Chapter 331: The Second Conqueror (1)

The belief that the countless lightning bolts were a blessing from the Thunder God was quickly shattered. Whether out of faith or curiosity, the riders of the Viking coalition army all rushed toward that location at once.

Long before arriving, they sensed something was wrong when they saw the massive structure that had appeared.

“Could that be the castle they said appeared in the southwest? The one that really moves on its own?”

Rational people who didn’t believe in horror stories until they saw them with their own eyes.

“The rumors were true. The enemies have a god who commands lightning too!”

Those who believed the rumors but approached it from a religious angle, given their strong faith.

“Hell… Did all the southern coastal people defect?”

Realists who focused on the army deployed in front of the castle.

“They’ve spotted us!”

“Run before they give chase! Some of them are nomads!”

Their reactions were all different, but they shared the same emotion of shock. King Skal, informed by the riders who had hastily returned, prepared to fight with heightened morale.

‘There’s no choice to retreat here anyway. The enemy’s invasion has united the Midgardians. This is a heaven-sent opportunity.’

To King Skal, the Britannian expeditionary force wasn’t just an invader to drive out. He planned to use this massive event as his achievement and rise as the true king who would rule all of Midgard.

“I’ll speak honestly! The enemies closing in on us right now are strong! They’re on a completely different level from the country bumpkins we’ve been plundering! You could call this the worst ordeal since the Second Age!”

King Skal, mounted on his horse, shouted boldly before the countless Viking warriors. The warriors looked surprised that he, who was always confident and arrogant, would speak this way.

“Furthermore, the enemies didn’t come to conquer—they came to destroy! If we flee, they’ll happily trample and burn every village! They’ll rape our wives and sisters and sell our children into slavery! We have no walls to hide behind, so we must all stand together!”

The fact that they had no forts to hide in, unlike external civilizations. This played a decisive role in rallying the Vikings under Skal.

“Let’s punish them for the crime of treading upon Midgard with their filthy feet!”

“Kill the dogs of Britannia who have become their running dogs!”

“Honorable death will make us live forever!”

Warriors from all regions shouted in agreement with King Skal. Among them were many who harbored not the noble cause of homeland defense, but ambitions to seize empty territories and become lords after the war.

Since ancient times, war had been a warrior’s path to advancement. This was a land where territorial usurpation occurred more frequently than anywhere else, so many had long awaited such a large-scale bloodbath.

The formation was predetermined. The center would be composed of King Skal and the families loyal to him. They were perfect in both combat power and morale.

The left wing consisted of reinforcements obtained by Skal’s sons, who had traveled through the central and eastern regions. These were the fruits of their diligent efforts to exaggerate how dangerous and cruel the expeditionary force was. Naturally, they too coveted the spoils and ownerless territories.

The right wing comprised lords from the south and west who hadn’t joined Eugene. Though their quality was inferior to the center, they had numbers, and there were shamans who could transform into berserkers.

Once battle began, unified command would be impossible. Even well-organized nations like Rome or Varcia had difficulty controlling a center-focused force, and the Vikings’ organizational capability was far more crude.

“The shamans on the right wing will unleash multiple berserkers. They won’t stop unless their heads are severed or their hearts pierced.”

“If we use a sudden charge to smash through the enemy’s vulnerable left wing and then encircle the center, victory is certain.”

Skal and the Jarls trusted their blessed race as warriors. Individual combat power was clearly superior; as long as each held their position, they would surely win.

“We’ve never experienced a large-scale battle like this.”

“The Britannians probably brought a large number of longbowmen. We don’t have enough shields to rotate.”

Some felt a sense of crisis. But they too had no bright ideas.

“The enemies are positioned along the Basmund River. If we don’t stop them here, their cavalry will ride through every village, burning as they go.”

The enemy had landed in the middle of their homeland.

Meanwhile, some were going beyond dampening the atmosphere to outright attempting to withdraw.

“We will withdraw.”

They were from the southeastern border regions. Geographically, they made their money through trade rather than plunder and had heard quite a bit about Rome through neighboring petty kingdoms.

“Jarl Drago. Are you jesting now?”

“Your Majesty. You must make peace now.”

Skal looked at Drago and the southeastern warriors in disbelief. They wore expressions of genuine fear.

“We are descendants of the gods. What is there to fear when we, born stronger than anyone, combine our forces?”

