Chapter 336: Britannia Reborn

Fossheim, Skal’s direct territory, was a settlement built around a waterfall, as its name suggested. It could draw clean water constantly without relying on wells, and it also bordered the sea.

Thanks to these favorable geographical conditions, it had been a growing city since humans first settled in Midgard. It was no coincidence that the first sea route pioneer emerged from here.

However, despite its scale and pleasant location, its defenses were weak.

“Looks like we won’t need siege equipment.”

“For a king’s city, Knut’s small town would have been sturdier. The population is probably larger here, though.”

Even with the army annihilated, a king was still a king. The Dwarves who had been pondering how to breach Skal’s territory looked somewhat deflated. True to their stubborn nature, they hadn’t believed the converts’ testimony until the end.

“It’s a place that benefited well from geography. Rarely attacked from outside by sea or land. Also, stone and timber are scarce. Build a castle and force heavy labor on the populace, and the lord might get replaced.”

Eugene’s subordinates seemed unable to understand Midgardian culture at all. Having lived in a civilization where noble privileges continued as long as bloodline was secure, it was natural.

Fossheim was a Trelleborg—a wooden fortress city. Calling it a fortress was generous; it was logs erected to form walls, reinforced with numerous watchtowers for defense.

Still, Skal’s residence was large enough to be seen from outside the city, and the city itself was the widest in Midgard.

Most Jarls lived in longhouses and managed estates with nothing more than a fence. For a king, this was sufficient.

“Run!”

People who spotted the unfamiliar army rushed into the city. The screams typical of such situations were absent. Everyone headed orderly toward the gate—no beginners’ work.

“Call in everyone off duty!”

“What happened to the king?”

Sentry watchmen shouted and warning bells clanged.

But since Skal had taken his main fighting force, only minimal warriors remained. Half of those were retired or had never been warriors to begin with.

By the time the last person fled inside and the palisade gate closed, Eugene’s army had finished forming up.

“Let’s begin immediately. Rampage, once the gate is broken, charge straight through and secure the port. Don’t let a single soul escape. We need to hold until we leave, so take two crossbows per rider. Rex, lead the archers and shoot anything that pokes its head above the walls. Fire arrows are prohibited.”

“You won’t burn it?”

“We burn it only after stripping it clean. It’s the oldest city—who knows how much accumulated wealth is there?”

Different from Knut’s territory, where they had attacked slowly for deterrence, this was the operation’s final destination and they wouldn’t be staying to rule, so no need to hold back.

“Leave not a single needle—sweep it clean, then erase the city from the map.”

“How exciting!”

Cassandra clasped her hands in delight. The other Dark Elves shared the same reaction.

“That’s exactly it! You’re always impressive, but since coming to Midgard, you’ve truly been at your best! A real man should have this kind of vigor! Even this garbage land has its uses.”

“Lady Cassandra speaks the truth. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear such an order since entering your service?”

“Haha! I’ll show you what it means to pull up the roots.”

The Black Hand tribe, for whom cruelty toward outsiders was a virtue, seemed extremely pleased with Eugene’s different visage in Midgard.

“…Haa.”

Eugene pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, thanks.”

Might charged forward.

“Halt! Ah, no—halt!”

An old veteran on the watchtower shouted.

As was fitting for the king’s city, it was customary to shout informally at all who approached. But his instincts screamed not to provoke. He had survived to old age in a short-lived profession for a reason.

“Those heading to the king’s city! You must identify yourselves!”

“Eugene, commander of the Britannian expeditionary force. Open the gate, and I’ll spare your lives.”

Obviously not a request that could be taken at face value.

“This is the sacred land of the great King Skal—”

In response, Eugene held up a horizontal pole. Three ropes dangled from it, bearing the heads of Skal, his eldest son, and his second son. Preserved by the witches’ embalming, they showed almost no decay.

“The king and his heirs are dead. Along with every army that followed them, directly or indirectly. There’s nowhere to flee—give up. The ports your ships could reach have either pledged loyalty to me or are already under attack.”

The stunned sentries were speechless at the calmly delivered shock.

“Captain, what should we do?”

Everyone looked at the Huskarl captain of the guard. He was Skal’s kinsman, a warrior loyal enough to entrust family and home to.

“Fossheim does not surrender! I accepted my fate the moment the king marched out. You cannot pass without a fight!”

