Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 191: Intuition

That night, after finishing his various military duties, Wigg wrapped himself in a thin blanket to sleep. He tossed and turned for over two hours, completely unable to find rest. Giving up on sleep, he simply got out of bed and went to the central command tent to speak with Baron Viper, who was in charge of the night watch.

"Is there any news from the main force?"

"No," Baron Viper replied weakly. "It has been six days since our last contact."

Marching deep into enemy territory made communication between the two armies exceptionally difficult. Ragnar's messengers could not simply cross half of Francia. Instead, they had to return to Calais along the supply route, take a ship to the port of Saint-Malo, and then ride fresh horses to the front lines. They had to make a massive detour just to deliver news to Wigg.

This method was fraught with unexpected delays. Joren, Butcherbird, Thorkel, and Baron Viper had long since grown accustomed to it.

Previously, during the siege of Nantes, they had gone an entire week without hearing from the main army. The commanders had been burning with anxiety, ready to retreat at a moment's notice. They later learned the truth: Calais had been battered by torrential rain for days, whipping up fierce winds and towering waves. The messenger had been stuck there for five days, only setting sail when the weather finally cleared.

Because of this, Baron Viper could not be bothered to stress over such trivial matters. Perhaps it was raining in Calais again. Perhaps the messenger had gotten lost along the way and foolishly wandered into Frankish-controlled territory. Worrying about it was useless and would only bring unnecessary frustration.

Hearing Baron Viper's response, Wigg's expression grew solemn, his heartbeat suddenly quickening.

He stepped outside to patrol the camp. The moonlight was dim, filtering through thin layers of clouds. The mournful, melodic calls of night birds echoed around him, while the surrounding trees and shrubs were cloaked in darkness, looking like hideous, twisting phantoms.

'Something is wrong. Something must have gone off track!'Early the next morning, having not slept a wink all night, Wigg dispatched all his scout cavalry. He ordered them to expand their search radius and not overlook a single suspicious trace.

"Uncle?" Leif arrived with breakfast. Wigg drank more than half a bowl of fish soup before shifting his focus back to the map. Comparing it against the letters Ragnar had sent recently, he used a quill to carefully trace the marching routes and troop deployments of both friend and foe. Leif wanted to urge him to eat a little more but was stopped by Utgard.

"It is the Duke's habit. When he needs to focus his mind, he only eats until he is half full. It seems to keep his mind in peak condition."

Soon, the morning mist dissipated, and a blazing sun blanketed the land. Thousands of soldiers loitered in the camp with nothing to do. Ulf, Pascal Jr., Rekker, and the others hurried over upon hearing the news. However, catching sight of Wigg's stern expression, they tactfully chose not to approach and disturb him.

At nine in the morning, Leif, who had been dozing off outside the tent, was startled awake. Following his orders, he blew the war horn, summoning Ulf and the rest of the command echelon.

"I am fifty percent certain that the main force led by His Majesty has already engaged Charles the Bald." Wigg's eyes were bloodshot, and his opening words gave everyone a severe fright.

"Furthermore, I have a foreboding feeling. A formidable Frankish army has appeared in the surrounding area, waiting for an opportunity to annihilate our forces."

Upon hearing this second sentence, the nobles completely panicked, looking to Wigg in hopes of a viable strategy.

Wigg took a deep breath and pointed to the heavily marked map. "Look closely. There is a river to our west that flows north into the Loire River. According to our scouts' reports yesterday, there is a fishing village ten miles to the southwest. We can commandeer boats there to cross the river, then follow its course back to the Brittany Region. From there, we will take ships north from Saint-Malo. Currently, rebellions are springing up all over Brittany, and the Franks dare not march too deep into that territory."

Having said that, Wigg ordered a forced march. He commanded them to abandon their captured woolen cloth, wine, and any grain that exceeded their immediate needs, in order to reach the fishing village as quickly as possible.

"The scouts have not returned yet. Is this perhaps a bit..." Rekker softly tried to advise against it, but after Wigg shot him an expressionless glance, he swallowed the second half of his sentence.

As the orders were passed down to the various units, a portion of the Swedish raiders began to complain noisily. However, Wigg ignored them completely. He dispatched the cavalry units and two mountain infantry companies to lead the way, while he personally led two infantry regiments close behind, quickly vanishing down the road. "We are just leaving? Without even saying a word?"

Hundreds of raiders guarded the supply wagons, watching the retreating backs of their comrades. Some felt a deep, genuine surge of fear and hurried to follow in the footsteps of the North's Serpent. In the end, only a little over a hundred greedy fools who valued money more than their lives remained in the camp, stressing over the hundreds of abandoned supply wagons.

After a grueling forced march, Thorkel's cavalry arrived at the fishing village. They charged toward the docks at top speed, commandeering thirty anchored fishing boats directly from the villagers.

At noon, the breathless mountain infantry companies arrived and began setting up spiked abatis around the perimeter of the village. A while later, the infantry regiments led by Wigg showed up. They had brought two hundred supply wagons with them, making them slightly slower.

Their next step was to construct a pontoon bridge. After more than half an hour of frantic work, the troops belonging to Ulf, Pascal Jr., and the others arrived one after another. They were immediately assigned to the village outskirts to dig pit traps and build wooden palisades.

At three in the afternoon, the scout cavalry that had been out on reconnaissance returned to find an empty camp. Following the trail of discarded supplies scattered along the road, they eventually caught up with the army at the fishing village.

Wigg took a headcount. The only ones missing were two scout cavalrymen who had headed northeast. That area was covered in rolling hills and dense forests, making it the perfect terrain to conceal an army.

His hunch had been correct. The Franks had silently cut off their retreat. Fortunately, Wigg had reacted in time, saving his four thousand troops from total annihilation.

At sunset, just as the pontoon bridge was nearing completion, nearly two thousand enemy cavalrymen came howling toward them. Their charge was halted by the spiked abatis on the outskirts of the fishing village, and they were immediately met with a devastating volley from crossbowmen ambushing from inside the houses, sending dozens of riders tumbling from their horses.

"Let those useless fools retreat first. You and I will remain on the East Bank."

Wigg did not trust those motley, unorganized troops, so he ordered them to withdraw early with the supply wagons. He stayed behind, personally leading two infantry regiments to stubbornly defend the fishing village.

Having witnessed the terrifying lethality of a dense pike phalanx, the Frankish cavalry did not dare advance. They could only hurl insults from safely outside crossbow range.

Once the allied forces and supply wagons had finished crossing the river, Wigg led his units in an orderly retreat. At that moment, another massive swarm of riders on draft horses appeared to the east. Judging by their riding skills and equipment, they were mounted infantry, and there were more than two thousand of them.

"Such a grand display? Heh, they really think highly of me."

Falling back to the West Bank of the river, Wigg set the pontoon bridge ablaze. Amidst the furious curses of the enemy forces on the East Bank, he and his men departed the riverbank under the fading glow of the setting sun.

Late that night, Wigg convened a war council. The nobles sat stiffly in their seats. After witnessing everything that had unfolded during the day, they no longer had the courage to question his judgment, choosing instead to keep their mouths completely shut.

"Heading north back to the Mouth of the Loire River will take three days of travel. If the enemy crosses the river to the south, their cavalry advantage will be more than enough to let them catch up to us midway. For example, right here."

Wigg pointed to the area south of the fishing village. "During the day, I paid several villagers for information. There is another settlement twenty miles to the south. Gunnar will most likely attempt to cross the river there. I plan to march south overnight. Once they are in the middle of crossing, we will suddenly charge out and give them a wonderful surprise."