Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 157: Desperate Measures

Mid-April, Londinium.

Upon receiving Halfdan's letter pleading for reinforcements, Ragnar looked slightly disappointed. "In the end, he still falls short of his two older brothers."

His eldest son, Ivar, was arrogant and unruly by nature. After repeatedly insulting Queen Sola and being reprimanded by his father, he never once considered asking the royal family for reinforcements, choosing instead to wage war in Ireland alone.

Over the years, the nobles on the island had formed encirclement networks three separate times. Yet, Ivar preferred to mortgage his wife's jewelry to stubbornly resist. Relying on his exceptional military talent, he secured victories from the jaws of defeat and weathered every crisis time and time again.

His second son, Bjorn Ironside, explored the Mediterranean Sea and colonized Iceland and Greenland. He never relied on his father's assistance, carving out his own domain purely through his own efforts.

Listening to their husband's laments, the two Queens remained silent. They had witnessed Halfdan's days of debauchery in the royal court, as well as his disastrous defeat in Wales. They completely disregarded him in their hearts.

In that moment, a remarkably similar thought flashed through both their minds: 'He has high standards but no real ability, possessing nothing but brute strength. He is far inferior to my own son.'

Sitting upon the throne, Ragnar mentally reviewed the faces of his many vassals, deciding to select one to dispatch for the rescue.

Ivar? He had heard that his eldest son recently conquered another piece of territory and had newly appointed over thirty minor vassals; he likely could not spare the time.

Wig? He had taken in a group of Welshmen—the very mountain bandits who had once shot and wounded Halfdan's arm with an arrow. The relationship between the two had been frigid ever since, making it difficult for them to cooperate.Aethelwulf? Among all the vassals, he was the only one on good terms with Halfdan, but he was too old to endure a prolonged, grueling campaign.

Theowulf's military skills were far too poor, scarcely better than Halfdan's, making him unsuited for the expedition. Gunnar was currently assisting the Frankish King in dealing with the rebels in Breizh and was equally tied down.

Since these men were unsuitable, Ragnar began considering the lower-ranking Earls. Suddenly, Niels, the commander of the Royal Guard, stepped forward and requested to lead the vanguard.

"Uncle, send me," Niels offered. "I haven't been back to my homeland in many years. It is the perfect opportunity to pay a visit."

"Very well," Ragnar agreed to the proposal.

After its recent expansion, the Royal Guard consisted of two thousand infantrymen and five hundred cavalrymen, all fully equipped with iron armor. Considering the difficulty of transporting warhorses by ship, Ragnar allocated one thousand five hundred infantrymen. He simultaneously ordered Niels to conscript local militia within the territory. All together, a force of over two thousand men would be more than enough to quell the chaos in Sweden.

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Receiving his orders, Niels instructed his deputy, Oleg "White Hair," to prepare the ships and supplies. He himself rushed back to Nottingham overnight, exhausting his life savings to conscript one thousand five hundred militiamen. Afterward, he recruited numerous idle raiders loitering in Londinium. Counting the sailors, the total number of men reached four thousand—far exceeding Ragnar's expectations.

Listening to his subordinate's report, the King was deeply moved.

"This boy is truly dedicated. I must compensate him handsomely after the war. Hmm, it seems blood relatives are the most reliable after all."

In early May, having gathered ten Knarr ships and seventy Viking longships, Niels led the expeditionary force out of the River Thames. They sailed along the coastline to Dover, then crossed the English Channel to reach Calais on the opposite shore.

When embarking on an expedition to Northern Europe, caution was of the utmost importance. Not daring to take unnecessary risks, the fleet sailed northeast along the Continental Coastline. They eventually bypassed the Jutland Peninsula in Denmark, arriving at Skagen on the northeastern tip of the country.

The Kattegat Strait separated Denmark and Sweden. Sailing east from Skagen across a little over forty miles of ocean would bring them to Gothenburg. With a favorable wind, the journey would only take half a day. As it was already afternoon, the fleet planned to rest for the night and cross the sea early the next morning.