“So be it.”

Eugene tossed the head-pole aside and charged forward with shield raised.

“Shoot! Shoot them dead!”

Against the Huskarl’s order, most archers flattened themselves.

Shshshshsh!

Immediately, arrows and bolts flew terrifyingly overhead over them.

“Argh!”

Those who tried bravely to follow their captain’s orders were riddled and fell.

“If you don’t want to die, keep your heads down.”

Dwarves with siege crossbows and Dark Elf archers with longbows threatened them.

In that gap, Eugene reached the palisade gate. It was a gate made of two logs bound together with large nails—no further processing. Inconvenient to open and close, but the most durable of wooden gates.

Eugene swung Blackout with all his might. A sound like dragon bones being crushed rang out.

Crrrack!

Wood fragments flew with tremendous force.

“Wh-what is that?”

“What’s out there?!”

Frightened voices came from beyond the gate. Warriors who had heard the warning bells and rushed over were stationed there.

The black flash flickered several more times. The axe blade sliced through the left, right, and top of the closed gate.

“Dodge!”

“It’s falling inward!”

Frantic footsteps retreated.

Boom!

A rectangular section of logs toppled, creating a new entrance. Warriors stepped back at the sight of Eugene mounted on Might, wielding the massive greataxe.

Without warning, Eugene charged in and delivered a cleaving strike. The axe blade that split two warriors in half continued through to an old tree beside them.

Grrrrrrr.

With a sound louder than the gate, the dying tree crashed through a house’s roof.

“Uwaaaah!”

After that, Eugene looked up and found most warriors had fled.

“Hyah!”

“Charge to the port!”

Rampage’s stone cavalry entered the city. A few arrows flew but left no marks. Too insignificant against top-tier transitional armor.

Shshshshsh!

Arrows rained over the Dwarves racing down the main street. Sentry guards clutching vital points fell from the wooden walls.

“Everyone move!”

“Hahahaha!”

Rampage and the Dwarves laughed as they drove the Buteo through. Heavy cavalry charging down the main road was the ultimate indulgence—a rare pleasure only available in wartime.

“The Britannians have invaded!”

“The gate is already broken?”

“The king?! What happened to the king?”

Armed fighters from all over the city rushed over. But no matter how warrior-like their culture, charging heavily armored stone cavalry with militia-level armaments was suicide.

After the stone cavalry crushed a dozen as an example, the rest scattered in all directions. The advance was so swift that when they reached the port, they were just untying empty ships’ mooring lines.

Bolts fired and the few guards and sailors were eliminated. Rampage then dug in. Unlike other cavalry who became vulnerable once charging momentum was spent, each of them was a small fortress standing still.

It took another twenty minutes for the city to be fully captured.

*

“Grab everything that’s worth money!”

At Eugene’s shout in the king’s great hall, the Dark Elves cheered.

“Kneel, you bastards!”

“If you’re hiding daggers or anything and get caught, you’ll die immediately. Take them out while I’m asking nicely.”

While the men sorted and guarded prisoners with weapons drawn, the women filled large sacks with gold and silver treasures.

“Hands on your head! No, don’t stretch them up—hold your head! No, not your hair, your skull!”

Using profanity as an exclamation when frustrated was surprisingly universal culture.

Click click.

Dark Elf women used lockpick kits in hand to bypass box locks and claim treasures. Lock-picking was part of the Black Hand tribe’s bride training.

As a matriarchal society, selecting treasure in such situations was women’s exclusive privilege. But with Rex’s status, the story was different.

“I chose carefully. Please, place it on Lady Valda yourself later.”

Rex grinned and brought a necklace. A treasure made of white gems woven like a waterfall—enough to make even Eugene’s eyes go wide.

“Where did you find this?”

“Hehehe. The moment we entered the city, I made a beeline for the king’s bedroom. Speed is everything for these things.”

“Truly appreciated.”

The disappointed-looking Dark Elves indicated that everyone had missed out by mere moments.

Here and there, young ladies shook golden candelabras, scattering candles before stuffing them into bundles. They immediately sought the next target. Stepping on candles rolling on the ground to put them out was men’s work.

A young lady draped in a white fox fur coat swept golden goblets into her bag.

“This and this. Be careful not to damage the wings—move them slowly.”

When her pretty fingers pointed at heavy loot, men carried them without complaint. A golden eagle statue with spread wings and a tiger taxidermy were moved.

