Chapter 333: The Second Conqueror (3)

Cavalry was the nemesis of infantry, but that didn’t mean they were invincible. When sturdy and brave heavy infantry banded together, cavalry couldn’t charge recklessly. The moment the charging momentum was lost, they were dead.

In fact, there were cases where cavalry of equal numbers had charged into dense heavy infantry and been slaughtered.

“Thorir! Get down!”

A Viking stationed on the left wing who had already cut down five expeditionary warriors quickly ducked. A heavy cavalry blade grazed past his head by a narrow margin.

“Thanks!”

“Save the thanks for later!”

Vikings whose flanks had been hit and formation broken were being torn apart by the expeditionary cavalry.

Amid screams and blood, warriors fell helplessly. Soon after, as his companion had warned, another cavalryman targeted Thorir.

“Come on! Let’s settle this!”

Thorir dodged the charger’s charge by a hair’s breadth and swung his axe. The brown leather split open and the whinnying charger collapsed. The dismounted rider also struggled to rise only to meet Thorir’s axe.

“Pull him down! Pull him down!”

Warriors swarmed from all sides to drag down the knight who had penetrated deep.

“Let go of me! You savages!”

The knight who had dispatched two in the blink of an eye was dragged from his horse by a Huskarl who grabbed his shoulder from behind.

Clang!

Lying on the ground, the knight blocked the falling axe with his arm guard and drew a dagger.

“Argh!”

The Huskarl whose Achilles tendon was severed collapsed, and the knight rolled into a ground-and-pound.

“You son of a… blech!”

The Huskarl who spat curses had his jaw pierced by the dagger. Not the quickest place to kill, but the knight rotated the blade half a turn.

The shock from the pain rendered the Huskarl unconscious as blood poured onto the ground. The knight entered a grappling match with another enemy who rushed from behind.

If it had been an armed confrontation, the knight would have won, but he had allowed a terribly disadvantageous ambush.

“Yeeargh!”

Hairy, thick arms locked around his neck properly. The knight desperately tried to break the choke, but the hand holding the dagger was also restrained. Even if he didn’t know swordsmanship, the fighter holding the choke had the advantage in size and strength.

“Die!”

Another Viking rushed in and struck the choking knight’s abdomen with an axe.

“!!!”

Broken chain links scattered with blood droplets.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

With consecutive axe blows, the light left the knight’s eyes.

“You damn… How did it taste…”

The Viking celebrating the kill was charged in the flank by a spear. The rider was a freckled young squire of the fallen knight.

The Viking coalition’s left wing, focusing on cavalry defense, gradually achieved success in some areas.

But it didn’t last long. Wherever the defense solidified, Rampage’s stone cavalry arrived and devastated everything.

“They’re coming this way!”

“Where did all the archers go?!”

Those with shortbows fired arrows, and ordinary warriors threw whatever axes they had on hand.

The arrows bounced harmlessly off the Sky Mountain Armor’s thick plates, and the few that hit did minimal damage.

Gaaaam-!

But it only stoked Buteo’s rage, not causing enough damage to matter.

Crrunch!

Crrack!

Crack!

Traffic accidents occurred everywhere. Different from being hit by ordinary cavalry.

Horses had a high center of gravity, so when they struck infantry, the force went from top to bottom. Those hit were driven into the ground.

Buteo, however, had a much lower center of gravity. Vikings struck by stone cavalry were launched upward instead.

Viking shield walls collapsed everywhere. Buteo, following their rider’s lead, charged without hesitation even into groups of three to five with locked shields.

“Hyaaah!”

The stone cavalry’s body check sent Vikings flying in all directions. One went up, two went sideways, one hit the ground.

“Block! Grit your teeth and block!”

“How the hell are we supposed to block that?!”

Even when Jarls threatened with swords, the warriors retreated. Even the Jarls giving orders were stepping back.

“Who was that that just talked back? Desertion in wartime is death…”

The Jarl tried to punish a subordinate who defied him but felt the warning from his instincts. The largest Buteo was charging toward him. It was Rampage.

“Hahaha!”

Enjoying the refreshing headwind, Rampage laughed heartily as he bowled straight through the Jarl.

“AAARGH!”

The Jarl screamed a Wilhelm scream as he spun away into the dust.

“Guaaargh… kack! Kraaagh… kack!”

One unfortunate warrior was hit four times in succession from the perfect angles. Vikings were being dribbled like soccer balls everywhere.

“Stop. The Buteo are getting tired.”

