Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 398: Post-War Landscape

Ten minutes passed. The eight hundred heavy cavalrymen finished forming up and launched their charge.

Both riders and warhorses were completely clad in iron armor. The warhorses trotted forward, panting heavily, their armor clanking loudly with every movement.

Behind them followed over a thousand light cavalry in a loose formation. This was every cavalryman Aurifas had managed to muster. He planned to rout the Viking reinforcements in one fell swoop and completely turn the tide of the battle.

"Hold the line!" a Viking military officer roared, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the thundering approach of iron hooves.

As the distance closed to two hundred meters, the Viking archers unleashed their volley.

A dark cloud suddenly rose from the formation, shrieking into the sky before reaching its apex and plunging sharply down toward the rushing tide of steel.

Arrows clinked and clattered against helmets, lamellar armor, and horse armor. The vast majority failed to penetrate the heavy defenses, with only a tiny fraction finding their way into the gaps. A dozen or so warhorses whinnied in pain, crashing to the ground with their riders and tripping the companions charging right behind them.

For the massive charging formation, this was nothing more than a pebble tossed into a river, creating only a minor splash. The heavy cavalry maintained their rapid pace, crashing into the Viking spear formation with unstoppable momentum.

The next moment.

Countless spear shafts snapped. Splinters of wood and sprays of blood erupted in all directions. As the front row of heavy cavalry fell, their comrades in the rear seamlessly filled the gaps. Relying on their immense mass and speed, they smashed through the spear wall in one unified push, driving their warhorses desperately deep into the formation.The Viking infantry fought valiantly. They used their spears to thrust at the gaps in the cavalry's heavy armor or aimed for the unprotected legs of the warhorses. The moment a heavy cavalryman fell to the ground, the surrounding Vikings would swarm him, swinging their iron axes to savagely batter the knight's helmet.

In the rear, the archers and crossbowmen had long since lost their effectiveness. Forced to draw their melee weapons, they joined the chaotic fray, but they appeared incredibly fragile before the heavy cavalry. Within just a few short minutes, a hollow square formation on the far western side began to collapse.

At ten o'clock in the morning, the main force of the Eastern Roman Army arrived at the edge of the battlefield from the southeast. From the messenger's report, Basil learned that the situation on the front lines was proceeding rather well.

On the western side of the battlefield, their thirty-two thousand soldiers had surrounded an enemy force half their size, giving them a very high chance of victory.

In the central hills, four thousand infantrymen, a mix of light infantry and heavy infantry, were currently launching an assault on the heights. The battle there was fiercely contested and expected to remain in a stalemate for a long time.

Basil believed that the troop strength on both the western flank and the central hills was sufficient. If he dispatched more forces, it would lead to severe overcrowding, preventing them from fully deploying their formations.

"Rather than stacking over eighty thousand soldiers tightly together, it would be better for me to lead the main force to flank them from the east and annihilate these enemy troops in one fell swoop," he declared.

Opportunities in battle were fleeting. He hesitated no longer and immediately ordered the entire army to advance. Just as they were about to skirt the edge of the hills, the vanguard scouts suddenly sounded the alarm!

"What is going on?"

Basil ordered his aide-de-camp to blow the horn, hastily forcing the troops to deploy their formations. To get a clearer view of the movement ahead, he led a small detachment of cavalry away from the main ranks. His eyes widened instantly, and he cursed instinctively:

"Malaka!"

Due to their prior arrangements, the Vikings controlled the ridgeline of the hills, allowing them to spot the movements of the Eastern Roman main force much earlier.

The mountain infantry used flag signals to issue an early warning, buying Wig twelve precious minutes.

Time was of the essence. With no luxury to calmly deploy his formations, Wig dispatched his remaining eighteen hundred rangers to harass the Eastern Roman Army and delay the enemy's formation changes.

Not long after, the remaining infantry divisions readied themselves one by one. Wig ordered the First Division and Third Division to launch a frontal assault, while the Fourth Division flanked around to the east to prevent enemy cavalry from striking their left wing.

Wig threw two garrison regiments to the edge of the hills to secure their own right wing on the western side, aiming to stall the enemy's advance.

Soon, heaven-shaking war cries erupted from the front lines. Wig led the Royal Division and the Cavalry Division in a slow advance. Skirting the edge of the hills, they discovered an endless, vast military formation ahead of them. A battle line composed of tens of thousands of soldiers was rapidly closing in. In the center of the enemy formation, the deep red Labarum fluttered in the wind, indicating the exact location of the Eastern Roman Emperor.

Fweee—

Following the rising and falling sounds of copper whistles, over ten thousand Viking infantrymen leveled their spears. Aiming at the Greek infantry, Italian militia, and mercenaries of various ethnicities ahead of them, they launched a devastating spear charge. Surging forward like a massive black tide, they instantly threw the front-line troops of the Eastern Romans into utter chaos.

Wig found Thorkel. "Take advantage of the enemy's confusion. Lead all four thousand heavy cavalrymen and strike their right wing from the east. Find Basil. Capture him, or kill him."

"Understood!"

