Chapter 315

Chapter 315 - Ticket Shredding

"Your Excellency! Are you alright?!"

"What are you lot doing? Get a healer up here now!"

Victory was all but certain, but the command ship was in utter chaos.

"I'm fine. Calm down."

Eugene pulled off his helmet and inspected himself. The cheek guard was badly gouged—without the helmet, the injury would have been severe.

At his feet lay the shattered javelin launcher. The rail had failed under the load, bursting apart and sending metal fragments and rods slamming into the side of Eugene's face.

"I'm not hurt. Relax."

Perhaps it was because the impact against the helmet had produced such a resounding crack—Homi, despite seeing no wound, anxiously checked Eugene's hair and tunic, rifling through them with frantic care.

Still not reassured, she pressed her nose close and sniffed.

Sniff sniff.

The faint sweat Eugene had broken from battle mingled with the salt carried on the sea breeze, giving it an unfamiliar scent. The particular body odor that arose from oils dissolving within that moisture was as sweet as ever.

But there was no smell of blood at all, and Homi finally let out a breath of relief.

"Trying to mimic a rifle was too much to ask after all, wasn't it?"

Eugene murmured, stroking Homi's head.

Accuracy, muzzle velocity, range, and shoulder recoil reduction. He had agonized over the design to satisfy all four factors equally, but it seemed the current technology couldn't quite manage it.

...?!"

Just before throwing, he'd felt a subtle rupture forming and had quickly hurled it skyward. If he'd released it as intended, it wouldn't have just destroyed the helmet—there could have been friendly casualties.

Eugene calmed his subordinates and surveyed the right escort formation. One longship, luckily reduced to half-sinking, barely remained afloat, and all the Vikings had gathered there.

"..."

"..."

A temporary lull fell over the battlefield. The encircling naval troops had over one hundred crossbows trained on them.

"Cough..."

"Ugh... ghh..."

The Viking warriors, propped against broken wooden planks, groaned as the current rocked them. Every one of them had at least one bolt lodged in their body.

"Damn it all."

"The southern king even used magic. No wonder the jarls kept dying."

Those clinging to the longship's hull gritted their teeth.

"Your Excellency. Give us the order."

"Shall we take them prisoner?"

The sea knights who had led the escort fleet in battle asked.

They were a unique group born of Britainia to counter Viking raids, peculiar in that they wore armor made from plant-based materials and specialized in naval warfare.

Though lacking in horsemanship—they rode horses only for transport and could not wield a lance—they were nonetheless proper knights. Knights held in high esteem across all of Britainia.

"These fellows suspected the easy path was a trap and charged headlong into an enemy-filled zone. Brave, adventurous, and brimming with spite. They won't surrender easily, and keeping them alive would only invite trouble later."

Eugene nodded, regarding the Vikings who had not lost their fighting spirit.

"Kill every last one of them."

"Understood."

At the sea knights' signal, the soldiers unleashed a volley of crossbow bolts. The Vikings screamed and hurled curses, but the sounds dwindled rapidly.

"And there should be plenty more flailing about over there. I want interrogations done on them, so capture everyone."

"Yes! Ships three through ten, follow me!"

The sea knights' commanded vessels pulled back from the front. Some soldiers carried nets in place of weapons.

True to their naval nature, Meyer clan sailors handled nets with practiced ease. During battle they threw them, of course, but even in peacetime they engaged in fishing as part of their farming duties.

This was why the navy was not an avoided branch in southern Britainia. The weather was warm, the patrol routes hugged the coastline, and one could eat aplenty of delicious seafood.

*

The fighting on the sea lanes on either side of the island had also ended. Additional longships had attempted to break free but were intercepted by Dark Elves raining arrows without mercy.

-Stop shooting, you bastards!

-Are your ancestors paying for the arrows?!

It was easy to forget serving in Eugene's army, but warriors of this era furnished their own equipment at personal expense. Arrows, javelins, and wood axes were consumables everyone hated parting with.