“I know Your Majesty’s army is powerful. You have won countless battles and brought back more spoils than anyone.”

“You will do the same this time, and I will share the spoils with you. I swear it in the name of the king.”

Drago looked like he would suffocate from frustration.

“Your Majesty. You cannot even imagine what lurks beyond that horizon.”

Skal restrained his bodyguard who reached for his sword.

“If the enemy is so dangerous, why did you only try to leave now?”

“Because I didn’t believe it either. How could I believe the rumor that a human had seized the Sor’s fortress—the Vilsrknnr (House of Flashes)?”

But now he believed. Not just Drago, but all the warriors who had followed him.

“If it’s true that he possesses the Vilsrknnr, then the other rumors must be real too. Even if only half of it is true, we have no chance of winning.”

“What you’re saying is, if the enemy is so powerful that we’re all annihilated, you think you’ll be fine?”

“Probably.”

Drago readily agreed. Skal, who hadn’t expected such a response, was also taken aback.

“It’s not just about destruction that the Conqueror’s reputation concerns. There are also many stories about trade and tolerance. We have built our livelihood through commerce and have no grudge against Britannia. If we explain well, they won’t attack us.”

“Haha! Look at this cowardly rat!”

Skal’s patience ran out. He drew his sword, and Drago did the same.

Sssss.

Ssss.

Skal’s royal guard and Drago’s escort also drew their swords, causing a commotion.

“You must endure!”

“Your Majesty! The enemy is less than a day’s march away! We cannot afford conflict now!”

If there had been more distance, Skal would have made an example of Drago’s group. But with the enemy so close, the disadvantages outweighed the benefits.

“Get lost.”

“I wish you good fortune.”

Drago bowed politely and turned to leave.

“Good fortune?”

Clang!

Skal threw his drinking cup and hit the back of Drago’s head.

“…”

Drago paused for a second from the humiliation, then continued walking. Now was not the time to save face.

“Fine, enjoy your eternal life, you cowardly rat! Spend the rest of your days trembling for a single silver coin, rubbing palms with merchants!”

Drago urged his subordinates forward, quickening their pace.

“After driving out the invaders, I’ll come for you first! You’d better prepare plenty of poppies! I’ll personally flay your back!”

Once outside, Drago signaled to his warriors, who had already prepared to depart.

“Must you really go?”

“King Skal will not forget this grudge.”

Thanking the Jarls who were friendly with him for their concern, Drago mounted his horse.

“If the tornado visible in the distance appears not to be moving, flee immediately.”

He looked in the direction where the lightning had fallen.

“The tornado is coming for you.”

A story he had once heard from a traveler circulated powerfully in his mind.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I wish you all safety.”

With those final words, Drago’s unit departed from Skal’s camp.

*

While King Skal was having a tumultuous time, whether in a good or bad sense, Eugene advanced his army peacefully.

The center was naturally the Mayr family’s direct unit. The difference from usual was that the Bargeant warriors, not the Hammer Brothers or Lantzheim warriors, were at the vanguard.

-In this battle, prove your loyalty and atonement.

Eugene had already prepaid mercy and goodwill. Now it was time to collect.

“Phew, it’s fierce. My neck is prickling.”

“If we fight half-heartedly, they’ll sweep us away too.”

Behind the Bargeant were heavily armored Dwarves glaring fiercely. Most were armed with siege crossbows and military pickaxes.

Dwarves excelled at countering the weak underbelly of shield wall tactics. They were among the few infantry with a favorable matchup against Vikings.

Since they couldn’t fully trust the converts, Eugene’s direct forces were positioned behind the Bargeant. That’s why the center’s formation was unusually thick.

The right wing was composed mainly of southern vassals, with nobles from the west and east. The left wing balanced this with central and northern nobles along with numerous mercenary companies.

Given the grudges accumulated during the Britannian civil war that made mixing difficult, this was the best configuration.

“When the battle begins, the right wing will waver first. I need you to steady the soldiers firmly.”

“Leave it to me. Thanks to Your Excellency, hundreds of brothers of faith have been freed. I will repay that debt with my life.”

“There will be more. Once we sweep through those fellows, we’ll free them from their territories too.”

“May God’s grace be upon Your Excellency.”

“May God’s grace be upon your courage.”

Holy Knights made the sign of the cross and joined the right wing.

Compared to the Midgardian half-blood warriors of the central region and the Highlanders of the north, the south, west, and east were like herbivores. They desperately needed spiritual pillars like warrior monks.