At the signal, Homi stepped on Eugene’s shoulder and rose. The entire battlefield lay below her lips.

“Hoooooooaaaah!”

Homi cupped both hands cutely and her sonic roar pierced the battlefield. The frenzied stone cavalry immediately came to their senses.

In a large-scale battlefield where dozens of drums and horns mixed chaotically, retreat signals didn’t carry well. Homi’s roar cut through more clearly.

“Retreat! Retreat!”

“What are you doing? The young lady says to come back!”

The stone cavalry turned and withdrew, but the Vikings had no respite.

Drdrdrdrdr!

Knights with leveled lances charged in as if replacing them. With their formation already broken, there was no way to respond.

“Damn it…”

Where the giant hammers had swept through, countless spear points arrived.

The Vikings had already broken from King Skal’s control and were retreating individually. The expeditionary force pursued gleefully. This was the moment when the most casualties occurred in battle.

*

As the sun set, both sides who had fought fiercely withdrew their armies.

“Sir Mawin, was it? I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“It’s an honor, Count.”

“Baron Leicester wouldn’t stop bragging. In the previous battle, you skewered two warriors with a single lance? I thought that was impressive, but today you took down a commander.”

The Jarl Mawin had slain had brought six hundred troops. His death caused considerable chaos that benefited the cavalry charge.

“Your Excellency pierced the pagan giant with a lance! My only regret is not being able to witness it firsthand.”

The victorious expeditionary force’s camp was harmonious. Since they were still in a standoff, there was no alcohol or feasting per Eugene’s principles. But the food was excellent.

“Care for a drink?”

“Your Excellency is abstaining, so I couldn’t possibly…”

Mawin was honored but troubled by the dark beverage the attendant brought.

“It’s not wine, it’s grape juice. It’s not alcohol, so drink as much as you like.”

“Oh!”

Mawin, who loved wine, swallowed his saliva and eagerly accepted.

“Baron Leicester.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Baron Leicester approached and bowed.

Rumors about Eugene’s future continued to snowball. As a result, more southern nobles were calling him “my lord” (liege) instead of “your Excellency.”

Since he still held the title of Count, they couldn’t call him “Your Majesty.” Therefore, they used “liege,” a title emphasizing a vassal’s oath of loyalty.

This was a privilege exclusive to the southern nobles, as it could only be used in a feudal relationship.

‘We are the true vassals who have sworn oaths to the Count!’

It was both flattery toward Eugene and a way to show off to nobles from other regions.

-Oh, these guys are really something.

-Shh! Be pleased with your vassals’ loyalty!

Eugene was annoyed that the nobles fought over even the smallest hierarchies. But his wife liked it, and he couldn’t control even this, so he let it go.

“Baron Leicester. I hear Sir Mawin doesn’t have a fief yet. As a reward, I’d like to grant him a portion of the territory currently being reclaimed. What do you think?”

“!!!”

Mawin’s eyes trembled as he listened.

“Then Your Excellency is taking Sir Mawin in?”

“He’s your loyal knight—I can’t just appropriate him.”

“Appropriate? I am also merely your vassal, my lord. It’s just a reshuffling within the household.”

Baron Leicester smiled as he spoke, but a shadow crossed his face.

What did every knight desire most as a reward? Naturally, a fief. Even a small patch of land to rule as lord—that was why knights charged into danger risking their lives.

And fiefs and oaths came as a set. The moment Eugene granted even a small piece of land to Mawin, he would become Eugene’s vassal. It was painful for a knight he had diligently managed to be lost this way.

Naturally, Eugene had no intention of leaving dissatisfaction in a capable vassal like Baron Leicester.

“There’s an unnamed manor. About fifteen households of farmers, maybe four cattle. I’ll retain ownership of the land but grant all other rights to the Baron as an indefinite lease.”

“You want me to pass it entirely to Sir Mawin?”

The perceptive Baron Leicester responded.

If he exercised taxation, judicial rights, milling rights, hunting rights, and conscription rights, his authority over the fief would actually grow.

It was an indirect method of granting the fief without taking the knight from the Baron, while Eugene retained land ownership.

It wasn’t particularly complicated. In this era, far more tangled mixes of rights generated all sorts of disputes.

“Sir Mawin. After the war, my squire will guide you to the village.”

“I am eternally grateful!”

Mawin knelt before Eugene with tears in his eyes.

He was forty-two years old. Twenty-one years had passed since he became a knight. Comrades had died or retired one by one, leaving only him.