Each arrow loosed was like tossing away a sizable loaf of bread—loose ten and an old chicken disappeared. The Vikings couldn't fathom enemy archers squandering money like this.

-Hot! Hot!

A longship that had luckily slipped through the encirclement was punished with fire arrows. Extinguishing them with seawater might take ten or twenty shots, but when two hundred marksmen rained fire, a longship was engulfed in flames in an instant.

-Abandon ship! Sound the retreat!

In the end, the Vikings abandoned their escape and retreated to the island. But that was little more than urinating on frozen ground.

Eugene's command ship halted before the island, and the galleys and escort vessels on both sides formed a double and triple encirclement.

"All ships, hold position. Do not advance further."

"Archers! How long are we going to just take hits?!"

Unlike the composed Eugene, King Bieren, his fury rising to the crown of his head, ordered his archers to fire.

But Viking bows were simple uncomposite constructions, so their range was short. Most arrows splashed into the sea before reaching the fleet.

"When we get back, I'll have to pay a visit to the priest who wrote this and express my thanks. I'll donate generously to the temple too."

Eugene closed the book he'd been holding and laughed. The range was exactly as recorded in the chapter on Viking hunting culture.

"Don't let the Britainians land!"

"Spearmen, forward! Build a barricade along the shore!"

The Vikings were numerically at a disadvantage. The jarls positioned their elite troops, but Eugene had no intention of pushing in recklessly.

"Archers, prepare to fire."

When the sovereign's hand rose, hundreds of longbows on the galleys were angled toward the sky.

"Son of a bitch!"

Vikings who had tasted the vicious power of elven longbows hesitated.

"Fire!"

When Eugene's hand descended, arrows poured from both sides. The shield wall grew heavier by the moment, and men collapsed as bolts struck ankles and instep. Their own archers could not return fire due to the range disparity.

"Retreat! Retreat!"

The Vikings could not hold and withdrew toward the island's interior.

"Cease fire!"

Some archers had begun targeting the longships with fire arrows when Eugene hastily called them off.

"Those ships are money too! Archers maintain vigilance. Sea knights, move in and seize their vessels."

Longships were mediocre for naval engagements, but for small-scale amphibious operations they were the finest vessels of the era. Capturing them for the navy was valuable, but so was extracting construction methods and operational doctrines from the captured Vikings.

"How dare these bastards steal another man's wife?!"

The Vikings were enraged at the sight of Britainian weaklings brazenly seizing their ships. It was no different from having their wives carried off before their eyes.

"Ugh!"

"Gah!"

But every time they tried to intervene, arrows rained down, rendering them helpless.

"That's enough for today. Maintain the encirclement and keep watch."

They had confirmed there were no ships behind the island. Fleeing by swimming through these waters was impossible, so all that remained was to harass them at leisure.

The isolated Vikings drove sharpened stakes into the ground at angles, gathered whatever they could find, and hastily fortified a barricade.

"Mighty Father God. Have I ever once asked for anything in return for my offerings? For the first time today, I pray—please..."

Some jarls prayed to their gods, seeking a final hope. Burly warriors knelt with clasped hands before crude wooden idols.

"After this day, my cup shall remain forever empty."

Old warriors with white beards drank deeply of honey mead with evident joy, then carefully stored away the empty cups.

"The thirst to come shall be quenched by friends who have already gone to the great hall."

Each prepared for the final battle in their own way. The problem was that Britainia's conquering sovereign had no intention of granting their wish.

The Vikings carried a preconception born of the southern king's fearsome deeds. They assumed he must be one who, like them, revered a warrior's honor and preferred frontal assaults like the knights.

But Eugene had always thought of himself as a soldier. Sovereign, knight, mage, God's champion, CEO—these were secondary roles. Not a single day had his identity as a soldier ever been surpassed.

Nor would it ever be.

*

Deep in the night.

A Dark Elf strike force crept through the darkness.