“Wow! So this is what a battle looks like. It’s an honor to participate in a scene from history.”

Sigurd whistled.

“The enemy has more numbers than I expected.”

“I was a bit surprised too. It’s a place where it’s normally hard to find people, Count. When you scrape them together from everywhere, you get this many.”

“While I was busy with preparations, the enemies weren’t idling around either.”

Sigurd watched with interest the officer who was diligently taking notes near Eugene.

“What are you constantly writing?”

“Everything. The date, the weather, our conversations, etc.”

“What’s the record for?”

“I don’t write thinking about the use. The record itself is what matters.”

“Is something like the weather important? It must be tiring to write every time.”

“It’s surprisingly important. Imagine someone in the distant future trying to analyze today’s battle. Even a trivial record like ‘It rained briefly at dawn’ would make their deductions much easier.”

Eugene looked at Sigurd with an expression that said he was very curious.

“Hehe.”

Sigurd bowed his head as if thanking him for the kind answer.

“I look forward to your guidance. Before I die, I must set foot in the New Continent. I believe the essence of Vikings lies not in plunder, but in discovery.”

Valda, who had been listening, looked at Sigurd with a displeased expression.

“Fine words. But that doesn’t erase what you and your ancestors did to Britannia.”

“I know well, Lady Valda. I’ll gladly take the blame, whether as a shield or an axe block. So please, do prepare a spot for us on the exploration ship.”

Sigurd gave Eugene a military salute and Valda a slight bow, then moved to the front.

“Do you still hate them?”

“Before your success, the Britannian Elven royal house had always maintained a vassal’s respect. Those who harmed them are also my enemies. That blood debt cannot be simply forgiven.”

Valda had prepared extensively for this day. The impact a mage could have on war was generally very low, but today, Valda was about to set a new precedent.

“If Her Highness desires, I can order infinite charges until all the Bargeant ahead are spent.”

“…You always call me ‘Your Highness’ when you’re trying to soothe me.”

As if he would seriously waste the carefully recruited Bargeant. Her husband’s words weren’t entirely sincere. Just sweet nothings to please her.

Valda glared at her husband, annoyed by his predictable flattery.

“Why do you look at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

Frustratingly, infuriatingly, her mood had completely lifted at his sweet words.

*

“Fight, you weaklings!”

As the two armies faced each other, a Huskarl from the Viking coalition stepped forward and shouted.

It was common for warriors hungry for fame to step forward for duels before the main clash of large armies. However, this was a custom of the knightly culture, not the Midgardian way.

“What’s that? Has Viking culture started following Roman or Varscian trends?”

“No. Not at all.”

Thorvald, who served as Eugene’s advisor, shook his head.

“Then what is that?”

“Skal is also uneasy about a full-scale battle between armies. But he’s confident in individual warrior strength, so he’s challenging us in the Britannian style.”

Gaining the initiative before battle was always useful.

“Your Excellency! Please grant me the honor of vanguard!”

“Step aside! I will handle him!”

Among the excited knights scrambling forward, Eugene had someone in mind from the start.

“Baron Hugh.”

“Yes, Count.”

“I heard you defeated Jarl Rolf in a duel. He was said to be an extremely famous warrior.”

“Hahaha! It was God’s blessing upon me.”

Huskarls also trained hard with excellent equipment. But unlike knights who trained in horsemanship, Huskarls focused exclusively on infantry combat.

The opponent was challenging in the Midgardian way, putting them at a disadvantage against Britannian knights.

The outcome of the first round was always crucial. Eugene wanted a vanguard who would definitely win.

“Will you go out and fight? Thorvald says he’s an exceptionally skilled warrior.”

“That one?” Baron Hugh was flustered. He had killed Rolf alone, but it wasn’t a fair duel.

His subordinates had quietly kept their mouths shut, so in the Moving Castle, it was known only that “Baron Hugh accepted Rolf’s duel challenge and won easily.”

‘Damn it. If I back down now, my reputation…’

He had come to harvest wealth and slaves as a lord, not for the glory of knighthood. It had been nice to be praised at the banquet, but in this situation, he couldn’t back down.

“Argh!”

Baron Hugh didn’t last long and collapsed, bleeding.

“Hahaha! Go suck your mama’s milk some more!”

