Chapter 314

Chapter 314 - Archipelago Naval Battle (3)

The fleet had entered the Plunderer Archipelago. When Eugene climbed to the deck, fleet commander Otto bowed his head.

"I'm sorry. We failed to bring Hassan's ships along too. No matter how much we coaxed him, he flatly refused..."

There were words in there that would be difficult to write to a Grand Duke, but this was considerable progress. Otto was learning aristocratic speech and writing through a tutor Eugene had assigned him.

"I never expected him from the start."

Eugene handed him a freshly roasted sweet potato and took one for himself.

"He sold the Vikings out, but he doesn't want to make them his mortal enemies. That's what this means."

Hassan was a pirate. He drifted across the whole sea, docking at this port and that to turn a profit—a jackal of the waves.

It was often said of mercenaries that today's ally became tomorrow's enemy, and today's enemy became tomorrow's ally. The pinnacle of that life was the existence of a pirate.

"You saw through him perfectly. He's getting old, it seems—these days he doesn't care for the sight of blood. He deals mainly in stolen goods. He's even been working to open trade channels with Midgard."

Midgard was the Vikings' homeland.

"They estimate that at least fifty thousand Britainians have been dragged there—possibly as many as two hundred thousand."

"They've been beating us for nearly three hundred years, after all."

The money earned from selling slaves was one thing, but they also played a major role in agriculture, fishing, and shipbuilding. Women were often used as sex slaves or buried alive with wealthy warriors when they died.

Now, with advanced metallurgy and military strength, they could fight back—but the first hundred years, when the Vikings first struck, had been an unmitigated hell.

That was why, whenever historians compiled average lifespans by nation's lords, Britainia always came last. So many lords had died on those battlefields.

"Hassan will be heartbroken. The trade route he worked so hard to establish will be gone before the year is out."

Otto's eyes widened.

"You intend to attack even Midgard?"

"When keeping bees, the biggest headache is a hornet invasion."

The answer was somewhat eccentric, but Otto listened attentively.

"They invade whenever they feel like it and slaughter the honeybees. They even call their companions, so if even one gets away, dozens of hornets swarm in and destroy the hive."

"Just like the Vikings. They send out scouting parties to mark villages for targeting."

"So rather than crushing hornet one by one, you need to eliminate the hive—but you can't interrogate insects, which makes it a headache. Fortunately, Vikings are people."

Eugene peeled the skin of his sweet potato in a spiral.

"Catch them and work on them gently, and they'll reveal their home base very eagerly. Right?"

"There is a belief among the Vikings—when subjected to the blood eagle execution, if you don't cry out, the gods forgive your sins and you ascend to Valhalla."

Otto shrugged.

"But in reality, not a single person has ever managed it. In my assessment, Your Excellency's elven interrogators are no less skilled."

Eugene clapped Otto on the shoulder and gazed at the horizon.

The coordinates of the Vikings' homeland, Midgard, were already in hand. The Adventurers' Guild, eager to please a patron who paid well and treated them well, had gone to great lengths to produce a map for him.

Descent was possible at any time, but the place was as vast as Britainia itself. He had no intention of wandering aimlessly without information.

Whoooosh.

The wind was not unfavorable. Without wasting the rowers' stamina, they were making straight for their destination. Otto glanced at the book Eugene had opened.

"What are you reading?"

"Take a look."

When Eugene showed him the cover, Otto's eyes narrowed. For a man with far-sightedness who was just beginning to learn the alphabet, it was practically torture.

"Mi... Mid... gard..."

"Guard."

"Midgard's... culture... and? Be... beliefs..."

"The word is used in the sense of 'religion' in this book, but well, same thing."

Eugene was reading a book about Viking culture. He had already read it once but was reviewing.

"It contains detailed accounts of their daily lives and way of thinking."

"Where did you get something like this? Vikings don't write books. At most, their shamans or priests carve runic text onto idols."

"There was a priest who was abducted by them and spent ten years in slavery. His medical skills were remarkable, so he wasn't sold off—he worked as the tribe's healer. After returning to Britainia, he wrote a book about what he'd seen and heard, so I tracked it down."

"What an incredibly lucky priest. Once you're dragged to Midgard, you're not supposed to come back alive."

"The tribe that held that priest participated in the Britainian civil war. On the Kruger family's side."

"Ah!"

Otto understood immediately how it had come about.

"There's a lot of interesting material here. It won't help much in battle, but there's no harm in knowing."

As Eugene approached the final chapter, the navigator came running.

"We've spotted them!"

Eugene rushed to the prow and spotted longships moored at an island in the distance. On the island's slope, a large, ornate tent had been erected. The jarls appeared to be in the midst of a feast that doubled as a council.

