Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 331: Advance Precautions

Early 867 AD, in a valley in central Bulgaria.

The setting sun cast a bloody glow over the land as ravens circled overhead. A thick, metallic stench of blood permeated the air. Eight thousand corpses lay strewn across the jagged rocks, the vast majority belonging to Bulgarian soldiers. Snapped spears and broken flagpoles thrust into the leaden sky like a field of iron thorns.

At the valley's entrance, a crimson military banner suddenly rose. Heavily armored Varangian guards parted like the tide, clearing a central path. The commander-in-chief, Niels, rode forward at a steady trot. Gripping the reins in his left hand, he held the "Ice Lake" sword high with his right, his scarlet cloak snapping wildly in the autumn wind.

"Niels! Niels!"

No one knew who started it, but a heaven-shaking roar erupted from the valley floor. Infantrymen rhythmically slammed their weapons against their shields, while the nomadic horsemen let out piercing, eerie shrieks. The unified battle cries of over eight thousand men battered the surrounding cliffs, terrifying the surviving wounded Bulgarian soldiers into trembling huddles among the dead.

Once the roaring subsided, Niels issued his orders. He left behind a small contingent to clean up the battlefield, hunt down captives, and treat the wounded. The rest of the army would continue their offensive, marching straight toward the vital stronghold of central Bulgaria—Veliko Tarnovo.

Currently, Basil's army had penetrated the southern territories. The Serbians on the Balkan Peninsula had also accepted employment as mercenaries, sending tens of thousands of men to breach Bulgaria's northwestern border. Besieged on three sides, Bulgaria's situation was extremely precarious. If Niels managed to capture Veliko Tarnovo, the kingdom would lose any remaining ability to fight back.

Two days later, Niels led his vanguard to Veliko Tarnovo. Upon his first glance at the town, he realized his initial expectations had been far too optimistic.

Before him was a hill surrounded by rushing rivers on three sides. The currents were fierce, leaving only a single road leading into the city. The town was built against the mountain, its residential areas scattered in irregular terraces along the slope, making it incredibly easy to defend and difficult to attack.

At the very peak of the hill stood a stone fortress—a remnant of the Roman Empire, according to historical records.Finding a vantage point on high ground, Niels carefully observed the surrounding terrain. He quickly concluded that the town's location was far too treacherous, making its defenses practically flawless.

"Not good. I'll probably be stuck in this damn place for a while," he sighed heavily, despite being a veteran of a hundred battles. A direct assault would result in catastrophic casualties; his only viable option was to lay a long-term siege.

Excluding the five thousand soldiers stationed in the rear, his available field forces consisted of four thousand Rus' mercenaries, two thousand nomadic horsemen, and two thousand Varangian heavy infantry, totaling eight thousand men.

Niels ordered his troops to set up camp outside the city. At the same time, he wrote a letter to Basil detailing the dire predicament on the eastern front, requesting permission to bypass Veliko Tarnovo and rendezvous with the main force as soon as possible.

Three days later, a squad of riders arrived at the camp. Acting on behalf of the Emperor, they congratulated Niels on his brilliant victory. However, they also delivered orders requiring him to maintain the siege on the town to prevent the remaining enemy forces from scattering to other regions and sowing the seeds for future rebellions.

"There are still two to three thousand men left inside the city. That means I have to dedicate at least six thousand soldiers just to maintain the blockade. If I only take the remaining two thousand men with me, it'll be incredibly difficult to make any real impact moving forward," Niels argued.

He requested reinforcements, but the envoy bluntly refused. "There have been strange movements along the eastern border. The Emperor has canceled plans to draft and deploy peasant militias. I apologize, Your Excellency, but you will not receive any more troops."

Niels then asked to hire more Rus' mercenaries, but that too was rejected. After a year and a half of relentless warfare, Basil had mobilized forty-five thousand soldiers while simultaneously covering all of Serbia's military expenses. The Eastern Roman Empire was buckling under immense financial pressure and simply could not afford to expand its army.