Their light footsteps produced not the slightest sound, and the elves' innate dark vision allowed them to travel the night roads without a single torch.

The squad leaders exchanged signals and put whistles to their lips.

Peeeeeeeeet!

"Chaaarge!"

"Chaaaarge!"

With the shrill whistle came the soldiers' war cries, along with incendiary arrows arcing into the enemy camp.

"Ambush!"

"Everyone up!"

The sentries, startled awake, barely had time to shout before everyone scrambled to their feet. Since they had slept in their armor with weapons at the ready, their response was swift.

But there was no charge against the Vikings' formation. Only arrows from the darkness flew toward them.

Thwack!

Thunk!

With the sounds of piercing flesh, Vikings toppled one by one.

"Light torches! Shield wall toward the direction of the arrows!"

"Chief! If we do that, they'll see our position—"

"Elven eyes see through darkness! They're watching us regardless—light the torches! You want us to be the only blind ones?!"

But by the time torches flickered to life everywhere and they finished preparing to charge, the strike force had already withdrawn.

"What? They're already gone?"

"Cowardly Britainians."

Thud! Thud! Thud!

From the urgent waking and the fright, only their hearts pounded uselessly.

About ninety minutes later.

This time, fire arrows rained into the Viking camp.

"Chase them! Chase them to the end!"

"If we let them withdraw, they'll do this all night long!"

The Vikings, finally understanding what the enemy wanted, charged in frenzy. But however strong or large they were, no one could outrun an elf in a sprint.

"Hah! Hah!"

"Pant... pant..."

The Vikings who chased them all the way to the shore discovered Dark Elves fleeing aboard a longship.

"Hey! We'll put it to good use! Thanks!"

Rex, holding a torch, grinned and raised his middle finger.

"Uwaaaaaah!"

The infuriated Vikings kicked the ground and hurled their shields.

One hour later.

Peeeeeeeeet!

The attack whistle pierced the air again. This time, few Vikings were asleep and they all poured out. Naturally, they failed to catch up.

"Just fight us, damn it!"

Watching the longship grow distant, the Vikings screamed in convulsion. But they could not linger. The land near the sea fell within range of the galleys.

Eugene divided his strike force into six groups and rotated them for three days.

His side enjoyed ample sleep and rest, while the enemy had to remain constantly awake—they were on the verge of madness. The Vikings were practically half-dead.

"Your Excellency. They say the arrows are nearly depleted."

"It's fine. Their stamina is bottoming out too."

Eugene sat at a table set up on deck, sipping tea as he worked his pen. He was reviewing the records of three nights' raids.

"Was it really necessary to drag this out?"

"Give the word and we'll charge in to finish it."

The tribal knights asked permission, but Eugene spoke of something else.

"Train as you would in real combat."

"Huh, fight in training like it's real?"

They answered reflexively. It was a slogan one naturally memorized serving under Eugene.

"Could there be a more perfect training opportunity? There's no better靶子 than these fellows—we ought to try everything we've been wanting to test."

Harassing fire tactics were invaluable for eroding a strong enemy's body and spirit without friendly casualties.

However, striking the enemy line with a small force carried considerable risk. Executing it properly required training. And however realistic the training, living opponents were always preferable to dummies.

'Is it about time they broke?'

Eugene too recognized that the moment to attack had arrived.

"Hammer Brothers, prepare to attack."

Dwarves, dressed more finely than most knights, lined up in two ranks. They bore square shields far sturdier than any Viking shield, armed with warhammers.

"Finally feeling like real men, are we?"

"You sons of bitches! I'll tear off your walnut-sized balls and chew them up!"

The Vikings squeezed out their last ounce of strength. Eyes bloodshot red, they glared and raised their axes.

"Lantzheim Warband, prepare to advance."

But when the pikemen followed in their wake, their jaws dropped.

Not hundreds of soldiers—one titan's synchronized footfalls. That drill discipline and military bearing made even the fearless Vikings tense up.