Just then, a Viking warrior who had been fishing from a longship stood up. When he spread his arms and shouted, commotion spread rapidly.

"Your Excellency!"

"Give us the order!"

The captain, Otto, and every sailor on deck turned to Eugene.

"All hands to battle stations. We must cut off their escape before they can flee in the longships. Commence maneuvering advance!"

At Eugene's command, the horn sounded and sailors carrying flags signaled with crisp, disciplined movements.

"To battle stations!"

"Extend the oars!"

The other galleys, confirming the command ship's signal, moved in synchronized order.

"Bring the fire pots!"

The waiting Dark Elf archer corps poured out and lined the deck. They set both regular and fire arrows, awaiting the order to loose.

Naval warfare of this era involved using shipboard catapults or ballistae to degrade enemy vessel mobility, then finishing them off with boarding actions.

But Eugene despised those shipboard siege engines—their range and accuracy were both abysmal. An overwhelming rain of arrows. That alone was more than sufficient against longships.

"Maneuver advance! Maneuver advance!"

"Oars out!"

Meanwhile, beneath the deck, battle was already underway.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

To the beat of the overseer's drum, the rowers shouted in unison.

Not a single rower here was a convict. They were all freemen who had worked physical jobs, their muscles honed by labor.

Rowing was brutal, heavy labor that required skill—you couldn't just use anyone. There was a risk of the ship turning in the wrong direction, or of oars tangling and breaking.

-For this operation, we'll be mobilizing quite a few merchant ships. That means we need more rowers.

-Understood. I'll begin conscription immediately.

Eugene had prioritized merchant sailors and fishermen—skilled hands. Lumberjacks and miners with good rhythm came next.

For the remaining shortfall...

-You summoned us?

-Hey! My finest, strongest, most loyal and enduring lads! Come in, come in!

-...

-Why the long faces?

-We haven't done anything lately, so this makes us nervous.

-Come with me. I have some new friends to introduce you to.

The Dwarves who followed Eugene stood face-to-face with the rowers below deck.

-...

-This is a secret, but you lot will receive your bonus pay in silver coins. They get copper coins, you see.

-My Lord.

-Hm?

-I hate you.

The Hammer Brothers Dwarves who had rowed on the New World rivers were the third conscription target. They grumbled but not one of them hesitated to obey.

Eugene tried to avoid conscripting civilians as much as possible, but when suddenly needing thousands of rowers, there was no alternative.

"Yeeeah-ha!"

"Whooo-ha!"

The strange grunts of lumberjacks and miners drew scowls from the seamen rowing alongside them.

"Idiots. Save your breath."

"We're not here to break down castle gates during a siege. Rowing and shouting 'ha'—cut it out!"

The fierce glares silenced the land folk.

Their tone was irritating, but what could be done? They were all veterans in their respective fields.

'In an unfamiliar environment, the newcomer follows the old hand's lead.'

This was an immutable truth.

Disobey, and accidents would happen. He had seen plenty of greenhorns with broken limbs or worse at the workplace.

"Shift change, number seventy-one!"

"Shift change, number thirty-five!"

The overseer swapped out those with wrist markers. On any other ship, they would have had to tough it out through sheer grit.

"Hiek... hiek..."

"Shift change, number twenty-two!"

Even those clutching their chests were pulled away. It wasn't heart or lung trouble—it was respiratory distress brought on by extreme tension.

Before, they would have dismissed it as a weakling's excuse and lashed them mercilessly, but under Eugene's rule, things had changed.

-Panic... attack?

-You can't breathe even though your lungs are fine?

When first trained, the overseers had struggled to maintain composure. This was an era where mental illness was equated with demonic possession and machismo was considered virtue.

But what could they do? If his lordship said it was an illness, then it was an illness.

Crack!

"Kah!"

"Row harder! If you can't do it properly, the whole ship is in danger!"

When someone faltered, the overseer cracked the whip.

"Damn it. Even I get the whip? I'm not a slave!"

As the overseer passed, a conscripted lumberjack muttered. A conscripted fisherman beside him grinned.

"Friend, if we were real slaves, we'd all have chains on our ankles."

"...Really?"

"And if the ship caught fire or took a ramming hit and sank, we'd all die."

The policy was: row with the spirit of survival. If the ship sank, the space below deck was a hell on all sides. People would scream, claw at the chains until their nails ripped out and the skin peeled from their ankles.

"Slave rowers get one big, hard loaf of bread a day, and that's it. Compared to us, we get three meals, meat, and even alcohol!"

A rower who had been a sailor gave a thumbs-up. The leather gloves protecting his hands were standard-issue equipment given to all rowers. Naturally, slaves had nothing like that.

"Charge advance! Charge advance!"