Thorkel spurred his horse away, immediately beginning preparations for the impending charge.

Wig's next order was issued to Douglas, commanding the Fourth Division to follow closely behind the heavy cavalry and pour into the enemy formation through the breach.

Worried that the offensive pressure might not be sufficient, he committed his sole remaining Royal Division into the battlefield, maneuvering around the edge of the hills to assault the Greeks' left wing.

Now, Wig had only two thousand Royal Guards and over four thousand laborers by his side. The group formed a defensive square using carts, silently awaiting the outcome of this decisive battle.

Ten minutes passed. The four thousand heavy cavalrymen had maneuvered to the eastern side of the battlefield. Thorkel dispatched the heavy cavalry from various battalions in waves, ordering them to launch probing charges against the enemy formation.

Ultimately, he set his attack target on the area held by the Italian militia. With just a single charge, they easily penetrated the spear formation set up by the poorly trained conscripts.

As more and more heavy cavalry and Viking infantry flooded into the breach, the Eastern Roman right wing suffered an irreversible collapse. Panic spread rapidly like wildfire, and upon reaching a critical tipping point, the entire Eastern Roman military formation began to disintegrate.

Compared to their allies, the Frankish remnants possessed abundant experience in both combat and fleeing. Without needing any reminders from Charles the Bald, commanders under his banner, such as William the Count of Orléans and Alfred, silently agreed to lead their troops in a hasty retreat, fleeing southwest toward the Apennine Mountains.

They did not need to outrun the Viking cavalry; they only needed to outrun their allies.

The momentum was entirely lost. The remaining Eastern Roman Army retreated in succession. With the eastern battlefield cut off by the Vikings, their only avenue of escape was also toward the southwest.

"Ignore the others! Stick close to that deep red flag!" Thorkel rallied the nearby heavy cavalry, charging straight toward the Eastern Roman Labarum.

Not far along, Thorkel successfully intercepted over a thousand Varangian Guardsmen. This group of heavy infantry resolutely defended the Labarum. Right beside the flag sat a figure clad in gilded armor.

Knowing that the Varangian Guard was filled with a large number of Vikings, Thorkel ordered his subordinates to shout out terms of surrender, but their efforts yielded no results.

Over the next half hour, the heavy cavalry launched repeated charges, slaughtering three-quarters of the Varangian Guardsmen, yet the survivors still refused to yield. "Forget it, halt the attack!"

Unwilling to make any unnecessary sacrifices, he simply abandoned the assault. After waiting for over forty minutes, he borrowed two bronze cannons from Utgard's forces and aimed them directly at the remaining Varangians, firing devastating blasts of grapeshot.

Finally, the heavily armored infantry crumbled. The Vikings surged excitedly toward the Labarum. Unfortunately, the person inside the gilded armor was merely a young man; Basil had fled the battlefield long ago.

Late that night, Wig tallied the spoils of war. In this battle, they had annihilated or captured fifty thousand soldiers. Although they hadn't caught Basil himself, they had managed to capture a massive number of nobles, civilian officials, and clerics.

Their own side suffered thirteen thousand casualties. The five thousand conscripts led by Ricard sustained a casualty rate of over two-thirds. Utgard's Second Division suffered forty percent casualties, and the losses on the western battlefield accounted for fully half of the total count.

"The power of the cataphracts truly justifies their exorbitant cost. Fortunately, I acted swiftly on the eastern front, using chaos to fight chaos, giving the remaining cataphracts no room to maneuver."

The following day, Wig dispatched the Royal Division and the First Division—both in relatively good condition—to give chase. Starting from Bologna, they marched south into the Apennine Mountains, attempting to retrace their previous route back to Tuscany, with the ultimate goal of conquering Rome.

Unfortunately, he had severely underestimated the enemy's will to resist.

Learning from past mistakes, Basil did not build fortresses in the middle of the mountain passes. Instead, he positioned his defensive works on the peaks lining both sides, rendering direct cannon fire impossible.

As a result, the Vikings had to rely solely on their infantry to forcefully crack open the wooden stockades and stone fortresses dotting the route.

The mountainous path from Bologna to Florence stretched over one hundred and seventy kilometers. At their current pace of advancement, traversing it would take at least two months.

Even after capturing Florence, there was still a journey of two hundred kilometers remaining. Upon arriving outside the gates of Rome, it was estimated that they would need to deploy over fifty bronze cannons just to bombard the city walls.

On May 6th, Wig convened a war council. Upon hearing that the war could possibly drag on until the end of the year, or even into the next, the upper echelons of leadership erupted into spirited discussion.

"Your Majesty, the situation in Francia is deteriorating. Is there no faster method?"

Just yesterday, Utgard had received a letter from home. Multiple rebellions had broken out within his Duchy of Burgundy. One rebel army in particular was exceedingly rampant, having already seized three noble estates.

The rest of the generals also began to report the status of their respective territories. Signs of rebellion were present almost everywhere. With certain barons and knights away fighting the war, their families could not maintain order and had no choice but to flee to their liege lord's castle for refuge, leaving the rebels to ravage their lands unchecked.