This was the moment his lifelong wish was finally fulfilled.

“Congratulations, Sir Mawin!”

“Everyone witnessed your valor, Sir Knight!”

The touching scene drew applause from knights and mercenary captains. But their eyes all sparkled with the flame of desire—the exact reaction Eugene most wanted to see.

Outside the tent, the atmosphere was just as positive. Not a single groan from the wounded. Those who couldn’t fight had been transported to the Moving Castle on wagons waiting in the rear.

*

Meanwhile, the mood in the Viking coalition camp was terrible.

“It’s already festering. If we don’t act immediately, he’ll die before winter.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

A warrior clutched his bloody leg in terror. Before him stood a shaman with a saw.

“I’d rather you kill me than cut off my leg!”

“Don’t be dramatic. Drink this. You’re not ready to die yet.”

“Ugh!”

The warrior’s friend forced strong liquor on him.

“Ughhh.”

The warrior with the injured leg drank the liquor while tears streamed down his face. He feared the impending terrible pain and the even more wretched life that awaited him.

“Khaa.”

The warrior grimaced, exhaling the alcohol-soaked breath. But his friend offered the bottle again.

“That’s not enough. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

The friend raised his left wrist, which had been severed long ago. He had still fought as one by tying his shield to his wrist.

The friend blew on the bottle horn again, and the shaman with the saw began to work. The gristly sound and desperate screams filled the camp.

“Come here too!”

“This one’s a goner. Put him out of his misery…”

The shaman was in high demand. Warriors suffering from wounds of all sizes filled the camp.

The mood was just as grim in Skal’s tent, where he was surrounded by Jarls receiving their counsel.

“Too many warriors have died or been wounded. If one more battle like yesterday’s occurs, the army will collapse. We must attempt negotiations while we still have troops.”

“While we eat dried potatoes or gruel, the enemy roasts meat every day in their camp.”

Skal wanted to strangle the people chattering before him. To show such weakness after just one defeat.

The silent king made them plead even more earnestly, mistakenly believing he was agreeing.

“Our disadvantages only grow as time passes. Please, make a decision.”

“The decision you’re asking for is surrender, isn’t it? Why not just say ‘surrender’ plainly?”

The king’s words made the representative bite his lip. He couldn’t bring himself to say it outright.

“We’ve lost many warriors and shields. But we don’t even have replacements. They have chargers and powerful bows—how do we counter that?”

“They say the great castle has mountains of grain. The stables hold thousands of cattle, chickens, and pigs, and there’s a bottomless bin of hay to feed them. That’s what powers their daily meat feasts.”

At the mention of hay, the Jarls’ eyes widened. It resembled the legend of the boar that provided infinite meat in Valhalla.

“Are you actually believing such absurd nonsense?”

“Your Majesty. A castle that appears riding lightning, a giant who sends men flying into the air—at this point, why wouldn’t we believe that?”

They had witnessed so many unrealistic things in recent days that their threshold for acceptance had risen considerably.

“With our current food supplies, we cannot survive the winter. The longer we delay, the more advantageous it becomes for the enemy.”

Midgard was completely unsuited for large-scale military operations. That they had assembled such a force was itself a miracle. Naturally, long-term food supply had been impossible from the start.

Patiently listening, King Skal showed the declaration of war to his audience.

“We have risen to avenge every Britannian killed by your hands. You will pay for what you’ve done.”

King Skal tapped the paper with his finger.

“The enemies didn’t come to conquer. They came for revenge and destruction alone. So what kind of negotiation could we possibly have?”

“It must be a bluff!”

The lords spoke in unison.

“If they truly came only to slaughter, it makes no sense that so many Jarls have defected to the enemy.”

“From what I’ve heard, the Southern King values negotiation and trade. There must be room for compromise. Reparations, mercenary contracts, marriage alliances… The king has a beautiful daughter, after all… Kugh!”

In an instant, King Skal’s hand seized the lord’s collar.

“So you’re full of bold suggestions when I’m listening patiently? You want me to send my daughter to those pagans? Like a tribute?”

External civilizations looked down on Midgardians as barbarians, but they in turn looked down on external civilizations as pagans.

For those who devoted all glory to the Sovereign, those who worshipped multiple gods seemed promiscuous.

“C-calm down.”

“Please, release your grip…”

The shouts from outside the tent broke the atmosphere that had been heading toward the worst.

“An attack!”

“The enemy has launched a night raid!”

