Chapter 321: Crusader (6)

Chicken cut into convenient pieces was coated in a flawless batter. They were dropped into clear cooking oil.

Ssssss!

Hundreds of bubbles enveloping the chicken as they turned golden brown—a sight that was lovely every time.

Meat cookery in this era was limited to boiling or roasting. Common folk put dried meat scraps in stew, the well-off roasted whole animals, and the prosperous added spices like pepper and cinnamon.

‘For me, it’s just dry meat anyway.’

The food a Viking lord flying a white flag would offer would fall somewhere between the well-off and the prosperous. Spices were hard to come by in Midgard, and livestock were scrawny.

“My lord. Which chicken menu shall we prepare?”

The chef asked.

“Garlic soy, and sprinkled.”

“Isn’t sprinkled a waste? For barbarians like them…”

“But the response is always amazing.”

“That it is.”

The greatest benefit of ascending to Grand Duke was being able to revive foods that existed only in his memories.

-Lady Valda. I need soy sauce.

-Your chefs should be able to make that by now.

-I’m planning a special meat dish. For that, I need the finest soy sauce. Who could be better than you, who can communicate with the beans themselves?

As a noblewoman with a knight for a husband, Valda personally brewed many sauces. It was a basic element of military rations.

-…A special meat dish?

Thanks to the fairy princess who loved meat above all, plant-based seasonings of any kind could be produced at the highest quality. Under normal circumstances, they would have suffered greatly developing unfamiliar recipes absent from the Old Continent.

*

“They haven’t even agreed, and already they’re setting up tents and cooking—utterly outrageous.”

A Viking lord spoke with displeasure. Two hundred meters outside his village, a large banquet tent was being constructed.

“What can we do? The other party has the power to do whatever he likes. If we refuse the hospitality, he’ll use that as a pretext to attack. Knut’s domain had stone walls and still became an inferno. What about our village, which doesn’t even have a palisade…”

“I know. I know.”

The lord sighed at his beloved daughter’s advice.

Not all Vikings were obsessed with Valhalla. Some focused more on life in this world, and for others, love for family was paramount above all.

This lord was a man who embodied both.

“Building the tent that large means they want us to bring our subordinates too, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Have you decided who to bring?”

“I plan to bring mainly the troublesome ones.”

Lords in Midgard ruled with iron fists more absolute than other civilizations. As a reaction, the threats from rivals were also greater. There were many powerful figures who eyed the lord’s seat.

“Not your loyalists?”

Typically, one would naturally bring close associates. The lord stroked his puzzled daughter’s head.

“The southern king will make demands that are hard to refuse. Refuse, and we’re annihilated. Accept, and criticism will fall on me. My only path to survival is showing my enemies how terrifying the situation was on the ground.”

“So that Father appears to have had no choice but to accept.”

“Exactly. Words from my loyalists carry no weight. They’d just be dismissed as conspiring excuses.”

The daughter nodded, as if learning yet another lesson.

“Master. The gifts are prepared.”

The slaves set down crude boxes. Inside were various goods to present to Eugene.

“Father. Will the southern king be satisfied with these gifts? I’ve never seen such a terrifying proclamation.”

The Britainian expeditionary force had attacked shortly after issuing the declaration. But since the proclamation couldn’t be sent to all of Midgard, many lords like Knut never received it.

This domain had learned of it through a merchant who departed the day it arrived in a nearby region. They were fairly fortunate.

“Well, anything is better than doing nothing.”

“That’s true.”

When the lord, his daughter, and the village’s powerful figures entered the meeting place, Eugene rose.

“Welcome. My first feast shared with the people of Midgard.”

“It is an honor to be invited by the king.”

“I’m not a king. A duke is sufficient. You may call me Yarl in your fashion.”

The Vikings were stunned by the unexpectedly mild response.

-He wielded an axe that only a Jotunn would use, splitting Knut in two.

-He showed no interest in plunder at all. He just watched the burning city with a happy smile. The southern king is the incarnation of disaster.

According to the refugees’ testimony, he was a demon in human skin. But this sovereign, welcoming them with a warm smile and voice, didn’t look that way at all.

“Lunchtime has already passed. Everyone must be hungry—please sit.”

Wonder at Eugene soon turned to wonder at the food. Instead of the rough spit-roasted meat they always saw at their feasts, dishes they had never seen before were laid out.

“Britainian cuisine?”

“No. Consider it cuisine of the ancient kingdom.”

Eugene deflected vaguely. The knowledge conveyed by the Moving Castle was his recently invented excuse. It was more convenient in many ways than simply saying he’d read it in a book.

“Ancient kingdom cuisine!”

“Who could have imagined being served such things?”

And it seemed to work perfectly on the Vikings.