Behind them, pikes rose skyward in succession. With each line of pikemen landing, the steel forest grew ever denser.

Thud.

The Lantzheim Warband took position behind the Dwarves. Square shields guarding the front, and behind them the forest of pikes.

"Damn it."

The Vikings groaned. Spears and shields—they knew this combination well, and they knew what the enemy intended.

"Advance!"

At Eugene's command, the mixed force moved forward.

"Fire! Ignore the Dwarves—target the pikemen!"

At the jarls' orders, the archers loosed, but the arrows proved nearly useless. Their bows were weak, yes, but the densely packed pikes also served as formidable arrow defense.

On the march, countless pikes were angled upward at a diagonal like overlapping scales, functioning as a screen to swat arrows aside.

"Gah!"

A few arrows found gaps and struck home, but good armor prevented any mortal wounds.

"The arrows are gone."

Moreover, the Vikings had never carried many arrows—they had never imagined facing such a battle.

Once the clash began, the Vikings were pushed back relentlessly. Everywhere they looked, there was nothing to strike but Dwarven shields, and behind them pikes jabbed relentlessly—the fight simply could not be sustained.

"Bleagh."

Even uninjured Vikings vomited here and there. Severe sleep deprivation and exhaustion had caused autonomic nervous system dysfunction.

"Pull yourselves together!"

"Ghh..."

The Vikings braced shoulder to shoulder and raised their shields, but trembling hands kept slipping free. From micro-sleep phenomena, their brains switched off and on for seconds at a time.

Several suddenly buckled at the knee and staggered.

"Sweep them!"

In that state, the Dwarves pressed forward with their shields and swung their warhammers, and the Vikings collapsed in a heap. Among them, many could not tell whether they had been knocked unconscious or simply fallen asleep.

The end of the sea raiders who had burned with desperate fighting spirit was anticlimactic to the last.

*

"Bwuh?!"

King Bieren, sprawled on the battlefield, suddenly snapped his eyes open.

'I was definitely fighting the southern king's army.'

There was no pain in his body. It was impossible to have survived that situation without receiving a single sword wound. Had he truly died fighting honorably and ascended to the gods' hall?

"You've come around?"

But hearing Eugene's voice, he realized he was still in reality.

"They crumbled so easily there were almost no deaths. Sleeplessness is a terrifying thing, isn't it?"

"You—!"

King Bieren reflexively reached for a weapon at his waist, but it was impossible. He had already been disarmed and bound. Looking around, every other warrior was similarly restrained.

-Your Excellency. These guys were sleeping?

Those struck by the Dwarven hammers had simply collapsed and remained motionless. The brain's switch, teetering on the edge of shutdown, had simply been pushed down.

-Shall we crush them?

-No. Just tie them up.

Eugene gathered the Vikings in one place and waited at his leisure.

"Mmmhh..."

"Huah..."

Starting with King Bieren's awakening, others began to stir one by one. Their expressions—first believing they had reached Valhalla, then realizing the truth—were quite something.

"This southern king is no king at all! I've never seen such a despicable fighter in all my life!"

"The gelded boar in my stable would be braver than you!"

The jarls hurled curses in desperation. But several others watched with fear rather than anger, without any particular outrage.

"This man will become a calamity for our people."

These were jarls skilled in intrigue, able to read an opponent's emotions, or who had witnessed Eugene fight in the Britainian civil war.

They understood this was not because Eugene was weak or a coward. They realized that their being crushed here was merely the beginning.

Eugene squatted down before King Bieren.

"King Bieren. Is that the right way to address you?"

Britainians read it as "Biyorn" or "Byorn," but in the Viking manner, Bieren was correct.

"Just curious—if you were to pay a ransom, how much do you think it would be?"

Throughout long histories of war, many kings had been captured. Small kingdoms, of course, but major states like Barcia, Gordes, and Rome were no exception.

The ransom demanded in such cases was enormous, sometimes equaling one to two years of national revenue.

