
The Viking lord who had seemed fearless now wore a stiff expression.
Neighhh!
Fwooof.
Thirty heavy cavalry—knights, squires, and men-at-arms slightly lesser—stood in formation. All carried spears longer than the Vikings’.
“Charge!”
“In the Goddess’s name!”
“Long live Baron Leicester!”
Six knights led the charge, spears leveled, driving into the Viking flank.
“Shield wall! Shield wall!”
The Vikings hastily gathered to form a formation. Here and there arrows protruded from battered shields as they aligned against the knights.
“Crush those savages!”
“Uwaaaaah!”
The charging cavalry entered a gallop as they closed distance.
Thrum thrum thrum thrum thrum!
“Hold! Hold at all costs!”
“Maintain formation!”
Before the earth-shaking heavy cavalry charge, the Vikings held their ground bravely to the last.
But courage doesn’t work miracles. Stopping a heavy cavalry charge with the Vikings’ armament was impossible.
Thud!
Whack!
Crunch!
Crack!
Shields shattered and warriors were sent flying or impaled. One knight even skewered two warriors on a single spear.
“Who’s that knight?”
“Uh… it appears to be Sir Mawin.”
“Note that down. After the battle, I’ll commend him.”
The herald noted it as Baron Leicester instructed.
Squelch!
The hooves of a horse trampled the abdomen of a Viking who had bounced off the ground.
“Blargh!”
His lungs burst and blood fountained from his mouth. But that wasn’t the end.
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
Subsequent hooves ground his abdomen into mush. The abdominal wall, unable to endure, burst open and spilled his entrails.
“Follow me!”
Baron Leicester drew his sword and led the reserve in a charge. His target was the eastern flank.
“Yarl! We’ll be surrounded on three sides!”
“Retreat! Retreat!”
The Viking lord who had led the largest force in the region was thoroughly crushed and began to flee.
*
While Baron Leicester was overjoyed at the victory report he would present to his lord, Eugene stood before a Viking village flying a white flag.
“Wave it harder. The Britainians like this sort of thing.”
The flag wasn’t just planted. Maidens ordered by the lord waved it vigorously from the rooftops.
“How many are there…”
“Those Britainian bastards.”
Even the undefeated warriors who had crossed the horizon were cowed by the warhorses surrounding the entire horizon.
This village had received refugees from Knut’s port city. After hearing of the enemy’s strength, they had no thought of resistance.
“Southern King. Our lord has no intention of defying you. He wishes only to greet you with the finest hospitality. Please honor us with your acceptance.”
Desperate to express their unwillingness to fight, the lord sent his daughter as an envoy. But Eugene’s vassals rushed to dissuade their lord.
“It’s a trap.”
“Vikings are barbarians who don’t even know the customs of hospitality.”
Eugene held up his book on Viking culture.
“I don’t know about other things, but their hospitality customs are apparently well observed. Breaking them means you can’t enter Valhalla.”
“Your Excellency! Respecting knowledge is a virtue, but relying too much on books can get you hurt.”
“Of course. I’m just saying—I have no intention of accepting the invitation either.”
The vassals felt relieved, and the lord’s daughter was terrified. If negotiations broke down, this army would immediately pour into the village.
“Tell the lord.”
“Yes!”
“Make the hospitality even more honorable.”
“What?”
“I will set up a banquet in the open ground ahead. I will do the hosting—make sure the lord comes out.”
“I—I don’t have the authority to decide that—”
“Go tell him.”
The lord’s daughter rushed off and mounted a horse. The power differential was convenient in many ways. Even somewhat forced justifications could be legitimized.
Eugene had come to destroy the Vikings, but his methods were not limited to sword and fire.
“What shall we prepare for food? Field cooking makes elaborate dishes difficult.”
“It’s fine. Viking hospitality isn’t much—spit-roasted meat with salt, some fruit and wine, perhaps?”
Eugene massaged the chef’s shoulders.
“It’s time to teach these primitives about fine dining. Fry some chicken!”
Since ancient times, even archenemies were to be treated generously if they surrendered before battle. The more meat shields or converts, the more convenient.