The Huskarl who achieved a crushing victory in a historic duel revelled in his triumph, kicking the loser’s backside until his master came to collect him.

“Ugh! You, you honorless barbarian!”

“If you won fairly, that’s honor. Hyah! Hyah!”

Whack! Whack!

“Stop! Stahp! Ouch!”

There was no respect for the defeated. Baron Hugh, weakened by his injuries, had no choice but to endure the humiliation passively.

“Your condition was off? At least your life was spared.”

“Your Excellency! Let me redeem myself! Please, give me a chance!”

The knights grew even more agitated, buzzing like wasps.

‘It would be troublesome to lose again.’

The enemy’s morale was already visibly rising.

“Come. My turn is next.”

Then another warrior emerged from the Viking side.

“Hey, wait your turn. I’m still full of energy!”

“Then you’re my enemy too.”

“Damn it.”

The Huskarl grumbled but withdrew quietly. The replacement was clearly no ordinary fighter.

“It’s Hrafn! Hrafn is out!”

“Hrafn! Hrafn!”

Eugene looked at Thorvald when he saw his Bargeant subordinates growing restless.

“Who is that giant?”

Even from a distance, the warrior was clearly over two meters tall, wielding a massive greataxe.

“They call him Hrafn, a descendant of the Jotun. He reportedly weighed nearly six kilograms when he was born.”

“Does he live up to his size?”

Being big alone didn’t mean you fought well. If combat intelligence was low or the body was slow, they would fall easily to the coordinated attacks of skilled warriors.

“He’s merely a Huskarl, but Skal treats him like a Jarl. He once saved Skal’s life.”

After Skal ascended the throne, he had once personally invaded the east to establish his authority.

-This isn’t enough. I need to take more.

Driven by the need to establish authority, Skal grew greedy and was overtaken by the army assembled by the Harvest Count.

At that time, Hrafn was the one who held the bridge while the longships were prepared for retreat.

“Hrafn alone held the bridge and slaughtered forty men. Among them were four knights. Eventually, the Britannian interception force lost morale and withdrew. That legendary story is famous throughout Midgard.”

Thorvald cautiously spoke, watching Eugene’s expression.

“The Giant Axe-Bearer on the Bridge. I think I heard about it at the banquet. That was him?”

The knights were making a fuss, wanting to defeat Hrafn and steal his glory. They believed they could defeat even a giant with a height advantage of over thirty centimeters. Was this the level of madness that made one charge even at dragons?

“I’ll go.”

Eugene dismounted from Might. As sorry as he was to the brave knights, no one seemed capable of defeating Hrafn.

‘A two-loss streak would be problematic.’

Moreover, Hrafn didn’t seem to tire from fighting just one person. A third or fourth knight falling was highly likely.

“For my next opponent…”

He designated several follow-up fighters. For the sake of good relations, he assigned one central and one northern knight each.

“To be Your Excellency’s next opponent is the honor of a lifetime!”

“I’m pleased to be with you gentlemen as well.”

No one dared to object when the supreme commander himself was taking the field. They cheered at being classified as fellow combatants.

It seemed they hadn’t considered the possibility that their turns might never come, drunk on that joy.

*

“Should I use Blackout?”

Homi approached with a massive greataxe over one shoulder and the Great Mace over the other. Since the opponent also used a greataxe, overwhelming them with an even larger weapon had great psychological effect.

“No. Give me the mace.”

Eugene took the mace from the puzzled Homi and smiled.

“Do you know what kind of rumors are circulating in their camp?”

“I don’t know.”

“In Midgardian beliefs, the second most famous god after the Sovereign is one called Sor. He’s the Sovereign’s son who commands thunder and lives in a place of lightning.”

Homi looked back and forth between the Moving Castle and Eugene.

“Is the god called Sor’s weapon a blunt instrument?”

“That’s correct.”

Eugene’s way of thinking was more businessman than knight. That was something most people who had been with him for a long time agreed on.

“If they’re associating me with their mythology, I should use that to my advantage.”

Eugene always placed great importance on symbols and ceremonies, the power of superstition, and public perception. In both politics and battle.

“What shield would you like? A targe? Or a square shield?”

“A targe.”

Homi fastened a targe to Eugene’s left hand. In a one-on-one duel where ranged threats were minimized, having the left hand free while using a polearm was advantageous.

On Eugene’s head was Ragnar’s Crown. Since it was fundamentally a combat helmet, there was no problem using it in a duel.

