Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 257: Winter

After two days of snowfall, the weather cleared. Illuminated by the rising morning sun, the snow was thick and soft, like a massive velvet blanket evenly covering the camp outside the city, the plains, and the rolling low hills in the distance.

During this time, the Vikings maintained their damaged city defenses and repaired captured Frankish armor, determined to hold their ground.

Gazing out at the tents and crude shacks erected by the Frankish army outside the city, Halfdan whistled a jaunty tune, occasionally taking a sip of mead. Having suffered multiple setbacks, he had learned to curb his anxious temper. As long as they could stall until the Frankish forces retreated, they would win this war.

As for the ransacked villages in central and southern Denmark, Halfdan could not care less; they were not his territories anyway.

Thoroughly annoyed by his third brother's whistling, Ubbe asked instinctively, "Aren't you worried that the Frankish army might enter Sweden through Funen Island and Zealand Island?"

"Let them. The nobles in southern Sweden are unruly anyway, making them the perfect fodder to whittle down the enemy's numbers. Even if they capture Lund and Helsingborg in the south, it would take the Frankish army at least a week to enter my direct domain. By then, I will have already led my troops back to reinforce it. Besides, the bitter cold of the Swedish climate will cause even greater attrition during a long march."

Time passed. King Louis utilized the grain, furs, and woolen cloth plundered from the populace to supply his army. He urged his soldiers to fell trees and construct massive trebuchets, but the accompanying craftsmen were shoddy and lacked the necessary experience, slowing the progress of the trebuchets considerably.

"Haha, these people are cracking me up."

Watching the colossal beast of a siege engine suddenly collapse and the Frankish soldiers scatter in panic, Ubbe flashed a rare, genuine smile. This joy lasted for three days, right up until he received devastating news from the north:

The Frankish cavalry had executed a long-distance raid, capturing Aalborg and its massive stockpile of grain in a single night. The Queen and her two children were nowhere to be found."Impossible. This has to be a rumor!"

Ubbe endured two days of agonizing anxiety until he saw the various spoils displayed by the Frankish army outside the city. These included royal garments and the black raven totem once enshrined in the Aalborg Temple.

Seeing his fourth brother looking utterly devastated, Halfdan handed him a flask of mead. "The Frankish cavalry launched a long-distance raid, arrived at Aalborg with pinpoint accuracy, and captured it swiftly. This proves you have a traitor in your ranks, and it is highly likely to be Edmund."

Halfdan's reasoning was simple. Edmund had initially surrendered to Ragnar. During the civil war, he had nominally pledged loyalty to Gunnar, then switched allegiance to Wigg, and later defected to Ubbe. In total, he had changed factions four times.

Furthermore, Edmund was an Anglo-Saxon noble and a devout follower of Roman Catholicism, sharing the same faith as the Franks. As long as King Louis offered suitable terms, Edmund had no reason to refuse.

Downing the last mouthful of mead, Ubbe abruptly stood up. "No, I need to return to the north to stabilize the situation."

"Are you crazy?"

Halfdan grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Win this battle and secure your throne! Are you worried you won't be able to find a woman? Issues with grain and supplies are easily resolved too. I will write to Erik Jr. and have him transport grain and more reinforcements."

Having observed the Frankish army's actions in the occupied territories, Halfdan was determined to defend to the bitter end. Aside from seeking revenge and worldly wealth, the enemy intended to completely wipe out the Vikings' faith. If they did not repel them this time, there would be endless trouble down the line.

The next morning, Ubbe was still deeply concerned about his missing family and suggested that the allied forces evacuate Vejle. "The Frankish trebuchets are nearing completion. It is better to retreat by sea and station the main force at Aarhus Port in the north. I will lead my guards near Aalborg to rally the stragglers."

With their leader insisting on retreat, the guest armies from Norway and Sweden lost the confidence to hold their ground. They boarded their ships and abandoned Vejle, fleeing north along the coastline to Aarhus.

The situation here was similar to Vejle; it was also a small port town situated on the eastern coast, garrisoned by two hundred Viking militiamen.

As the main allied forces moved into the port, the ships carrying Ubbe and his two hundred personal guards did not stop, pressing onward to the north. Halfdan climbed the watchtower and silently saw them off. In the distance, leaden gray clouds hung low, almost brushing against the surface of the sea. The biting wind whipped fine snow into his face. Halfdan rubbed his hands together, staring fixedly at the receding sails until the fleet was swallowed by the faint sea mist.

"Oh, my foolish brother."

The moment Halfdan voiced his complaint, he suddenly remembered the way Ivar and Bjorn used to look at him; their gazes had seemingly held a very similar emotion.

Taken aback for a moment, his anxiety deepened.

When he first founded the Swords of the North, he had offended almost all the nobles in Sweden, and it was his father who had stepped in to smooth things over. Now, with his father, eldest brother, and fifth brother having passed away one after another, and his second brother Bjorn choosing self-exile, the family's prestige remained, but their actual power had plummeted. If something went wrong with Ubbe, Halfdan had absolutely no confidence in his ability to protect his brother's authority.

'In just a few short years, our family has fallen to such a state. Did I truly make a mistake?'

Purely on instinct, Halfdan shook his head vigorously, forcefully terminating this despair-inducing train of thought.

The weather grew increasingly frigid. The main Frankish army remained stationed in Vejle, dedicating more effort to scouring for grain and hoarding their strength for the next offensive.

Meanwhile, news of Halfdan's call for reinforcements spread across Norway and Sweden. Relying on his status as Ragnar's son, he attracted a vast number of restless Viking warriors eager for battle, causing their numbers to swell by the day.

Sensing the shift in the battlefield's dynamics, Niels, who had been taking refuge in Pomerania, changed his tune. He rallied his soldiers who were recuperating among the scattered tribes and selected four hundred men who excelled in archery.

After a period of intensive training, scouts relayed new intelligence, and Niels gave the order to march. His previous act of abandoning his territory had severely damaged his prestige; if he did not take action now, it would be difficult to maintain his rule after the war.

"Move out! Drive away these Franks and reclaim everything that is ours!"

Upon hearing their lord's battle cry, the soldiers remained silent. Having lost Schleswig multiple times in a row, they were already numb to it. They quietly fastened the white cloaks distributed by their lord and marched out of the camp in formation.

For their initial engagement, Niels targeted a supply convoy. He led his men to the edge of a pine forest, quietly observing the road blanketed in a thin layer of snow.

In the distance, the muffled crunch of wagon wheels rolling over the snow drifted toward them. Niels glanced back, gesturing for his men to conceal themselves.

The convoy drew closer, its silhouette gradually emerging from the snowy veil. The draft horses pulling the carts snorted heavy plumes of white mist, their steps faltering. The Frankish escorts were bundled in thick woolen clothing, their helmets pulled low, revealing only beet-red noses and exhausted eyes. They rubbed their hands together incessantly, desperately trying to summon a sliver of warmth.

"Ready."

Niels issued the command, then slowly drew his yew longbow to its absolute limit, aiming at an equestrian commander draped in a black cloak.