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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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A son who seduced his father’s adolescent wife, his new mother.
After hearing such a Sodom and Gomorrah-like story, this world suddenly seemed more mysterious and beautiful.
History books might simply declare, “On such and such a date, this country was Christianized. Period!” but in reality, it wasn’t like that.
If Christian values were upheld, events like this wouldn’t occur.
In the southern part of the British Isles, where spring breezes were gently blowing and flowers were blooming everywhere.
Our great Norse army was advancing northward with high spirits, thanks to the supply route connected through the East Anglian coast.
With the coastline on our right, we moved slowly along the old road that was still somewhat functional, leaving the surrounding villages, big and small, with no choice but to cooperate with us.
“Seeing it like this makes me feel a bit sorry.”
The sight of people who had been peacefully plowing fields and fishing suddenly screaming and running away… What was even more heartbreaking was the fact that afterwards, these people came to offer us everything they had.
Despite the emotional anguish, we accepted their ‘gifts’ well and guaranteed their safety.
‘Why aren’t you plundering? Why aren’t you burning? Aren’t you barbarians?!’ I once thought this too. However, the supply route I had carefully overseen during the past winter was so successful that we didn’t need to bother stripping the farmers bare to eat.
The warriors, mainly composed of Danes and Sviar, were watching my reactions, which was the biggest reason.
Originally, they would have conducted honorable plundering to become Odin’s minions in Valhalla, but I had given them Hel as a second option.
“The rumor that Hel’s realm (Hel) is a cold and frozen land is just nonsense spread by ignorant priests. Look at me and Aros that I rule. Where in Aros are there people starving to death? Where in Aros can you hear the wailing of mothers grieving over lost babies? If my power as Hel’s great warrior is this much, what would the realm directly ruled by Hel be like?”
Thanks to my existence, which attempted such gaslighting at every opportunity, this world was changing into a slightly more hopeful place.
Despite not plundering or committing glorious war crimes, and even without dying by the enemy’s blade, most warriors strove to maintain the ‘honor’ I had diligently instilled in them, aiming to enjoy another life beside Hel’s great hearth after death.
Things like ‘Don’t kill the weak if possible, don’t forcibly take women in front of their families, and when taking the property of the weak, only take half. Because we’ll have to come back later.’
…
It was a bit strange, but it couldn’t be helped. This level of intensity was appropriate for now. Later, we’d have to gradually soften it more.
“They called it The Fens, and it really is amazing. I didn’t know there could be a place more intense than our homeland.”
“Gyrwas, wasn’t it? I thought this was Mercian territory, but there’s no one who says they’re Mercian people, it’s all fen people.”
Unlike when we were moving with 800 or 2,000 men, now we had to manage a large force of 8,000, so we were positioned in the center of the formation rather than at the front, moving forward on horseback amidst the Aros soldiers who had been selected as the elite guard.
The solemn Bjorn was quietly riding his horse at the very front, while Ivarr and Sigurd were chattering excitedly, and Halfdan, Ubba, and I followed behind, listening intently.
“Did you hear what the person who brought two hens said? Beyond this marshland, there’s a strange sea they call The Wash. Sometimes it’s sea, sometimes it’s land! I really want to see it with my own eyes.”
“Calm down, Sigurd. Once the revenge is over, you’ll be able to wander this land as you please.”
‘… I’m not sure if we’ll have that leisure even after finishing the revenge.’
To control this mud flat-marsh hybrid sea, we needed to completely expel Edmund of East Anglia who was settled to the east along this coast, and also deal with Mercia.
“I know that well, Ivarr. But look around! Isn’t it beautiful? Can’t you hear the gods whispering?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I can’t hear the gods’ voices, but I can certainly hear the birds and insects buzzing loudly. What kind of bugs are there so many of?”
Unlike Sigurd, who excitedly looked at the damp land and the sea beyond, Ivarr irritably waved his hand to shoo away the flying insects buzzing around his head.
“When you think about it, it’s bound to be damp! It rains for half the month, wouldn’t it be stranger if the land was dry?”
“What’s wrong with getting rained on?”
“I don’t like my hair getting wet.”
“Ah-”
At Ivarr’s candid answer, we all suddenly became solemn and took out our combs to stroke our precious hair. Bjorn, who put his white comb back into his pocket, unusually stared at Ivarr for a while, then slightly touched his own crown.
From what I could see behind him, Bjorn was still fine.
“Jarl Bjorn!”
Just as Ivarr was about to get angry at his brothers who were all looking at him with pitying eyes, a messenger from the front of the formation came riding hard.
“There’s a big river ahead!”
“Oh- It must be the River Nene that the fen people mentioned!”
Sigurd, who was deeply into the local nature, hurriedly rode his horse to the front of the formation, and we brothers followed.
‘What, it’s quite big?’
We thought it would be a stream since the fen people said it was crossable, but beyond the river that was wider and longer than expected, we could see a small village formed around a large church.
And in front of it, a monk staring at us with his mouth open.
“Good, they’re waiting for guests. We’ll cross the bridge like this.”
The road that the old Romans had built, stretching straight north, was connected by a bridge crossing the river and continued beyond. This road would probably lead us to Eoforwic (York) in Northumbria.
“Front! Cross the bridge! Forward!”