But Viking society was tribal, lacking even minimal centralization. The economy was small, and royal authority held no sacred legitimacy. Deposition and challenge were routine.

The concept of ransom existed, but the sum was paltry. In the cases Eugene had read about, even a king's ransom was worth only five hundred freemen.

"A warrior's death is fate dealt by the gods. Don't put me in the same category as you cowards who squander family wealth out of fear of that."

"The records say it's not always quite so simple."

When Eugene held up the book, King Bieren scoffed.

"True warriors are remembered in song. Only the weak are pickled in ink. If you're going to kill me, do it now."

"Hmm."

Eugene appeared to be contemplating how to deal with him, and King Bieren decided to help him decide.

Khhhrrrr!

Ptoo!

He gathered phlegm and spat directly in Eugene's face.

"You tore-ass bastard!"

"There is no need to speak further with this savage. Cut off his head at once and display it in Haven!"

The enraged sea knights pressed blades to Bieren's throat.

"Stop."

But Eugene simply wiped his face with a handkerchief.

"What are you doing?"

Perhaps he hadn't expected Eugene to tolerate this—King Bieren looked dumbfounded.

"Along the way here, I took the liberty of studying your culture and beliefs."

"Spare me the纸scrap."

Eugene ignored him, pointed to a specific page in the book, and read aloud.

"The Hall of Glory you believe in—you call it Valhalla, yes? The gods' hall, an endless banquet where feasts are laid out in perpetuity. The promised place where you will reunite with fallen comrades and ancestors."

"..."

King Bieren and the other jarls regarded Eugene with peculiar expressions. He was the first sovereign to speak of their faith without insulting it as barbarian superstition.

"I learned the conditions for entry are as follows: die bravely as a warrior on the battlefield."

"And your point is?"

"Which means if I cut off your head here, your wish is fulfilled."

"...!"

As the jarls grasped what Eugene was driving at, their expressions hardened one by one.

"Oh!"

The sea knights grinned similarly and withdrew their blades from Bieren's throat.

"I did not come here merely to prevent raids. For three hundred years, my people have suffered generation after generation—their vengeance is also my duty."

Eugene rose and swept his gaze over the bound Vikings.

"None of you will reach Valhalla. You will not see the friends, fathers, grandfathers, and uncles who died honorably. There will be no boar feast of the immortals, no honey mead brewed from the Well of Mimir."

"W-wait!"

"No!"

The Vikings began to struggle with contorted faces.

"Rampage."

"Yes!"

"On the other side of this island, build a gallows."

"The other side, my lord? Wouldn't it be simpler to build here—"

"This is still a battlefield."

Eugene tapped the illustration in the opened book. It depicted a beautiful Valkyrie descending to embrace a fallen warrior. That obsessive attention to detail sent chills even through the sea knights.

"Build it large and sturdy. There will be many to hang. Strip them of anything that might serve as a mark of a warrior—every last piece of armor and boots. But keep them bound."

"Orders received."

When the Dwarves roughly stripped the Vikings, screams erupted from all around.

"Mercy! Southern king, please have mercy!"

"Don't do this! Kill us honorably, I beg you!"

Eugene did not so much as flinch before the pleading Vikings.

"Why are you lot whining like this?"

"I'm not going to do anything to you, so stop crying like girls."

The naked Vikings were dragged toward the far side of the island.

"Does this even have meaning? Surely the lord doesn't believe in Valhalla or anything like that?"

At a tribal knight's question, Eugene pointed to King Bieren.

"Of course I don't. But it's effective, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is."

Bieren, seized by the hair and dragged along, writhed like a salted earthworm.

"Kill me! Kill me! Please, kill me! I'm begging you, kill me!"

None of his earlier defiance or dignity remained.

"..."

"..."

The Vikings captured at sea and the sailors who had been summoned watched it all unfold.

"Even when you kill, you must make them earn it."

The Vikings stared at Eugene with terror; the sailors stared at him with delight.