*

The Dark Elves grinned as they followed their lord.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m fine. After fighting briefly this morning, I’ve just been holding the banner.”

“Normal people would be exhausted just holding it.”

Moving at night with a large army was dangerous. One wrong move could lead to isolation among enemies or, worst case, allies fighting each other.

But disturbing the rest of the enemy who had fought fiercely during the day was an attractive option.

Peeeeew!

Firing signal arrows into the enemy camp, waving torches, and blowing horns always produced results.

Dark Elf light cavalry, born horsemen with darkvision, were perfect for this kind of operation.

The racehorses they rode were also accustomed to darkness through extensive night training. With ordinary horses, such an operation was impossible. Horses were creatures easily startled by even their own shadows.

“They’re not responding much. I thought they’d at least pretend to come out.”

“Then we’ll increase the provocation.”

At Eugene’s words, the Dark Elves grinned and struck flint everywhere. A moment later, they were all drawing longbows with fire arrows.

No need for mobile shooting—they could stand still and fire. There was no need to use the weaker horse bows.

“Fire!”

“Water! Bring water!”

Those who had been lax with sound and visual threats showed enthusiastic reactions to arson.

“Cease fire. Shooting from this distance, we can only burn the outer perimeter. Concentrating fire on one spot is wasteful.”

Eugene led his subordinates on a night stroll around the enemy camp.

Some, unable to contain their fury, rushed out. But those who charged recklessly in the darkness quickly became offerings to the Great Mace.

Ka-boom!

Each time the mace struck, a thunderous crash echoed.

“The Sor’s hammer!”

“The Southern King!”

The sound of judgment echoing in the darkness shook the Vikings’ souls. Unable to fight back, they all fled back to their camp in disarray.

“The more I use it, the more I like it.”

“…Please don’t get too close to us.”

When Eugene stroked the mace, the nearby Dark Elves retreated.

The Blackout’s visual effect of splitting people was certainly spectacular. But as a weapon for crushing army morale, this mace was equally impressive.

Tap.

“Hm?”

“Huh?”

But the night picnic had to end early.

“No wonder the wind felt suspicious.”

Eugene and his subordinates clicked their tongues at the raindrops falling from the night sky.

*

By the next morning, the raindrops had grown heavier. Not a downpour, but it had the momentum to continue for several days.

“Look! The Sovereign hasn’t abandoned us!”

“Except for a few places, most of the surrounding area is dirt roads. Thanks to the rain, the ground has turned to mud, so the enemy will have difficulty using cavalry.”

Life returned to King Skal’s tent. At the very least, they no longer had to worry about the knight corps. Even after the rain stopped, the churned earth would remain that way for a long time.

Whether fighting or negotiating, the Vikings had gained another card.

“Heaven helps us.”

King Skal, who had been cornered, spread his arms toward the sky in joy.

The problem was that Valda was looking at the sky with equal joy.

“They’re fortifying their camp.”

“The ground is mud everywhere. If we attack with infantry alone, the casualties will be…”

Britannian nobles studied the battle map with troubled expressions.

“There’s no need to worry.”

Valda stepped forward before them.

“Do you have some brilliant strategy?”

Valda, who had focused on non-military support throughout the expedition, took her place in the meeting instantly. The nobles always showed her utmost respect, but military discussions were rare.

Standing at the camp perimeter, Valda extended her upturned hand to catch raindrops. The water in her pristine palm glimmered like a jewel.

‘Hm. For me, it’s just water.’

Eugene tried the same but immediately shook his hand dry.

“Britannia is special to me. I have always been grateful for the loyalty and fellowship you have shown the royal house. Therefore, Britannia’s enemy is my enemy.”

“Your recognition is our pride.”

The nobles and knights bowed respectfully.

The Elven princess, who had been removed from military affairs throughout the expedition, instantly established herself as a member of the council.

For Eugene, it was a presence he marveled at every time. Not effort, but an aura bestowed by birthright.

“I too bear a certain obligation in this expedition. That is why I have prepared a spell I’ve poured my heart into for this war.”

Mages had little they could do in major wars. At most, they could assist—cases where magic decided the outcome were virtually nonexistent.

Originally, Valda’s magic would have been limited to harassing the enemy, but the situation had changed.

“The surrounding area is bare earth with almost no weeds, and it’s been raining heavily. My magic will achieve maximum effect.”

Valda’s golden eyes gazed upon Skal’s camp, filled with fury.

“Oh!”

“Princess…”

It was the fury of the royal house that Britannia’s nobles had forgotten for so long.