“Forward!”
And it seemed that Mercia had no will to stop us.
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Here was another interesting head.
“Hey, Jarl Helgi… Why are you looking at me like that…?”
Medeshamstede.
This place, which had once been a farm owned by someone named Mede, had now become a village with a church. And the abbot who effectively managed this village under the name of Burgred, the king of Mercia, was now trembling all over under my stern gaze.
“Your hair is quite unique, Abbot?”
“Huh? Yes… To follow the Lord and His Son, the holy Jesus Christ-”
“Ah, I see.”
Trying to preach, are we?
The top of the abbot’s hair was shaved clean off, leaving only the sides.
This hairstyle, called tonsure (tonsura) in Latin, was said to represent a kind of religious devotion. Thinking of the monks from my previous life, it seemed like shaving one’s head showed one’s dedication.
In that sense, it wasn’t bad. But, was it necessary to shave it like that? Just looking at his hair made me realize that religious professions required extraordinary determination.
But there was something far more interesting about this person than just his hair.
“By the way, Abbot, I’m sorry but I forgot, what was your name again?”
“Ah- It’s alright, Jarl Helgi. My name is Seaxwulf.”
Damn. I almost burst out laughing. Why did he stress the first part of his name? Was it intentional?
Desperately holding back my laughter while looking at the shiny bowed head, I calmed my inner thoughts by looking at distant mountains.
‘How can a person’s name be…’
It probably didn’t mean a wolf good at sex, but rather a wolf of the Saxon people. A name like that didn’t suit the position of an abbot at all. It seemed this person chose the wrong profession.
“I see. Seax…wulf. Thanks to you, we were able to cross the river safely. I’ll say it again, thank you.”
“It’s nothing. I just did what I had to do.”
Seaxwulf’s expression was full of fear as he hurriedly waved his hands at my words of thanks.
After spending a full day crossing the river yesterday and resting in the open space in front of this small village, we were now heading north again along the old road.
According to the information provided by this abbot named Seaxwulf, the Roman road definitely connected to Eoforwic in Northumbria.
Of course, the process wouldn’t be smooth. We had to cross another river called the Welland (River Welland), pass by a town called Stamford (stone town) next to it, and then go up along another river that popped up on the left due to the characteristics of this land full of waterways, until we came across a stone fortress called Lincoln.
From there, the land of the old lake kingdom (Kingdom of Lindsey) unfolded.
Once we crossed the ancient Celtic kingdom that now existed only in name, we’d finally reach Eoforwic in Northumbria. The place where Aella should be.
“Helgi-! It’s time to depart!”
During a brief moment of leisure with Seaxwulf, I heard the departure call once more.
At the head of the formation, which was almost ready to depart, my brother Bjorn was waiting for me.
“Well, I must go now, Seaxwulf. May your god bless your strong future.”
“Thank you, Jarl Helgi. May your gods also watch over your path.”
Then the monk with the audacious name made the sign of the cross.
I smiled at him and headed towards the front of the long line of troops.
“Jarl Helgi.”
“Son of Hel.”
“Jarl Helgi Ragnarsson.”
[Boom- Boom- Boom- Boom-]
Along with the rhythm of the drums announcing the preparation for departure, in the eyes of the warriors who bowed their heads and called my name and titles as I passed, there were no traces of fatigue or madness or other base physical-mental remnants.
Only fervent belief remained.
Mother might praise me for creating so many followers of the goddess Hel after this war ended.
Soon, I reached my brothers at the front, lightly leaping onto the horse as Ubba handed me the reins and settling gently into the saddle.
“Heave-ho. Thanks, Ubba.”
[Snort- Snort-]
“Seems the cross-believer caught your interest?”
Ubba asked subtly, raising his eyebrows. Since finding out yesterday evening that I could read Latin, this fifth Ragnarsson now seemed to be monitoring my every move.
‘Your eyes are full of greed…’
My rare brother who loved knowledge. I would surely take him with me once I headed to Miklagard (Constantinople). He better not regret his greed when that time came.
“If we’re all ready, let’s depart. I want to have Eoforwic in my sight before this month ends.”
The leader of this huge army, Bjorn, ordered the march, and soon the Norse warriors resumed their march. No matter how much of an old Roman fortress Lincoln might be, this time there would be no mercy like with Canterbury.
If they didn’t clear the way, we’d trample over them.
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866 AD, the first week of summer.
Mercia chose silence in the face of the angry Norsemen, and there was no resistance.
In return, we did not burn Mercia. Medeshamstede, Stamford, and Lincoln agreed to cooperate with us and the supply line continued.
This was good for them too. A force of nearly 10,000 (rounding up) needed many things to move, and they received money and food in return for taking charge of the procurement and transport.
If they betrayed us, we could always revisit. Of course, not with dialogue, but with swords.
However, there was something more important right in front of us.
Eoforwic. The name that the Angles changed to suit their taste from the Latin Eboracum. It meant the village of wild boars.
“Hunting time has come, brothers.”
At the calm voice of the alpha wolf, the green eyes of the brothers gazed predatorially.
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Seaxwulf. Pfft. Okay, I may be childish.
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Same old drill as usual, if you find any grammar errors ping Oihs in the Arcane Translations discord.
Noice🍿
🥤🍿🍔🍟