Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 201: The Gilded Throne

Ulf's suggestion coincided perfectly with Pascal Jr.'s own thoughts. After listening to him, Pascal Jr. pretended to be entirely unaware of the matter beforehand, politely thanking his colleague for the help and hospitality.

"It is a trivial matter. Ah, I see you as a younger brother, so this is nothing."

Unable to hold his liquor, Ulf began to spout a stream of incoherent babble until the banquet finally drew to a close.

Leaving Dover, the fleet hugged the Continental Coastline as they sailed toward Denmark. They encountered a fierce storm along the way, damaging both the sailcloth and stern rudders of the Knarr ships. Consequently, Pascal Jr. decided to make a temporary stop at Esbjerg on the western coast of Denmark.

Upon receiving news of Ragnar's death, the local residents surged toward the port like a tidal wave. They pleaded to see the coffin resting in the bottom hold of the Knarr ship, but Pascal Jr. flatly refused them.

To avoid any trouble, he arranged for his entourage to stand guard in rotating shifts. Armed with bows and crossbows, they stood upon the deck, keeping a vigilant watch over the increasingly agitated and fanatical crowd.

'Ragnar was just a mortal king devoted to paganism. Is all this truly necessary?'

Pascal Jr. struggled to comprehend such intense emotion, finding the local residents to be nothing more than a noisy nuisance. Several days passed, and the fleet finished its repairs. At dusk, on the day before their scheduled departure, thousands of Vikings flooded into Esbjerg. They clustered around a vibrant blue banner emblazoned with three crossing feathered arrows.

'This is bad!' Pascal Jr. realized in an instant. This was Niels's personal banner.

Before long, Niels led his men to seize the port, demanding bluntly, "Where is my uncle's coffin?"The fleet consisted of only three Knarr ships carrying a total of one hundred and forty men. Excluding the shamans and civilian officials, there were merely over a hundred combatants—half from the Royal Guard and the other half Pascal Jr.'s personal guards. Faced with Niels's overwhelming numerical advantage, Pascal Jr. offered no resistance, allowing the other party to board the deck.

"My uncle was a renowned hero throughout the Viking world! How can his final journey be reduced to such a pathetic display?"

Niels raised his voice, broadcasting his profound dissatisfaction to the gathered onlookers. Pascal Jr. immediately shifted the blame onto Aslaug. "The treasury is completely empty. The Queen Mother only allocated a symbolic sum, which could only cover the cost of three Knarr ships."

Niels completely ignored this explanation. He loudly complained about the neglect shown by Londinium, furiously cursing everyone from the Queen Mother and the Cabinet down to the various vassals across the realm.

Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, this "good nephew" hurled insults for a full half-hour, prompting Pascal Jr. to curse inwardly, wondering if the man had lost his mind. Back then, it was Niels who had acted on his own to attack Denmark, single-handedly deteriorating the situation in Northern Europe and forcing Ragnar to personally lead an expedition there, racking up a massive debt in the process. Now he was putting on the act of a loyal subject. Did any of this have any meaning?

However, Pascal Jr. still underestimated this fiercely ambitious lord.

That night, Niels and a large flock of shamans kept vigil on the ship. They burned pungent herbs and chanted bizarre prayers, creating such a racket that the sailors could not sleep.

"So annoying. Are these lunatics ever going to finish?"

Suffering from insomnia, Pascal Jr. left the captain's cabin and climbed up to the square poop deck, staring blankly out at his surroundings. The sea breeze was damp, cold, and salty. The nearby terrain was low and flat, stretching out toward the pitch-black sea like the creeping back of a beast. Moored at the docks were more than twenty traditional Viking fishing boats, bobbing gently with the waves. Their mooring ropes creaked and groaned—a sound eerily akin to the sobbing of departed souls.

Suddenly, right in the midst of this stagnant darkness, the sky tore open.

There was no warning thunder, only light. A blinding streak of orange-red lightning violently pierced the black veil, spreading wildly across the western horizon and illuminating the edges of the clouds until they glowed like burning coals.

"Look! Ragnar is answering our call!"

