Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 362: Border

After repelling Charles the Bald, Wigg laid siege to Marseille. The fleet from Lyon sailed down the Rhône River to the estuary, supplying the daily necessities of the Viking army.

In early December, two Eastern Europe Garrison Regiments stormed through a breach in the walls, conquering the historic city of Marseille.

Francia and Italy were separated by the Alps, with the following routes available for passage:

Traveling upstream along the Rhône River from Lyon, heading east to Chambéry, and crossing the mountain pass to reach Turin in Italy.

Departing from Lyon, heading southeast to Grenoble, and crossing the pass to arrive at Aosta in Italy.

Setting out from Marseille, moving east along the Mediterranean Sea coast into Italy. This route was relatively flat and much safer, making it suitable for large-scale commercial trade.

Starting from Lake Geneva, crossing mountain passes over two thousand meters in elevation, and heading south into the Italian region.

Wigg had no immediate plans to invade Italy, but he needed to make the necessary arrangements to block the western exits of the Alps, preventing the Frankish remnants from launching frequent hit-and-run attacks.

After careful consideration, he left the First Field Division behind, ordering Butcherbird to garrison Marseille. Barring any accidents, this place would become the Kingdom's southeastern border.

Following a two-week rest, Wigg led the Royal Division westward. In January of 870 AD, the Vikings captured Montpellier before continuing their march west.In Toulouse, Wigg reunited with the Second Field Division, from which he had separated half a year prior.

With this, the Expeditionary Force achieved its goal of conquering the south. Towns like Bordeaux, Toulouse, Montpellier, and Marseille were completely occupied, bringing the Third Viking-Frankish War to a close.

While stationed in Toulouse, a Visigoth Envoy sought out Wigg with a large shipment of gifts to test his intentions.

"This war is solely aimed at Francia. I have no interest in the Iberian Peninsula. The condition is that Alfonso III must sever his alliance with the Franks, strictly control all Vassals within his territory, and forbid them from marching north to attack or joining the Frankish armies."

Britain had now reached the limits of its expansion. Wigg lacked the spare strength and the necessity to march into Iberia. The peninsula's terrain was rugged, and its climate was dry; the benefits of occupying it would not cover the cost of maintaining a garrison.

Upon receiving this reply, the Envoy returned to León at top speed to report everything to Alfonso:

"Your Majesty, the Franks are completely finished. Although they have helped us in the past, the Vikings are far too formidable and have exceeded our capacity to deal with them. I recommend that you accept Wigg's conditions."

The current situation on the Iberian Peninsula was deadlocked. The Visigoths were still locked in a fierce, inescapable struggle with the Moors in the south. Unwilling to fall into the predicament of a two-front war, Alfonso issued a Royal Edict:

From now on, the border between Asturias and Britain would be drawn along the Pyrenees. If any Vassals stubbornly marched north to join the war, the King would strip them of all fiefdoms and titles within Asturias.

A few days later, a Royal Court attendant carrying the Royal Edict arrived in Zaragoza, only to find that the Duke was not in the city.

"Where did he go?"

Baron Oliver replied, "He set sail a week ago, heading to Genoa to welcome the Duchess, his heir Robert, and Princess Enya. It won't be long before he returns."

The attendant hadn't expected this situation. He sent someone back to the palace to report the news while he remained in Zaragoza, waiting until the Duke and his family returned to the city.

At the same time, in Genoa.

The weather was gloomy, and the wind blew exceptionally cold and harsh. A galley slowly sailed into the Gulf of Genoa. Hundreds of ships were moored in the harbor, and the shore was densely packed with figures, teeming with countless armor-clad soldiers.

After Lothair, the King of Middle Francia, died of illness, his three sons carved up the Kingdom, and the Eldest Son, Louis II, acquired Northern Italy. Over the past two years, the Vikings had conquered the rest of the Frankish nations. Only Northern Italy had been spared, cowering behind the Alps and panting for its final breaths.