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The drumbeat quickened, and the rowing pace increased with it. The air below deck grew stifling hot.

"It's true! The Vikings are all gathered there!"

"How many ships? How many?!"

Rowers in positions with a line of sight peered out through the ventilation gaps.

"You bastards! Focus on rowing—"

"Leave them be."

"What?"

The senior overseers stopped the junior ones who had raised their whips.

The Britainians had endured Viking depredations for three hundred years. Plundered, raped, slaughtered, their homes burned.

As a result, the mere sight of a longship ignited a great candle in their hearts. Most of the flame was yellow fear, but at the wick's tip, a tiny flicker of blue was hatred.

But now it was the opposite. An undefeated conquering sovereign who had shattered countless armies and monsters led them.

Grrrrrrr.

Creeeeak.

The rowers, calming of their own accord, rowed with hardened faces. Their candle had turned entirely blue with the light of hatred. Propelled by that power, the ship surged forward even faster.

"See? There's no fuel more potent than hatred."

Before his grinning superior, the junior overseer could only nod.

"Furl the sails! From here on, manual operation only!"

When Eugene's additional order fell, the news of the surprise attack had already reached the Viking leadership.

*

"Surprise attack!"

"The Britainians are here!"

The jarls, drinking honey mead and arguing furiously, were startled out of their wits.

Boooosh!

Some jarls, in their haste, simply slashed through the tent wall with their axes and peered outside.

"Don't be ridiculous! How could they find this place?!"

King Bieren, presiding over the council, hurled his drinking cup. The Plunderer Archipelago was not just one or two large and small islands. The currents twisted and turned in every direction—without a traitor, it was impossible.

"King Bieren! They really are here!"

"Look! What are you going to do, just standing there?!"

The jarls pressed Bieren. The Vikings had multiple small kingdoms coexisting, so their kings were far weaker in power and authority compared to the major nations' rulers.

"Everyone, take up your weapons! We'll strike when they try to land! Let's cover this worthless island with flesh and blood and offer it to Father God!"

Bieren's only option was all-out war.

"The place where you fall is the gateway. Think of the feasts and ancestors waiting beyond it!"

Bieren was an exceptional charge leader but too religious and simple as a commander. The speech he had crafted with the shamans' input was met with lukewarm reception.

"What are you saying? We need to board the ships and escape immediately."

"They came in galleys. If they form a naval blockade and bombard us, we'll all starve to death on this island."

Longships and galleys differed by five to ten times in displacement. Their height lagged by two to three times, and comparing the archers and supplies they could carry was pointless.

Without even landing, they could form a siege line and tighten it—there was no counter.

"Damn it! You're right!"

King Bieren's face flushed with shame, but he agreed immediately. His wish was a glorious death on the battlefield, not starving on an island until only bones remained.

"Everyone, board the ships! Find your own way! We'll meet again in Midgard!"

The problem was that the Britainian fleet's approach was too fast.

Under Otto's command, strong rowers caught the fair wind in unified effort. The large galleys and medium and small vessels had already reached both flanks of the island.

"They're cutting off our escape!"

"Break through at any cost!"

The longships that finished boarding first began to depart one after another. When a jarl found himself face-to-face with a galley on the island's flank, his face went white.

"Oh, God."

On the deck of the galley positioned broadside, over two hundred Dark Elves had longbows trained on them.

"Fire!"

Two hundred arrows rained into the longship.

"Shields!"

"Shield wall!"

The Vikings dropped their oars and raised their shields. Almost immediately came the sound of an iron hail.

"Kah!"

"Aaargh!"

The defense was not very effective. Being on a ship, it was difficult to form an efficient wall.

Moreover, Viking shields were not as sturdy as those of the knights. With ten times as many archers firing powerful longbows, the shields were reduced to rags in an instant.

"Rapid fire!"

Furthermore, skilled archers could temporarily increase their rate of fire to its absolute limit.

Thwack! Thwack!

Crunch!

Before a rain of arrows—one every four seconds—the Vikings were turned into hedgehogs, shields and all, and toppled over.

"Kraaaah!"

The longship trying to escape in the opposite direction saw its last survivor fall. The entire vessel was blanketed in a dense layer of arrows.

"Those crazy bastards!"

"How are horse-riders causing this much trouble at sea?!"

The Vikings who boarded the next longship hesitated, unsure which way to break through.

"The center! Go through the center!"

Just then, a jarl with sharp eyesight shouted.

The galley stopped in the center had no Dark Elves with bows. A single man simply stood at the prow, surveying the battlefield.

"Is it a trap?"

"Then become a cactus and die, why don't you!"

A group of longships charged at full speed. And in that instant—

Whoosh-ka-boooom!!!

Kraaack!!!