Niels and the shamans were sent into a frenzy, their fervor instantly inciting the Vikings across all of Esbjerg. They poured out of their homes. Although the orange-red lightning did not appear again and darkness had completely reclaimed the bay, the piercing howl of the sea wind sweeping through the thatched roofs remained. To sustain the crowd's passionate enthusiasm, Niels ordered his subordinates to light the torches. With a manic expression, he delivered a fiery speech, claiming that his uncle had just visited him in a dream. He declared that Ragnar was still watching over the Viking people and had decided to remain in the mortal realm to reverse this chaotic, crumbling situation.

"Ragnar!"

"Ragnar!"

Under Pascal Jr.'s terrified and bewildered gaze, Niels ordered his men to carry the coffin onto the pier. There, they held a grand sacrificial ceremony that lasted for three full days and nights.

When the ceremony concluded, riders from Schleswig arrived bearing gold. Niels immediately ordered carpenters to forge a gilded throne. He loudly proclaimed that the late king's soul was tethered to this gilded seat, and from this day forward, he would heed his uncle's commands to develop and expand his glorious legacy.

"...This is far from over. Countless battles and unparalleled glory await us!"

Having spoken, Niels knelt respectfully toward the gilded throne, prompting the massive crowd to follow suit in solemn unison. Pascal Jr. was scared out of his wits. Slipping away while no one was paying attention, he commanded the crew to weigh anchor, set sail, and flee back along their original route to Dover.

"What the hell were you doing? You actually lost the coffin?"

Upon hearing of Pascal Jr.'s harrowing experience in Esbjerg, Ulf was utterly speechless. He strongly advised him against returning to Londinium. "Just write a letter and send it to Londinium. Say that Niels led his troops to forcefully snatch the coffin and shot you in the shoulder with an arrow. Dump this whole mess straight into the Queen Mother's lap."

Having completely botched his assigned task, Pascal Jr. was fraught with anxiety. He penned a long, earnest letter, doing everything in his power to shift the blame away from himself.

When the letter reached Londinium, Aslaug feigned furious outrage, but in reality, she had absolutely no intention of mobilizing troops. The taxes collected from Denmark and Sweden were virtually nonexistent anyway. Even if Niels completely upended the situation in those two regions, it would not result in any significant loss for her.

Adopting a completely passive attitude to just get by, she dispatched several letters in rapid succession.

The first was addressed to Niels. The Queen Mother commanded him to transport the coffin to Gothenburg and then present himself in Londinium to face judgment. This was obviously an empty threat. Aslaug harbored no expectations that he would actually comply; she was merely making a show of the royal family's stance.

The subsequent letters were sent to Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan Whiteshirt, Erik Jr., Wigg, and others. These missives shared a single, calculated objective: to incite them into attacking Denmark.

'I hope this entire lot slaughters one another until not a single one remains,' Aslaug decided.

Much to her surprise, however, the minor nobles within her directly controlled territories were seething with indignation. These barons and knights petitioned the royal family to deploy the Royal Guard and eradicate the reckless and unbridled Niels.

Seeing an ever-growing crowd of minor nobles gathering outside the palace gates, Aslaug was ultimately forced to concede. She had recently been aggressively selling off real estate, painstakingly hoarding a private stash of wealth. Now, before the coins had even warmed in her purse, she was confronted with this disastrous mess. The sheer infuriation of it all caused her murderous intent to spike drastically.

She summoned Oleg in secret. "I will mobilize the Royal Guard, but on two conditions. First, those rabble-rousing minor nobles must also march to war. Second, I hear Ubbe has fled to Northern Denmark. I want you to find an opportunity to kill him. Once the deed is done, Northern Denmark will belong to you."

Surprisingly, Oleg firmly refused her with severe words. He had sworn a solemn oath of loyalty to Ragnar, and he vowed that in this lifetime, he would never harm a single one of Ragnar's children.

'What an utterly stubborn fool,' Aslaug cursed inwardly. She decided to seek out a few mid-level military officers to do the dirty work instead. With an entire territory dangled as a tempting reward, she did not fear that they would refuse to bite.