Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 279: Reinforcements

At one in the afternoon, the Viking mercenaries shattered the lord's guards with two volleys of javelins. The surviving rebel army fled north, abandoning the stone fortress. At the cost of four hundred dead and wounded, Niels had finally conquered the stronghold.

Following their hard-fought victory, the mercenaries spontaneously began to pillage the lord's manor, cellar, and warehouses. This was the reward they had earned with their lives. Powerless to stop them, Basil and Niels climbed to the top of the watchtower, silently observing the scene unfolding below.

"To suffer one-third casualties and still maintain their combat effectiveness, these barbarians are truly fierce."

Basil gazed down at the piles of corpses beneath the walls, marveling at the morale of this barbarian guard. They were practically on par with the ancient Roman Legions recorded in history books.

As the commander, Niels could not help but feel downcast. He had finally realized the true cost behind their exorbitant pay.

The revelry continued for the better part of an hour before a massive horde of figures suddenly surged from the northern mountain pass. It was the Bulgarian cavalry!

"Quickly, prepare your defenses!" Niels roared, rushing down the watchtower at top speed. He sprinted through the interior of the fortress, forcing the exhausted mercenaries up onto the northern wall.

At that moment, Basil hollered from the top of the tower, pointing at the tiny black dots appearing along the western ridge. "Commander! The enemy's light infantry is crossing the ridge! They plan to circle around to the south and cut off our retreat!"

"Understood!" Niels shouted back. He quickly pulled out two centuries, ordering them to haul the ladders and battering rams on the south side back inside the walls. They hurriedly herded the rear horses into the courtyard and dispatched riders south to deliver word of the attack.

After finishing the preparations, Niels returned to the northern wall. He stared grimly at the deploying army in the distance. There were about four thousand men, which, combined with the large number of light infantry scaling the ridge, brought their total to over five thousand."Can we hold them off?" the financial officer asked in a hushed voice.

Sensing his cowardice, Basil chimed in before Niels could answer. "This stone fortress is in a crucial location. We cannot afford to lose it. Moreover, when we set out this morning, the peasant conscripts stationed nearby also began their march. They just move a bit slower; they are expected to arrive by the afternoon."

Recalling those thousand undisciplined and sluggish peasant soldiers, Niels gave a scathing assessment. "Those peasants have abysmal combat strength. Even if they arrive, they will be blocked outside the walls by the enemy's flanking forces. We'll end up being burdened with having to leave the fortress to receive them."

"No, that's not all," Basil argued. "There are more reinforcements coming from behind. We just have to hold out until noon tomorrow."

As he spoke, however, his tone grew increasingly hesitant. Relying solely on this group of exhausted mercenaries, it would be incredibly difficult to last until the main reinforcement army arrived.

At that moment, the three men reached a silent consensus: this stone fortress could not be held.

As the leader of this operation, Basil found himself hesitating. If he chose to retreat to save his own life, the Emperor might not punish him, but it would be almost impossible to ever secure an opportunity to command troops independently again.

His left hand brushed against the cold, rough battlements, and then he touched his own face. It felt just as weathered and rough.

'There's no time left!' he thought. 'I was born in 812 and am already past my fifties. Am I really going to idle away as a favored pet of the royal court until I die of old age?'

The sky darkened. Amidst the biting, frigid wind, Basil squeezed his eyes shut. After a long silence, his eyes suddenly snapped open, startling Tytus so much that the financial officer took two steps back.

"Open the gates. I am going to negotiate with the enemy commander," Basil declared. "If I am killed or taken prisoner, I expect you to continue defending this place. Prove yourselves worthy of His Majesty's generous coin!"

Ignoring everyone's objections, Basil briefly adjusted his attire, selected a tall and magnificent white steed, and rode out alone to face the surging tide of enemies beyond the walls.

Tytus gazed at his retreating figure. "He's crazy. He's completely lost his mind."