Their pride as warriors was strong, but being constantly called barbarians by external civilizations had given them an inferiority complex. For them, ancient kingdom food was the finest hospitality imaginable.

‘Three types total?’

‘Which should I eat first…’

Curious Viking eyes moved about. Fried chicken and garlic soy chicken maintained order, but when they reached the sprinkled chicken, they were horrified.

“Pepper? Real pepper?”

“They sprinkle pepper like this?!”

The seasoning caked on turned out to be pepper. All Viking hands moved toward the sprinkled chicken.

‘I knew it.’

Eugene sipped his wine.

No matter which region or which lord he hosted, the most popular dish was always the pepper-laden one. Not because it tasted best, but because it was the most extravagant.

Demonstrating extravagant luxury proved a lord’s magnanimity. Similarly, being served luxury at a feast represented the guest’s own status.

Noble guests tried to take as much of the pepper-laden dish as possible, whether they liked the taste or not—because it proved their own plate and dignity.

-Really! Truly, we have dined wonderfully!

-I will remember the Duke’s invitation for the rest of my life!

For Eugene, it was a strange way of thinking, but the response was so good he couldn’t not serve it. When the sprinkled chicken vanished in an instant, Eugene also offered the garlic soy chicken.

“Try this too? My wife made the sauce herself.”

“How could we refuse?”

Crispy yet sweet-and-savory skin. Behind it, tender meat met the tongue. This wasn’t the tough meat they usually tore apart with fork and fingers. With just the tongue, the meat parted like a bride undressing on her wedding night.

The time of luxury had ended; the time of fine dining had arrived.

“It’s white bread. So soft.”

Someone pressed a thick index finger into the bread.

Midgard grew only barley, oats, and rye in limited quantities. Refined flour was unthinkable—the lord himself chewed rough, hard bread. The villages they raided certainly had nothing like this.

In short, the Vikings at this table were eating soft white bread for the first time in their lives.

“…”

“…”

The Vikings fell silent. Their feasts were always noisy with shouting and singing, but not now.

Crunch crunch.

Munch munch.

Even considering Eugene’s presence, the only sounds were diligent chewing in heavy silence.

“Don’t just eat bread—dip it in something. It’ll taste much better.”

“Y-Yes. Thank you.”

Ten types of spreads were laid out: strawberry jam, apple jam, honey, cream cheese, butter, tuna spread, and more.

“Mmm!”

“Mmhmm!”

So absorbed in eating that strange sounds leaked from their breathing. The lord’s daughter’s lips were stained with grape jam, and the other Vikings’ beards were dyed in various colors.

“Khah!”

Here and there, Vikings set down their glasses with gulping sounds.

“Fill it up.”

“Me too.”

Top-grade beer and wine flowed continuously into Viking stomachs.

Pour pour pour.

The decanters refilling empty glasses were crystal. Considering that even a mighty lord like Knut used wooden or horn cups at feasts, the difference was overwhelming.

If this had been a raided restaurant, they would have fought over the crystal glasses.

*

“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. It was worth preparing.”

“It’s a hospitality I will never forget until the day I die.”

Led by the lord, the Vikings bowed their heads. A supreme fullness rose from their stomachs, but their faces were tense in the opposite way. Now the real business would begin.

Originally, they should have maintained tension throughout the meal. But Eugene’s generous attitude and the magnificent food had made everyone lose their composure. That was the purpose of hospitality, of course.

“Here are tribute offerings for Your Excellency.”

The lord began first. He called it tribute rather than gifts, clearly indicating his subordinate position. A large chest contained gold and silver treasures accumulated over generations.

“Did you scrape together the best from your coffers? Many must have been saddened.”

“They are goods destined for a truly distinguished guest. There can be no compromise.”

The lord bowed. He was too humble, but those present did not criticize. Overwhelmed both militarily and gastronomically, they didn’t even feel humiliated.

“I have no need for them. In fact, I didn’t come here to receive anything from you. Rather, I came to give.”

“Give?”

“Homi.”

Eugene extended his hands to both sides. Homi placed one item on each.

“A flag and a book?”

“More precisely, my flag and the scripture of Goddess Banas.”

The lord looked between the two with anxious eyes.

“You will choose one of the two. That is all I ask.”

“May I ask what it means?”

“If you choose the flag, you will join the campaign to subjugate Midgard. You will attack Midgardian domains under my banner.”

“…”

A groan of inevitability arose among the Vikings.

“I don’t intend to use you as arrow targets. I will support you with archers, cavalry, and quality supplies, and I won’t commit you to unwinnable fights.”

The lord intuited that Eugene would keep that word. But fighting on the front lines meant inevitable losses.

“They’ll call us traitors throughout all of Midgard.”

Another Viking spoke. Not a mere warrior but a key figure in the domain’s composition, he had standing to voice his opinion.