From the lead longship, five Vikings were sent flying in all directions. A terrible surge of water erupted from the ship's center, and broken oar fragments scattered in every direction.

*

"One shot, one kill... as always, money is king. Wouldn't you say?"

"Uh... uh..."

At Eugene's words, Otto, the navigator, and the other sailors nodded with blank expressions. There was a world of difference between a contraption cobbled together by backwoods blacksmiths and one forged with the combined might of a great city.

The steel javelin launcher was three meters long. It wasn't just the rear of the spear that fitted in—it locked into place along the entire body via rails that resembled a rifle barrel.

The spear was reduced to about eighty centimeters. But it was solid iron, and helical grooves were carved along its entire length.

The launcher's rail and the grooves on the spear interlocked. Judging by how it worked, it was closer to an armor-piercing projectile than a javelin.

Whiiiit!

Homi blew a whistle signaling the loading was complete.

"Monster of Britainia!"

"How do you do?!"

When a jarl who recognized Eugene screamed, Eugene returned the greeting and took aim.

The Vikings reflexively formed a shield wall—but immediately realized how pointless it was.

"..."

"..."

In the darkness behind the shield wall, eyes met with trembling gazes. Some dared to glare resentfully at their jarl, but the jarl could say nothing. He resented his own mouth just as much.

Whoosh-ka-boooom!!!

Kraaack!!!

Shields shattered and mangled corpses spun like pinwheels. The javelin had split the keel in two, and the ship broke apart and sank.

"Full speed—"

Kraaack!!!

Another longship attempting to desperately evade was also destroyed. Only after four ships had sunk were the Vikings able to go around to the left side of the galley.

For some reason, the right side was packed with escort vessels, but the left had been left wide open. Something felt wrong, but there was no alternative.

"Hah..."

"Pant. Pant."

The Vikings breathed heavily. The exhaustion of rowing combined with fear beyond comprehension.

To die in close combat with swords or axes was glorious. One would ascend to Valhalla and feast among the gods and ancestors.

But being blown to bits by a projectile that flew in like a flash of light and becoming fish food? There was no glory in such an end.

The problem was they were not yet out of danger.

Creeeeak.

Whoooosh.

Creeeeak.

Whoooosh.

The idle oars of the galley began rowing in reverse.

"Idiots! Trying to row in reverse won't—huh?"

"Why is it so fast?!"

The Vikings didn't know, but all the rowers inside the command ship had completed a full shift change. The reserves they had been saving, seasoned veterans, sat facing backward and rowed with vigor.

The Vikings were exhausted, and there was no comparison in the number of oars. Thanks to this, even in reverse, the galley matched the longships' speed.

"No!"

Some Vikings cried out in horror, pointing upward. There stood Eugene, having circled back to the galley's side, aiming the fearsome javelin launcher.

Whoosh-ka-boooom!!!

The spiraling armor-piercing bolt flew in. Like a screaming shell, it had carved wind holes near the tip, producing a dreadful shriek that shook the world.

A massive geyser erupted as the longship was destroyed.

Kraaack!!!

And then another.

"Uwaaah!"

"He's coming! He's coming!"

As ships behind were destroyed in sequence, the Vikings due next screamed in despair.

Splat splat splat!

Fragments of flesh and severed heads rained down on the next longship.

Splash!

Unable to endure the terror, Vikings began leaping from their ships. Without a single sword swing, they had become a routed army.

After destroying the remaining ships as well, Eugene circled back.

"Reverse stopped! Reverse stopped! Reposition the rowers to forward!"

Five minutes later, Eugene's command ship reached the longships locked in fierce combat with the escort fleet. Suspicious of a trap, the Vikings had decided to try breaking through the encirclement instead.

"Kill them! Kill them all!"

"How dare these Britainian weaklings stand in our way?!"

The Britainians outnumbered the Vikings, but their naval combat ability lagged far behind. Soldiers fell bleeding in droves, and the encirclement was on the verge of breaking.

But then the soldiers' morale surged and they erupted in cheers. Their sovereign had returned.

Kraaack!!!

A geyser erupted in the center of the encirclement.

Whoooosh-ka-boom!!!

"Gah!"

"Hek!"

The escort vessel soldiers flinched as the sound of the projectile screamed overhead. Even knowing it was friendly fire, they couldn't help but shudder.

One minute later.

"You sons of bitches! Not even worth a single—Kah!"

The escort vessel soldiers fished the Vikings from the sea and picked them off like shooting fish.

"Hm? What was that?"

"Glub! Glub!"

"I can't heeeaaar you!"

Bolts and spears pierced the chests and shattered the skulls of the flailing warriors. The relationship maintained for three hundred years had been reversed in a single moment.