Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 91: Seine Riverbank

Ch 91: Seine Riverbank

At 10:00 AM, under a clear sky and a gentle breeze, nearly twenty thousand people formed a line along the Seine Riverbank, stretching over one kilometer from north to south. The grand spectacle attracted many Paris residents to the South Bank Bridgehead to watch the battle.

At this moment, Vikings on a low hill to the west erected a six-meter high platform. Vig climbed to the top precariously via a long ladder. Instantly, the entire battlefield came into view.

Commanding an army of nearly ten thousand was not easy. Only Vig, Ivar, and Gunnar were suitable. Ivar preferred leading his thousand heavy infantry, while Gunnar needed to lead the cavalry. Both were indispensable, so the responsibility of battlefield commander naturally fell upon Vig.

As far as the eye could see, there were countless heads and banners waving in the wind. Vig took several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling rapidly, yet unable to quell his excitement.

“I never thought I’d see this day.”

He gazed at the Frankish army formation opposite. One thousand cavalry were being dispatched to the southernmost end of the battlefield, where the terrain was open, making it easy to launch a mass charge.

To deal with this most threatening unit, Vig grabbed two red flags from a wooden crate and waved them repeatedly toward the southern end of the battlefield.

Seeing this, two pike formations at the southern end began to move, like two slowly shifting forests, advancing slowly toward the Frankish cavalry.

Having witnessed the power of the pike formations, the Frankish cavalry ignored these slow-moving units and retreated steadily toward the southeast. To disengage the cavalry, “Bald Head” Charles sent guards galloping to the southern end of the battlefield, ordering the Frankish infantry there to advance.

As the Frankish infantry moved, Vig shouted to the messenger rider below the high platform: “Let Ulf and Bjorn’s units move up and settle those conscripted militia.”

The reason for dispatching a rider was simple. Besides the two thousand pike formations under direct command and the quick-witted commanders Ivar and Gunnar, others couldn’t learn flag signals in a short time and could only rely on the primitive method of messenger riders.

Soon, following the River Fish banner （ Ulf ） and the Seagull banner （ Bjorn ）, fifteen hundred Viking soldiers formed a shield wall to meet the enemy infantry.

The battle officially erupted.

Due to long-standing traditions, West Francia invested most of its resources in cavalry, leaving infantry as cheap expendables. Upon engagement, the Frankish infantry were pushed back steadily, leaving Ulf and Bjorn somewhat bewildered, thinking it was a trap set by the enemy.

After a few minutes of hesitation, the River Fish banner and the Seagull banner continued their advance, gradually pushing toward the Frankish lines.

At the southeastern end of the battlefield, witnessing their own army’s decline, the Frankish cavalry, which had been evading, became agitated.

For a long time, their tactics had been simple and brutal; they excelled at forming dense formations to charge the enemy army and were not adept at flanking maneuvers. Led by a few reckless knights, some cavalry stopped fleeing, turning their horses and returning to the battlefield.

As time passed, more and more cavalry spontaneously left their ranks. By the time the commander reacted, only fifty or so remained beside him.

“It’s over, I’m going to be killed by these fools.”

At the cost of their warhorses’ stamina, the Frankish cavalry bypassed the pike formations, preparing to attack Ulf and Bjorn’s units from the flank. Before they could get halfway there, a sudden change occurred.

“Vahalla!”

From the west, nearly four hundred Viking cavalry emerged gradually from behind the hillside. They formed three loose lines, following a white banner with a clawing brown bear, and charged towards the Frankish cavalry several hundred meters away.

On the grassy wilderness, the dull sound of iron hooves striking the ground blended together, forming a wave of sound like rumbling thunder.

In a hurry, the Frankish cavalry hastily urged their mounts into battle, wielding longswords and chain hammers, and charging directly towards the enemy lances.

The distance grew shorter, both sides reaching their maximum speed. Gunnar at the head of the formation leveled his lance, its point trembling slightly with the bouncing of his warhorse.

Fifty meters.

Thirty meters.

Ten meters.

Dark shadows rapidly approached. At the last moment, Gunnar aimed at the enemy’s chest. With unparalleled force, his lance pierced the well-made chainmail. He quickly released it, then drew his longsword from his saddle, parrying an attack from another enemy.

Blades clashed, two warhorses crossed, and Gunnar struck the enemy’s back with a backhand blow. He heard the sound of something falling behind him, but he didn’t look back—the charging cavalry were like arrows from a bow, able only to continue their advance into the endless shadows ahead.

Parrying, striking; one enemy after another crashed against him. Gunnar’s longsword was full of notches. He casually threw it at a nearby enemy, then drew a second longsword. Suddenly, a warhorse charged from the front and side. He moved his reins to avoid the charge, and with a backhand blow, he smashed the attacking cavalryman’s nose with his sword hilt.

The smell of rust grew stronger, and the hooves began to slip. After parrying countless attacks, his vision suddenly cleared; there were no more Frankish cavalry ahead.

Huff, huff.

A gentle breeze blew, and Gunnar wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, discovering that the pike formations and Ulf and Bjorn’s units were rapidly approaching.

“Eliminating the enemy cavalry at the start of the battle gives us a sixty percent chance of victory.”

More and more Viking cavalry gathered around him. Gunnar took a wineskin from someone and drank nearly half a bag of honey wine. The cool, sweet wine went down, and his fatigue vanished.

“Awesome!”

Burping, Gunnar looked toward the high platform in the center. Vig was waving a red and a white small flag. Gunnar understood his meaning; he intended to have the cavalry retreat to the rear to rest, then launch a decisive blow when the time was ripe.

At this moment, the pike formations had spread into a line, completely blocking the enemy’s path. Crossbowmen fired volleys at the slowed Frankish cavalry. Spearmen shouted slogans and slowly advanced, their cold, sharp spears causing the warhorses to retreat repeatedly.

The main force of the Frankish cavalry was trapped.

Seeing this, the Frankish infantry, which had been retreating, turned back westward, attempting to rescue the knights trapped in the encirclement.

When most of the survivors had gathered, Gunnar suddenly had a bold idea. Because a large number of Frankish infantry had come to the rescue, there was a clear disconnection between the enemy’s left wing （ south side ） and the center army.

Bang bang, bang bang.

Facing this incredibly precious opportunity, Gunnar’s heart pounded. He looked again at Vig on the high platform and decided to ignore the latter’s flag signals.

“Waiting for the perfect moment? Ha, is there a more precious opportunity than this?”

Gunnar looked at the cavalry on his left and right sides. “I’m going to charge through that breach. Who is willing to withdraw?”

No one spoke.

Sensing the eager eyes of his subordinates, Gunnar drew his longsword. “Follow me, to the ends of the earth!”

The wind suddenly intensified, scattering nearby grass clippings. More than two hundred riders drew their swords in unison. “To the ends of the earth!”

Following their commander’s back, they charged resolutely into the surging crowd not far away.