“Don’t the lords here also regularly attack and raid each other?”

“Fighting over entangled interests is one thing—joining a foreign army to burn villages is another. After the war, terrible revenge will come.”

“When the Duke’s army leaves, all the remaining hatred and vengeance will focus on the collaborators.”

The Vikings spoke in unison, but it didn’t register with Eugene at all. Through books and prisoner interrogations, he had completely grasped the local situation.

“Don’t assume I’m ignorant of this region’s culture.”

This was an era with weak concepts of ethnic unity or loyalty to the state. Midgard was especially survival-of-the-fittest, with even neighbors raiding each other.

If the village was different, it was a foreign country, and their perception of each other was no different from lion prides facing off.

“I’ll accept this much as an entertaining act, but I will not tolerate further deception.”

“Forgive—forgive us! We never intended to deceive the king!”

The flustered Vikings once again inadvertently used the title of king.

“There’s little need to worry about grudges arising from the subjugation process.”

Eugene received a helmet from Homi.

“Is that Knut’s?”

They recognized it immediately. The helmet with gilt horns on both sides was Knut’s symbol.

Crunch!

Eugene gripped it with both hands and squeezed. The iron helmet collapsed like bread.

‘Is this truly human strength?’

‘Splitting Knut in two with a single blow wasn’t an exaggeration.’

All eyes converged on Eugene’s grip. When he kneaded it a few more times, a steel ball the size of a plum emerged. Wavy gilt patterns were embedded throughout.

Drrrrrr.

Eugene rolled the ball across the table toward the lord.

“After the war, those who hold grudges against you will no longer exist. The steel ball will be much larger than this by then.”

“What happens if we don’t follow you?”

When the lord asked, Eugene pointed to the steel ball.

“You’ll become part of this.”

‘Sovereign.’

The lord felt dizzy. At the same time, he thought it was truly fortunate that he had brought his rivals to this meeting. Whether they refused or accepted, they would all become accomplices.

“May—may I ask one question?”

A powerful figure raised his hand.

“Anything.”

“What if we choose the book instead of the flag?”

“Then you won’t need to join my army. I will leave, and I’ll also take measures to ensure no one else touches this place.”

Eugene showed the last page illustration of the scripture to the hopeful Vikings—the beautiful figure of the Goddess rendered as a giant, and her protected faithful.

“But all of you must convert. Burn every book and idol related to the Sovereign, then receive baptism at our sanctuary.”

“But then other jarls will have a problem! Our own warriors might kill us!”

“That could happen.”

Vikings were cruel and barbaric. But their faith in their god was sincere. Even Roman or Britainian knights were not as devout.

Other civilizations’ religions preached universal values, but the Sovereign faith was optimized for warrior culture.

“There is a third option.”

“I’m listening.”

“Leave this place and entrust your fate to me. I will gift you new lands.”

“Surely you don’t mean Britainia?”

The soil was alive, fish the size of one’s arm were caught in the rivers, and even in winter the blessed land did not freeze. The quality of life was incomparable to Midgard.

Vikings who had joined the Kruger family during the Britainian civil war had desperately sought land to settle.

“No. Given what you’ve done, bringing you to my land would cause chaos. What I propose is exploration toward the unknown.”

For a seafaring people, setting out to find new lands was not unusual. Countless challengers had sailed the sea in search of glory, and most never returned.

Those who occasionally survived brought back new trade routes or raiding grounds. Their leader received a title beginning with ‘The One’ and was sung of for generations.

The family of King Skal, respected throughout Midgard, had never faced a challenge to their throne for this reason. His ancestor had been the first to pioneer trade routes across the sea.

The One Who Broke the Horizon. No one dared raise a sword against that title.

But the Vikings at this feast were realists. They had no intention of abandoning their hard-won home and authority for an uncertain adventure.

“Of course, regardless of which of the three you choose, all Britainian slaves must be released.”

“All three are too harsh.”

“Of course they’re harsh. This is both a negotiation and a punishment.”

Unlike the case of Romans, who would live together, the prescription for a plundering people separated by a treacherous sea was limited.

Eugene picked up a candlestick decorated with silver and gold from the box the lord had presented. Judging by the craftsmanship, it had been looted from a Britainian monastery.

“Do you remember how many died in the process of stealing this?”

“We will give you any amount of wealth—please…”

Eugene rose from his seat and approached the lord. With each step closer, the lord felt the pressure of a giant bearing down.

“I am the sovereign of Britainia, and you are Vikings of Midgard.”

Their gazes stopped at a hand’s breadth apart.

“As long as a blood price remains outstanding, the only sweet thing between us is food. Remember that this too is an exceedingly generous offer.”

“Blargh!”

Unable to endure the pressure, the lord vomited what was inside him.

“Father!”