While everyone enthusiastically ransacked the mansion, Eugene questioned the prisoners.

“I heard Skal had a secret room he visited. Do you know its location? Guide me there, and I’ll give you traveling money and set you free.”

He had heard this from a Bargeant lord.

“I know, my lord.”

After multiple failed attempts, they found the hidden room. It was filled with statues and musty-smelling scrolls.

“Achoo!”

The dust in the room irritated Homi’s sensitive nose.

“What are all these? Similar to what’s in the Moving Castle.”

“Statues from the Second Age. Likely the governors who controlled Midgard at the time. Chronologically older than what we have in our castle.”

Eugene stroked a statue of a man wearing a toga and laurel wreck.

“Look at them still standing after all that time. The stonework of the Ancient Kingdom never fails to inspire awe.”

“Why would Skal collect these? It doesn’t seem like Viking taste. They were his oppressors, after all.”

“The Bargeant lords said Skal was deeply dissatisfied with his position. Though he ruled as king, compared to the real kings of the outside world, he was lacking in many ways. No grand palace, no magnificent ceremonies.”

Military power aside, what Skal truly desired was a lifestyle befitting a king.

“These satisfied that longing?”

Where Homi stopped was before a statue. Uniquely, a full-body statue without both arms—an ancient goddess who had lost all her believers and sunk into oblivion.

“Skal was a Viking. Even if he hated his oppressors, he couldn’t hate their power.”

Eugene stroked the centurion helmets and lorica armor depicting human chest and abdominal muscles. Similar to the Shadow Legion’s but with incomparably finer craftsmanship.

“They once ruled the entire world. Weapons, armor, buildings, statues, warhorses—everything they possessed contained immortal power. The ancients wore them, rode them, wielded them, and reshaped the entire world to their liking. They were people who knew how to express beauty through strength.”

Eugene glanced surreptitiously toward where Valda was outside the city.

“Lady Valda is proud that Louis Amour ruled the world based on respect and virtue. But honestly… I prefer this side. It’s the only thing Skal and I have in common.”

In Eugene’s hand was the Damascus Gladius.

“You’ll keep this a secret?”

“Of course.”

Homi smiled brightly and linked her arm through Eugene’s.

“And their value goes without saying.”

Eugene carefully touched the scrolls. Homi’s eyes read the titles written on their exteriors.

“Midgard Conquest Journal.”

“The King’s Secret Correspondence.”

“Consul’s Governance Meeting Minutes.”

“Germanus Legion Training Curriculum.”

“New Legion: Shadow Legion Founding Commemorative Royal Tournament Visit Record.”

“Hero’s Tomb Construction Records.”

“Britannia Invasion Plan.”

Homi’s lips stopped. Even she, a pure warrior, was stiffened by the value of the dozens of scrolls.

“The First Age, the Second Age, and today’s Third Age.”

Eugene embraced Homi from behind.

“A long time has passed, and instead of progressing, this world has only regressed. Today, we’ve restored a small fragment of that.”

“Treasures too great for Skal to possess.”

Homi’s tail gently wrapped around Eugene’s neck.

She who remained faithful to a warrior’s life couldn’t fully comprehend why Eugene was so delighted. But as always, seeing her brother happy was itself the greatest reward to her.

*

“Set it on fire.”

A minute or so after Eugene’s order, flames that had sprung up throughout Fossheim quickly spread to engulf the entire city. Thanks to flammable materials scattered everywhere.

Carts and horses were loaded with treasures, and useful townspeople were taken prisoner. The rest were given minimal rations and expelled.

“Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to kill them all? There’s no need to keep them alive…”

“No. Letting them go is more useful. Look at their faces. What do you see?”

“Common laborers, middle-aged, disabled, the elderly. Hunger and despair too.”

At Rex’s words, Eugene pointed to the sky.

“Winter is coming soon. If other villages won’t take them in, the outcome is obvious. Freeze to death or starve. But they’re not exactly the type to benefit the territory’s future.”

Young women, children, and skilled workers—the people who would sustain the future—were all captured in Eugene’s camp.

“For greater chaos in Midgard. It would be even better if their hatred turned on each other.”

“Wouldn’t that hatred fall on the Bargeant? They’ve sworn loyalty too.”

“Direct employees, subsidiary employees, subcontractor employees. The treatment of the three groups naturally differs.”