Once the chatter slightly subsided, Wig replied calmly, "I understand your difficulties. However, the proposal for a truce must be initiated by the other side. If they refuse to yield, I would rather continue fighting."

Rebellions ran rampant within the borders of the Viking Empire, while the Eastern Roman Empire faced an impending threat from the Abbasid Empire. Both sides were gritting their teeth and enduring the strain, waiting for the other to capitulate first.

By May 20th, Basil could hold out no longer. He dispatched a civilian official named Tytus to the Viking camp to request peace.

Inside the command tent, Wig interrupted the envoy's self-introduction, replying with nonchalance:

"Previously, Basil thought we were nothing but a chaotic mob of barbarians that could be easily dealt with. So, he marched out his army, attempting to reclaim Naples and Northern Italy to boost his own prestige. Now that the situation has turned against him, he comes to me seeking peace. On what grounds?

"The empire lacks neither grain nor warhorses. I have plenty of time to play this game with you all. At worst, we'll drag this out until next year, or even the year after. Care to guess if the Abbasid Empire will seize the opportunity to attack the Anatolia region?"

Tytus sighed. "Your Majesty, peace is a good thing for both sides. You swallowed the empire left behind by Charlemagne in a single gulp. The newly conquered Franks, Burgundians, and Saxons harbor deep resentment. If you remain abroad for too long, full-blown rebellions will ignite back home.

"Furthermore, our side still has forty thousand soldiers remaining. Spurred by the propaganda from monasteries far and wide, the Italian militia views you as a pagan ruler even more wicked than Attila or Alaric. Their will to resist is ironclad, and they will gradually wear down your forces. If this war of attrition is not halted, the only ultimate beneficiaries will be the Moors.

"In truth, this was all a complete misunderstanding. I have heard that your nation reveres civilization, possessing schools, libraries, theaters, sewer systems, aqueducts, public bathhouses, arenas, and a Witenagemot akin to a Senate. Compared to the Franks, you are far more qualified to inherit the territories of the Western Roman Empire."

For the traditionally haughty Eastern Romans to utter such words, it was truly a rare sight.

Wig fell silent for a long time. With a subtle nod, he signaled Leif and the others to handle the haggling with Tytus, while he himself leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to rest.

Recently, the front lines of both sides had fallen into a stalemate. The envoy suggested maintaining the status quo, tacitly permitting the Vikings to occupy Northern Italy, Moravia, Vindobona (Vienna), and Slavonia (a small pocket in northeastern Italy where merchant caravans could bypass the Alps and travel directly to the Bavaria region).

After fierce debate, the two sides roughly delineated their respective spheres of influence. Near the end of the negotiations, the envoy presented an additional request.

Basil was willing to pay a ransom for the Greek soldiers and a select portion of the nobles. However, there were certain faces he never wished to see again. He hoped Wig would execute the Duke of Naples, his two heirs, and more than seventy other specified nobles.

Wig saw right through Basil's intentions. The man planned to use him as a blade to eradicate the deeply rooted powers in the Italian region, paving the way for Basil to establish a new order.

"Fine. But as an equivalent exchange, you must eliminate Charles the Bald, William the Count of Orléans, Alfred, and the other Frankish nobility."

Tytus slowly shook his head. "Charles the Bald is a direct descendant of Charlemagne's bloodline, and Alfred is the rightful heir to the throne of Wessex. Their status is highly noble. If we make a rash move against them, it will trigger massive outrage among the church and the nobility."

On this specific topic, Tytus continuously refused to yield. The back-and-forth dragged on until the early hours of the next morning, when he finally led his entourage back to the Greek-controlled zone.

After the envoy departed, the Second Prince sought out Wig in private.

"Father, do you truly intend to make peace?"

Wig rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. "What else can we do? We cannot continue fighting this war. It is true that I secured two consecutive, massive victories on the Northern Italy battlefield. But even so, I remain completely unable to threaten the core territories of the Eastern Roman Empire.

"Basil lacks nothing in terms of gold, grain, or equipment. He can fund the rapid assembly of armies in the Balkans and Southern Italy, using a ceaseless tide of manpower to wage a war of attrition against me.

"The only territory I truly, fully control is Britain, with a population of a mere two million nine hundred thousand. The enemy faction holds Anatolia, the Balkans, and Italy. Even if I trade one of our soldiers for three of theirs, we will still be bled dry long before they are.

"We have to wait at least twenty or thirty years to fully digest the twenty Imperial Counties in northern Francia. Only then will we possess the capital necessary to resume our expansion."

An insufficient core population was the fatal flaw of the Viking Empire. Even if Wig conquered the entirety of Italy and pushed deep into the Balkan Peninsula, they simply didn't have the administrative or demographic strength to assimilate those regions.

Looking at it this way, the Viking Empire had already reached the absolute limit of its expansion. The next step should be a rigid focus on internal affairs. If they continued fighting, they would likely end up just like the empire of Alexander the Great or the Timurid Empire—instantly fracturing into pieces the moment its founding emperor passed away.