"My original plan was to march west and rendezvous with the Emperor in western Bulgaria. If I'm bogged down at Veliko Tarnovo, this war is going to drag on for a very long time," Niels muttered.

Listening patiently to his complaints, the envoy maintained a polite smile. "General, the Emperor is already considering alternatives. Perhaps there is another way to conquer this place."

During his twenty years as a slave, Basil had developed an exceptional ability to read people, making him extremely adept at manipulating human nature. Throughout the war, beyond commanding troops, he had personally written letters to the Bulgarian nobles, using threats, bribes, and promises to sow discord and disrupt the enemy's formations from within.

By synthesizing intelligence from various sources, Basil had discovered the fatal weakness of Veliko Tarnovo's defending commander. He dispatched an elite cavalry squad deep into western Bulgaria, successfully capturing the commander's family to blackmail him into surrender.

It was a completely dishonorable tactic, but the results were instantaneous.

Late one night, half a month later, the defending commander secretly opened the gates, surrendering the heavily fortified town and crushing the kingdom's final glimmer of hope.

Having secured the town, Niels led his forces westward, routing any enemy resistance along the way. By mid-February, after a grueling year and a half of warfare, he finally stood before the Emperor in person once again.

By this point, Bulgaria had lost all of its field forces, leaving only a handful of strategically located castles still putting up a futile resistance. The outcome was set in stone—Basil had won the war. As the news traveled back to Constantinople, a few shrewd civilian officials immediately began preparing a grand triumph to curry favor with the Emperor.

In late February, following the surrender ceremony of a prominent noble, the Emperor hosted a lavish banquet, publicly praising Niels for his extraordinary achievements.

"General, your bravery and tactical brilliance have far exceeded everyone's expectations, including my own," Basil declared warmly. "According to our original plan, the eastern forces were only meant to harass and pin down the enemy. You executed this flawlessly, and even managed to achieve victory against overwhelming odds. By crushing Bulgaria's field forces, you have drastically accelerated the end of this war."

Flickering candlelight bathed the great hall of the castle in a warm, golden glow. The Emperor personally poured a cup of wine for Niels, while the other generals and eunuchs quickly chimed in with their own praises. The chorus of adulation swelled within Niels's heart, leaving him feeling somewhat intoxicated by the glory.

The Emperor spoke again, his tone turning serious. "The position of Domestikos ton Scholon has been vacant for quite some time now. Tell me, would you be interested in it?"

(Domestikos ton Scholon was the highest military office in the Eastern Roman Empire during this period, serving as a Grand Marshal who theoretically commanded all field forces in Constantinople and the surrounding areas.)

The cheering and laughter in the castle hall instantly died down. The expressions of the crowd grew complex and varied. The very idea of allowing a Norse barbarian to hold such an exalted position was completely beyond their wildest imaginations.

A sudden gust of cold wind swept into the hall. In that instant, Niels's internal alarms blared. He had been through too much over the years, and his finely honed political instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, he decisively rejected the highly coveted title.

"Then what is it you desire?" Basil pressed.

Niels set his wine cup down and gave an answer that caught everyone off guard.

"A quiet life," he replied softly. "It has been thirty-four years since I followed Ragnar on my first plunder. Britain, West Francia, Denmark, Sweden, Eastern Europe, Constantinople, Bulgaria... my life has spanned more than half of Europe, filled with nothing but endless, unceasing warfare. I am tired now. I just want to find a remote place to spend my twilight years in peace."

He asked for a map. Basil gave a subtle nod, and two nearby eunuchs quickly unrolled an exquisitely crafted parchment scroll.

Niels's gaze wandered over the map before his finger finally came to rest on the most remote corner of the parchment scroll—the Crimean Peninsula, located on the northern shores of the Black Sea.

"Here. This is the place," Niels declared. "If Your Majesty is willing to grant me a piece of barren land here, so that my aging, battle-worn brothers and I may live out the rest of our days, it would be absolutely perfect."