Niels remained silent. Looking at Basil, he could vaguely see the shadows of his past self, along with Wigg and the others. Whenever they encountered an opportunity great enough to alter their destinies, they were willing to wager everything they had.

However, if one lost that gamble, there would be no chance to ever rise again. Unexpectedly, Basil seemed to be favored by the gods. From afar, they watched him converse with the Bulgarian general for a brief moment, and remarkably, he managed to persuade the enemy to withdraw their troops!

As the war horn sounded the retreat, the Bulgarian army outside the northern gate slowly began to pull back. The light infantry on the distant ridge stared at the retreating military standards, and although they had no idea what had happened, they followed suit and withdrew.

Under the incredulous gazes of the crowd, Basil returned completely unharmed. He brushed the fine snowflakes from his coat, his expression as calm and unhurried as if he had just attended a banquet at a friend's estate.

Tytus hurried forward to meet him. "How did you do that?"

"I simply capitalized on his character flaws and his current predicament," Basil replied smoothly. "Using a few rhetorical tricks, I managed to frighten him into leaving."

Tytus eagerly pressed him. "But you spoke for less than ten minutes! How could you possibly know all that?"

"Two years ago, I accompanied an envoy delegation to Bulgaria," Basil explained. "During my stay, I managed to gather some general information about the kingdom's upper echelons. I never expected it would come in handy today. Haha, well, at least I can finally report a successful mission."

For the next while, the guards busied themselves with reinforcing the fortress's defenses, while the three high-ranking officials comfortably enjoyed a meal in the watchtower. Suddenly, a centurion presented them with a Damascus steel sword, claiming it had been discovered deep within the cellar.

Niels did not take the weapon. Instead, he signaled his subordinate to hand the spoils of war to Basil. The latter reached out, unsheathed the longsword, and examined it meticulously.

"Not bad at all," Basil remarked. "This kind of flame-patterned rippling is quite hard to come by. It's a rare treasure, akin in quality to the longswords kept in the Sacred Armory."

He sheathed the blade and tossed it over to Niels. "This sword is of no use in my hands. It is much better suited to your care."

'For me?'

A hint of pleasant surprise flashed through Niels's eyes. As a Viking warrior, how could he not be moved by such weapons? His fingers brushed over the cold, exquisite blade as he recalled the other Damascus steel swords he had laid eyes on in the past.

Dragon's Breath, Dawnbreaker, Kingship, Riptide, Heartbreaker...

After a long while, Basil's voice interrupted his reminiscing. "What do you plan to name it?"

'A name?'

Looking back on his past, Niels found that the most memorable moment of his life wasn't the afternoon he first met Princess Eve, nor was it the ceremony where he was knighted as the Earl of Nottingham. It could only be the shores of the frozen Lake Gnutz.

"Ice Lake," Niels murmured. "I will call it 'Ice Lake'."

That afternoon, the disorganized group of peasant soldiers finally arrived. With their assistance, and the gradually recovering stamina of the Viking warriors, Basil was confident that they could hold the stone fortress even if the Bulgarian army were to return.

The following day, even more reinforcements arrived. The situation was completely secured. Basil had the Varangian Guard hand over the fortress's defenses before setting out on the return journey to Constantinople to report their success.

Without a doubt, the greatest merit for this operation belonged to Basil. He was the one who decisively convinced the two emperors to deploy troops, coordinated all parties during the march, hastily gathered enough horses and supplies, and even persuaded the Bulgarians to retreat, single-handedly preventing a massive war between the two nations.

On the journey back, Tytus fawned over the favored courtier. "My Lord, with the monumental merits you have established this time, His Majesty will certainly bestow an official position upon you in addition to the title of 'Guard of the Scabbard Sword'. What do you think it will be?"

Using a tone of utter solemnity, Basil offered a practiced, perfunctory response. "Everything I do is for the Emperor. Whatever he chooses to reward me with, I will gladly accept."