As Eugene advanced with the massive mace slung over his shoulder, the entire expeditionary force erupted in cheers. A commander taking the front line was a virtue but rarely occurred. A lord who could do it always won the soldiers’ love.

When the challenger appeared, the waiting Hrafn turned and waved his greataxe.

“Guardian of the Bridge!”

“Descendant of the Jotun! Descendant of the Jotun!”

The Viking coalition army responded with equally fervent shouts.

As the distance between them closed, Hrafn dropped his greataxe and threw a javelin in a surprise attack. A cunningness completely at odds with his seemingly dull appearance. This was what made Hrafn truly terrifying.

But Eugene simply caught it with the Great Mace.

“He blocked it like that?”

“No way, he just got lucky.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Luck only works when backed by skill.”

Even the enemies, the Vikings, were genuinely impressed.

Deflecting a javelin with a polearm instead of a shield was a dangerous move. If you didn’t hit it perfectly, it would only slightly change trajectory and still hit the defender. And the one who threw it was Hrafn.

“Again?!”

“He blocked it again?!”

“Who is that warrior?”

After the second and third throws were also blocked, the Vikings realized their opponent was truly an extraordinary warrior.

‘How on earth…?’

The most tense was Hrafn himself. He knew he couldn’t have done the same thing in the opponent’s position.

Click!

The fourth and final javelin also failed. The moment it touched the mace, the javelin lost most of its kinetic energy. Without the momentum of flight, it fell to the ground without sticking.

“Don’t get cocky! I haven’t even shown my true power yet!”

Two great bodies. Two-handed mace and two-handed greataxe. Every warrior stared unblinkingly at this matchup that no man could resist.

Eugene feinted a diagonal swing, then shifted to a thrusting stance and struck like lightning.

“!!!”

A half-beat faster attack.

About fifty centimeters of additional reach.

At the highest levels of combat, this was a difference that could mean life or death.

Hrafn tried to quickly abandon the attack and defend, but it was too late. A greataxe was not suited to intercepting such surprise mid-attack changes.

“Kraaagh!”

Hrafn’s chest caved in as he flew backward.

“Hrafn went down in one hit?”

“Don’t panic! He used the mace for a feint, so the power should be weak. With Hrafn’s physique, he can endure!”

The Jarls of the Viking coalition were horrified but believed Hrafn would rise and fight again.

With a greatsword or bastard sword, suddenly changing stance like that wouldn’t produce such power. But with a massive blunt weapon like that, it was a different story.

“Gueeeeek!”

“…”

But when the struggling Hrafn rose and vomited blood profusely, silence fell. Eugene finished him with a blow to the head.

“Waaaaaah!”

The expeditionary force’s formation erupted in cheers, stamping their feet.

“I’ll redeem myself!”

The finest warrior among King Skal’s royal guard rushed forward.

“Bear Hunter!”

“We trust you, Hakr!”

The Vikings sent hot encouragement. Hakr had earned fame by hunting three bears with melee weapons. His shield technique, which could even deflect savage claw swipes, was truly divine.

“I am King Skal’s shield! Hakr!”

“Eugene, commander of the expeditionary force.”

“…The Southern King?!”

Hakr finally realized who his opponent was and shouted in shock. With no Might and no Blackout, no one had recognized Eugene.

Hakr’s prized iron shield was confiscated by Eugene immediately after the battle. As he retreated in confusion, clutching only a spear, he tripped over a root.

Eugene placed the mace against Hakr’s breastplate. A clear sound rang out as his body lifted into the air.

“Wh-what is this? What kind of magic is this?!”

The flustered Hakr tried to pull free with his hands, but it was a mistake. Being the king’s bodyguard, he wore gauntlets.

“Let go! I said let go!”

Hakr thrashed about like a trapped boar, looking utterly pathetic.

“As you wish.”

Gripping the shaft with both hands, Eugene spun and swung the mace with all his might.

“Uwaaaaaaaaaaaah-“

With throwing force that surpassed magnetism, Hakr flew high into the sky. Both armies slowly lowered their heads, following the trajectory.

“-aaaaaaaah!”

A moment later, a dull sound echoed across the battlefield.

“…”

“…”

Despite the consecutive victories, no cheers erupted from the expeditionary force. Neither did they from the Viking coalition. Only the sound of wind circulated across the battlefield heavy with silence.