The daughter rushed over to pat his back. Even Eugene was taken aback—he had intended to apply pressure, but hadn’t expected this level of response.

Eugene instead looked at the other Vikings.

“Anyone who has something to say, say it now. Don’t stay silent and then tear into your leader after leaving the tent.”

Only silence returned. Not a single Viking dared meet Eugene’s gaze.

Homi brought the oath documents before them. Written in Midgard’s runic script, with space at the bottom for thumbprints.

The oath consisted of three documents.

“It’s time to choose. There is no going back—judge wisely.”

Raise an axe against your neighbor.

Abandon your god.

Abandon your territory.

They had to choose one.

*

While the lord and his powerful figures were pressing their blood seals to the runic oath documents, battles were raging elsewhere.

Among them were one-on-one duels between commanders.

“You Britainian noble coward! If you’re a warrior, stop hiding behind your men and come out!”

Viking lord Rolf shouted at the Britainian camp. His bravery was real, but an all-out battle offered no chance of victory.

The expedition’s forces numbered double their own, and half of them carried siege crossbows.

‘A frontal clash with them means even a victory is no victory.’

Rolf had fought Barcia. He knew well how fearsome those heavy crossbows were.

Vikings, lacking timber and valuing mobility, preferred thin shields. They couldn’t withstand the steel bolts those crossbows spat.

“Where has your vaunted chivalry gone? If you’ve got balls, come out!”

When the other side didn’t respond, Rolf redoubled his shouting. He drove his horse as close to the expedition force as possible to provoke them.

Britainian nobles valued honor—they wouldn’t order an attack on someone who had come alone.

“Very well! I, Hugh, accept your challenge!”

‘Perfect!’

When Baron Hugh rode out, Rolf cheered. He had thrown the challenge out on a whim—who knew it would actually work?

“For honor!”

But Baron Hugh immediately charged at full gallop.

“W-Wait!”

Rolf, who had naturally intended to dismount and fight, was astonished. The horse he rode was not a war breed.

Midgard raised Fjord coursers. Their thick fur made them cold-resistant and their legs sturdy, but they were optimized for travel and hauling.

Compared to the destriers Britainian knights rode, they differed by over twenty centimeters at the shoulder and up to three hundred kilograms in weight.

“Damn it!”

Rolf had no choice but to turn his horse and flee. If he stayed, he would be trampled flat.

“You beast! You challenge first and then run?!”

“I’ll fight—stop! Let me dismount first—”

“Are you scared? Face me properly!”

“You son of a—!”

In fact, Baron Hugh had planned this from the start. In such situations, the one with the louder voice and who struck first held all the advantages.

-My lord. Ignore him.

-He’s barking like that and you want me to just sit here? What about my honor?

-Victory takes priority now.

-That’s exactly why I’m going out.

-What?

-He’s gotten too close, hasn’t he? I have a plan.

Having come too close to taunt, Rolf was now desperately trying to turn his horse. Baron Hugh’s charger, already at full gallop, was about to catch up.

Rolf tried to turn sharply, but Baron Hugh’s attack was faster.

Thwack!

Rolf was pierced through the side by a spear, fell from his horse, and rolled across the ground. For a jarl famous for his fearsome strength, it was an utterly pathetic end.

“Wah ha ha! Look at the miserable state of their leader!”

“Long live the Baron!”

The expedition’s morale soared to the heavens, while the Viking army fell deathly silent.

Vikings had brains too. Many understood how the situation had turned. But their own leader had challenged first, then fled in disgrace and died—that was also fact.

“Attack!”

Having lost their lord from the start and their morale broken, the battle’s outcome was predictable. The Vikings were pounded by a rain of bolts and suffered a one-sided defeat.

*

Of course, the expedition did not win every battle.

“Your Excellency! A request for reinforcements!”

A messenger ran to the returning Eugene. The report stated that several Viking lords had banded together to form a coalition.

“They lost? A unit that included holy knights?”

“They were outnumbered and in unfavorable terrain. But the enemy stripped captured priests naked and used them as provocations.”

“The clergymen couldn’t take it and charged, I assume.”

“Yes. The mercenaries with them had no choice but to fight alongside, and they were…”

“I understand. I’ll set out to rescue immediately.”

He could ignore mercenaries or nobles from other regions, but if clergymen were captured, he couldn’t look the other way.

“Their numbers and momentum are not ordinary. The terrain is mountainous, making cavalry difficult to deploy.”

Unable to counter cavalry, the Vikings’ choice to rely on mountains was wise.

“It’s fine. They won’t be accustomed to mountain fighting either.”

Vikings were sea raiders, not masters of mountain warfare.

“But we are.”

On their side were not only Lantzheim’s Highlanders but also Dwarves who ran through iron mountains. And mountains had plenty of rocks.