Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 193: The Situation

While retreating north, Wig interrogated the captives and learned more details about the Battle of Auxerre.

After the defeat, the Viking remnants commandeered whatever boats they could find along the way. They fled in a panic downstream along the Yonne River, a tributary of the Seine, toward Paris, eventually seeking refuge in the Northern Bridgehead of Île de la Cité.

The Frankish army pursued them all the way to the southern bank of Paris. However, because the bridges over the River Seine had been destroyed and their wooden decks burned by the defenders, the Franks could not cross quickly. They could only watch helplessly as Ragnar's few thousand surviving troops escaped.

Failing to claim his sworn enemy's head, Charles was consumed by resentment. He suddenly remembered that there was another group of those damned Vikings in the west, so he dispatched Gunnar to lead a long-distance raid with his cavalry and mounted infantry.

"Two consecutive wars have probably completely enraged Charles the Bald, pushing him far enough to order his master archers to unleash volleys of poisoned arrows. Now that all pretenses have been dropped between the two nations, West Francia's formidable strength means that in a prolonged standoff, Britain will be the only one to suffer."

Wig sighed inwardly but maintained an appearance of utter indifference on the surface to avoid damaging the army's morale. He then quickened his pace, catching up with the forces led by Ulf, Pascal Jr., and the others.

"His Majesty lost? I knew nothing good would come of this from the start. I suggested we head to Flandre to make a quick fortune and return to Britain as soon as possible, but unfortunately, no one listened to me," Ulf muttered, constantly boasting about his foresight.

"Thank goodness. The Lord protected me and kept me away from the main army," Pascal Jr. whispered, his face pale as he clutched the silver cross on his chest in prayer.

"After fighting his entire life, Ragnar actually lost?" Rekker and the other Swedish nobles wore complicated expressions.

For years, Ragnar's name had echoed throughout Northern Europe. Out of respect for his reputation, the Swedish nobles had been forced to submit to Halfdan Whiteshirt in exchange for guaranteed safety and the opportunity to go out raiding for wealth. None of them expected such a disastrous defeat, let alone that Ragnar himself would be struck by poisoned arrows. From the look of things, the brothers would have to carefully reconsider their future standing.After crossing the Loire River, the Vikings stationed themselves in Nantes. The land stretching from here all the way to the Port of Saint-Malo in the north belonged to the Brittany Region, which was currently rife with rebellion. Afraid of facing both the Vikings and the local rebels simultaneously, Gunnar abandoned the pursuit.

As a result, the latter half of the journey was relatively smooth as the Vikings marched straight across the Brittany Region from south to north.

Standing upon the Rennes Eastern Wall, Salomon watched the receding black serpent banners, his heart swelling with resentment. These cowards had stirred up a massive pile of trouble and were now fleeing across the sea, leaving the people of Brittany to face the Franks all on their own.

"Not a single one of these foreigners is any good!"

Hearing their lord's curses, his attendants suggested ambushing the retreating army, offering the life of the North's Serpent in exchange for peace. Surely, Charles the Bald would not refuse such an offer.

Salomon was slightly tempted, but after scanning the peasant insurgents manning the walls, he instantly extinguished the thought. His forces lacked iron armor and their training period was far too short. If the two armies were to clash, they had absolutely no chance of victory.

What made matters worse was that the North's Serpent had declined the invitation to enter the city for a banquet, marching straight for the Port of Saint-Malo instead. He was likely already on guard.

"Treacherous, cunning barbarians. May you encounter a storm at sea and never plague this world again."

The Port of Saint-Malo.

Wig questioned the garrison and learned that they had cleared out the Frankish forces in the Hebrides. He then ordered his men to board the ships and head north. Due to a shortage of vessels, they had to cross the sea in two separate batches, bound for Southampton.