Now, Nobles from various countries were fleeing here with their families in droves, causing prices in Northern Italy to skyrocket. As Gunnar walked across the slippery pier toward the shore, he realized that the price of wheat here was forty percent higher than in Barcelona.

"If we shipped Zaragoza's wheat over here to sell, we could probably make a massive fortune." The streets were narrow and slick, with pale stone houses clustered densely along the steep roads, climbing upward like a honeycomb. The group arrived at the affluent district halfway up the mountain and located the courtyard where Vivienne and the others were staying.

The moment she saw her husband, Vivienne instinctively relaxed, but upon remembering his Illegitimate Son, her mood rapidly deteriorated. With a darkened face, she turned and walked away.

Robert and Enya were exactly the same as always. The two lounged comfortably on their chairs, casually discussing the high-end fashion and various luxury goods popular in Northern Italy, completely oblivious to their current predicament.

"Pack your things and leave with me immediately. This city is swarming with far too many exiles; it's bound to erupt into chaos sooner or later."

Gunnar had his guards help carry the luggage. Suddenly, a fine drizzle began to fall from the sky, and a frigid wind howled through the courtyard. It seemed setting sail today was out of the question.

After waiting for three consecutive days, Gunnar still hadn't caught a favorable wind. In the afternoon, he received an invitation—Charles the Bald was inviting the Duke and his family to a banquet.

"He just suffered a crushing defeat in Marseille, and he still has the mood to throw a banquet?"

Gunnar felt nothing but contempt and unceremoniously dismissed the Envoy. He originally planned to excuse himself claiming an illness, but Robert and his wife were avid socialites and begged their father to take them to the dinner.

The banquet was held at a manor on the outskirts of the city. Even though Charles the Bald had lost all his territories, he still maintained the extravagant pageantry of a King.

Most of the guests present were exiled Nobles, including Prime Minister Lamberto and William, Count of Orléans. The great hall was filled with the cheerful melodies of Bards. In a daze, Gunnar almost thought he had returned to Paris.

Upon entering, Gunnar gave a slight bow to the King, his expression composed and entirely at ease.

"It's been a long time, Your Majesty. It seems you are doing quite well."

During the war of 868 AD, he felt he had thoroughly fulfilled his duties as a Vassal. The blame for their defeat rested entirely on the Count of Orléans. If that idiot had held out just a little longer until the southern and northern armies could converge, even if they couldn't win a field battle, they could have staunchly defended the city and used their nation's vast resources to exhaust Britain.

However, this was only Gunnar's perspective. As a Northman, he had always been ostracized by the Frankish Nobility. During the idle chatter at the banquet, Gunnar was instead pointed out as the one bearing the greatest responsibility for the loss.

After downing several glasses of Wine in a row, the Duke's patience was completely worn thin. He slammed his goblet onto the table with a heavy thud, glaring at the incessantly babbling William.

"I did indeed lose the Battle of the Ryc Field. The reason is that a certain idiot lost Orléans, forcing the southern army to march north along the only available route, which is why we were intercepted by Wigg.

"Furthermore, that idiot made more than just one mistake. In the previous Battle of Dunwall Manor, despite having a two-to-one advantage in troops, he was completely routed by the First Field Division. Three thousand cavalrymen were bogged down in the mud, turning into mere target practice for the Welsh Longbows..."

The next moment, a splash of wine thrown right at his face interrupted Gunnar's words. Unable to suppress his fury any longer, he grabbed a Candlestick and lunged at William.

After a flurry of punches and kicks, William and the two Nobles beside him were effortlessly knocked to the floor. Gunnar stood holding the bloodstained Candlestick, his chest heaving violently, his eyes brimming with a bloodthirsty thrill.

"Who else?!"

A dead silence fell over the room. The servants hurriedly rushed forward, lifting the three injured men and carrying them out of the banquet hall. Gunnar remained standing in place. Sensing the crowd's repulsion and fear, a wave of regret rippled through his heart.

'If I had known it would be like this, I should have stayed with the Viking faction. Anything would be better than suffering this humiliation in this wretched place.'