“Direct? Subcontractor? What’s that?”

“Just something that exists.”

Eugene smiled and put his arm around Rex’s shoulder. They watched Fossheim burn. Fierce flames roared like a storm.

“It’s satisfying, but this location is too good. Given time, settlements will spring up here again.”

“It’s fine. By the time those become functional, the world will have changed forever.”

*

When winter arrived, the Moving Castle returned to Britannia as a bolt of lightning.

The expeditionary force, bearing massive spoils, returned to their respective hometowns to warm receptions.

“I’m back!”

“Home! You made it back safe—wait, what is all this?”

Joyfully rushing out families froze. The sight of the breadwinner pouring out enough wealth to last decades brimming with pride.

“Let me introduce you. This is Otto, the leader of the transoceanic continental exploration. Otto, this is Sigurd. He’ll be joining you on the great journey.”

Eugene introduced the different sailors.

The Bargeant who followed Sigurd were either filled with wanderlust, had no attachment to their barren territories, or yearned for bountiful lands.

Everyone watched the work of adding flesh to the keel with interest.

“This area is under my protection, but be cautious. Those who consider you enemies are everywhere.”

“We understand our position well. There is no salvation for us in Midgard or Britannia, so we will stake everything on new lands.”

At Sigurd’s words, the Bargeant nodded with resolute expressions.

“Otto. They may look like bears, but don’t be intimidated. They’ll all be assigned under your command, so feel free to work them hard.”

“Ah… hahaha… Th-thank you.”

Otto was intimidated by men who outweighed him by one and a half times.

But great challenges required many strong, experienced sailors. If they had no attachment to this land, all the better! These seamen before him were top talent he couldn’t pass up.

“They’re very obedient people. Please don’t hesitate to give orders.”

“Th-thanks.”

Otto shook Sigurd’s offered hand.

“We need to build more ships. Even if it takes time, please begin.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Otto was delighted.

-What if the coastline curves northward?

-One ship follows the coast, one goes straight. That would be ideal.

-With our current crew, operating two ships would be difficult.

There had been difficulties with the plan of following the coast northward from the Divide’s waters.

The exploration could result in the entire crew vanishing. Eugene had insisted on an all-volunteer composition, making it difficult to find crew for even two ships.

But with Sigurd’s group joining, not just two but three ships could be launched.

“Left turn, straight, right turn. We can respond to every possibility, so someone will succeed.”

Sigurd clearly understood why Eugene, who lacked nothing, had gone through the trouble of recruiting them.

“I’ll provide all necessary materials and food provisions. So build well.”

The Bargeant saluted Eugene. But when Sigurd knelt in Britannian etiquette ahead of them, they all awkwardly followed suit.

The only trace of their homeland that remained for them now was the Sovereign. Even that was slowly weathering in the Britannian wind.

*

Afterward, Eugene consulted with Valda on the most important matter.

“Most who participated in the expedition will support your coronation. The problem is the great lords in each region…”

It was the matter of Eugene ascending to the throne.

“If we’re not careful, it could lead to another civil war. We can’t avoid fighting entirely, but I’d like to resolve it as peacefully as possible.”

Recently, two monarchs had plunged their nations into chaos by reaching for higher positions. Eugene didn’t want to become the third.

“Shall we start with titles?”

“Yes. It costs nothing and has great effect.”

Britannia, with its unique circumstances, had maintained the Elven royal house’s bloodline as regents after the Half-Elven family’s fall, then the Agrippa family after them.

Britannia’s devotion to the first-age Elven royal house was absolute. Because of this, there had been a general deflation of titles.

Rising above the Half-Elven or Agrippa families was considered sacrilege. Everyone had hit their ceiling at the count’s title.

But actual power was far greater. Even the weakest western Count Edward could assemble over six thousand troops by calling his vassals.

Great lords in other regions were strong enough to merit duchies by Roman standards.

“When I become king, they will receive new titles befitting their power. No longer will we suffer disadvantages in foreign relations.”

When forming trade, marriage alliances, or military pacts, Britannian nobles had always been stressed.

With inferior wealth and military strength but equal or higher titles from other houses everywhere—in an era where power reigned supreme, one couldn’t entirely ignore title hierarchy in noble society.

Eugene announced he would normalize the long-stagnant title system. And that this was only the beginning of the glory to come.