"Phew, I am finally back."

Niels stood on the aft castle of his Knarr ship, greedily breathing in the air of his homeland. In the distance, the grayish-blue water churned endlessly. Two great black-backed gulls circled overhead, their cries torn into fragmented pieces by the biting sea breeze. Even further out, the faint, blurred outline of the Swedish coastline could be seen.

Suddenly, his deputy Oleg approached to report on the status of the expeditionary force. "Excluding the sick and wounded, we have three thousand nine hundred men left. One of the Knarr ships is leaking in the bilge, and some of the provisions have been contaminated by seawater. I am currently organizing the sailors to patch the leak."

"It does not matter. We set sail early tomorrow morning. I will lead the way in the flagship, and you will bring up the rear."

"Understood." Oleg accepted the order and withdrew. Perhaps it was due to overexertion, but he had been feeling inexplicably restless over the past few days. A bizarre and eerie atmosphere seemed to permeate the ranks.

'Am I overthinking things?'

The following morning, the sea fog dissipated, leaving behind a sky as clear and clean as washed glass. The crew raised the iron anchors, preparing to sail east. Suddenly, they heard the Earl draw his sword. He slashed viciously at the empty air, his eyes blazing with a fanatical, bloodthirsty light—like a starving wolf driven mad by hunger.

"Pass down my orders! The entire army will follow me south! The enemy is in Denmark! The enemy is in Aalborg! The enemy is in Schleswig! Wealth and glory are right before our eyes! Who is willing to take this gamble with me?!"

Seeing this, the shield-bearers drew their own swords and echoed the Earl's roaring cry in unison. "The entire army goes south! The enemy is in Denmark! The enemy is in Schleswig!"

Terrified by the frenzied excitement of the armored warriors, the sailors dared not disobey the military order. As they steered the flagship to change course, they made sure to signal the vessels behind them, passing the command down the line.

"The enemy is in Denmark!"

"The enemy is in Aalborg!"

Starting from the flagship, the commander's orders were relayed backward until they finally reached Oleg's ears.

He took off his helmet and listened for a full half-minute, unable to snap out of his daze for a long time. "Niels has lost his mind. What exactly is he trying to do?"

His trusted aide's face turned pale. Yet, beneath the terror, there was a glimmer of eagerness. "The Lord of Nottingham wants to raid Denmark and use this opportunity to make a fortune."

Sudden realization dawned on Oleg. "No, no. Over the past few days, I heard some of the Anglo militiamen on board mention that Niels had been heavily conscripting men in his territory. He even mortgaged massive tracts of farmland to merchants to raise funds for military equipment. Rescuing Halfdan was a sham; seizing Denmark is his true intention!"

Having seen through his superior's ambition, Oleg resolved to stop him. Around noon, the fleet docked at a river estuary to rest and reorganize. Oleg sought out Niels and publicly condemned his treacherous ambitions.

Niels completely ignored the drawn sword in his deputy's hand, replying candidly, "That is right. My plan is to conquer Denmark, and then I will go rescue Halfdan. If you are unwilling to follow me, you can take the Royal Guard and head out first."

Deep down, the so-called rescue was nothing more than a convenient excuse. Niels had always looked down on Halfdan. A useless piece of trash defeated by Welsh mountain bandits, who only knew how to stir up trouble relying on his father's authority, was simply not worth wasting his time on.

Sweeping his gaze over the commanding officers of the Royal Guard, Niels presented an ultimatum:

"The Royal Guard is His Majesty's property, and I have no jurisdiction over them. However, the remaining militiamen are from my territory, and the raiders are under my employ. You have no right to take them away."

"You are insane. His Majesty will not let you get away with this," Oleg hissed, sheathing his sword. He stormed off with a dark expression, leaving Niels's final response trailing behind him:

"These are desperate measures for desperate times. I can only take this gamble. I would rather die in Denmark than rot away wasting my life in Londinium."