Given the volatile state of affairs, Wig worried that Wessex might suddenly turn on them. The moment they landed, he immediately seized control of the docks and the surrounding facilities. Once the second wave of allied troops came ashore, the nearly five thousand men adopted a field-march formation and advanced cautiously toward Londinium. A few days later, upon spotting the fluttering black serpent banners, the entire city erupted into an uproar. Ever since the disastrous defeat on the frontlines, countless rumors had flooded Londinium, such as claims that "Gunnar led his cavalry on a two-hundred-mile raid, wiping out thousands of Wig's soldiers in a single battle, leaving Wig to barely escape with his life, having even lost his Dragon's Breath Sword."

Just as they settled into the northern suburban camp, Prime Minister Gorm galloped over on horseback. After doing a rough headcount, a large portion of the anxiety in his heart vanished.

"How is His Majesty's condition?" Wig asked.

"Terrible. He is still unconscious," Gorm replied. "Ivar the Boneless was also injured. He was besieged by Maurice and the others and nearly died in the fray. A couple of days ago, we received word of an uprising in Ireland, so he hastily boarded a ship to go back and suppress the rebellion. Sigh, we are in deep trouble now."

After the devastating defeat at Auxerre and the subsequent frantic retreat, Ragnar's forces had lost more than half their numbers. They had only managed to bring back five thousand men. Many nobles had been defeated and captured, such as Leonard, Om's two sons, and the sole heir of the Earl of Lancaster.

"These past few days, they have been constantly clamoring for me to arrange a prisoner exchange. But after tallying it up, our captives hold far less value than theirs. We would likely have to pay a massive ransom out of pocket, and where is the national treasury supposed to find that kind of money?"

Gorm stubbornly loitered around the camp, refusing to leave. After two full hours of relentless badgering, he finally got his wish and departed with over a hundred captives.

Once the troops were settled, Wig, Ulf, and the others headed to the palace to visit the king, only to be blocked at the door by a bald Shaman.

"His Majesty is currently unconscious. It is inconvenient for him to receive guests."

Smelling the pungent scent of herbs wafting through the cracks in the door, Wig highly doubted the medical expertise of these Shamans, but there was nothing he could do.

In the early Middle Ages, medical practices in Western Europe were primitive. Monasteries handled the bulk of medical care, heavily favoring Galen's theory of "balancing the four humors." This primarily involved bloodletting, drinking holy water, and consuming herbs of dubious efficacy, occasionally even having patients touch sacred relics. The medical skills of the Nordic Shamans were hardly any better; their methods practically amounted to nothing more than performative spirit-dancing.

The Teyneburg Order's medical skills were superior to both. They respected practical reality, strictly sterilizing everything before treatment and meticulously recording the effects and success rates of every procedure afterward. Their only flaw was a severe lack of available medicinal varieties. They had to rely on the ancient Greek physician Dioscorides's text, "De Materia Medica," verifying each prescription one by one and cultivating herbs with true medical value on a massive scale.

However, running through all of the Order's effective remedies in his mind, Wig could not find a single entry concerning snake venom. Heaven only knew exactly what kind of poison Prince Aella had smeared on those arrowheads. From here on out, they could only leave it to fate.

Upon returning to the camp, Wig and the others decided to part ways. Recalling Gorm's tone, he guessed that the Prime Minister intended to default on everyone's overextended service pay. Staying any longer would be completely pointless.

"It is finally over. Wig, I wasn't wrong about you. You truly live up to the name of the North's Serpent, leading us out of a hopeless situation and bringing us back to Britain. Come visit me at Candlekeep for a meal when you have the time," Ulf said.

After saying his goodbyes, Ulf led his hundreds of soldiers back to Kent. Pascal Jr.'s territory was located in Thys, just south of Teyne County, so he continued to march alongside Wig.

Rekker and the others remained in Londinium, hoping to find a ship back to Northern Europe as quickly as possible to avoid the treacherous sea conditions that would arrive after October.

"The lands of West Francia are fertile and prosperous, but unfortunately, they are far too dangerous. Life back home in Northern Europe is much more relaxing and carefree."

Having narrowly escaped with their lives, Rekker and his peers were deeply shaken. Their personalities grew more conservative, and they came to cherish their past peaceful lives even more, swearing that from this day forward, they would never again participate in one of Ragnar's raids.