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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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865 AD, the third month of summer. Freya’s Day (Friday). Britain, East Anglia.
Unbelievably, it had rained the night before, without any warning
‘Everything’s soaked.’
All we had were a few pieces of smoked meat for emergency rations, a drink that was more fermented grain than alcohol, and our weapons, armor, shields, helmets, and the all-purpose tool—shovels.
In other words, besides the cloaks we wore, we had nothing to protect us from the night’s rain.
It was extremely uncomfortable, but fortunately, the rain had stopped by dawn, allowing us to light fires immediately and warm ourselves.
“Sniff—Sniff—”
“…Storolf, are you alright?”
“Sniff—No problem! Jarl Helgi! Sniff—Just a bit of cold air got in!”
While I, with a body beyond human comprehension, had never caught so much as a cold in my entire life, the warriors of the vanguard—mere humans—were all sniffling or sneezing. Although Norsemen were strong against the cold, it didn’t grant them immunity to colds.
“Come closer to the fire.”
“Yes, Jarl Helgi!”
[Crackle—Snap—Snap!]
“…Not that close though.”
Since the battle the day before, the vanguard warriors had begun to show blind loyalty to my words. They had shown respect before, but it seemed to have reached fanaticism.
Anyway, leaving the Aros warriors huddled around the fire wrapped in cloaks, I moved toward Ivarr’s campfire at the center of the camp, which now resembled a group campfire site.
With each step, the grass squelched. Was this really grass? The feeling of unknown weeds and the mud sticking to my shoes was unpleasant. Moreover, seeing the red noses of all the warriors who greeted me made me feel even worse.
Clearly, being good at fighting didn’t win wars. Rome, you were right. Armies should start with digging.
“Ah, Helgi. You’ve come.”
Fortunately, Ivarr seemed unaffected by the night’s rain and the cool dawn breeze.
“Your face is full of worry, Jarl Helgi. Was your sleep uncomfortable last night?”
Next to Ivarr, who sat by the big fire drying his body and carefully combing his hair, Hrolf had somehow appeared, drinking from a leather pouch. It was likely a fermented grain drink with some alcohol—though knowing the taste of soju and beer, I couldn’t bring myself to call it true alcohol. Perhaps it was mead.
“My sleep was fine, Hrolf. I’m just concerned that last night’s rain might have set us back.”
“Ah—”
Hrolf smiled as if he understood, his relief evident as he confirmed that I was unharmed.
“We can’t control the weather, Jarl Helgi. In a way, it’s fortunate. While the rain might have given Edmund of East Anglia a chance to recover, it would have been burdensome for us to advance further.”
Handing me the leather pouch, Hrolf watched as I took a swig. The taste was a mix of bitterness, nuttiness, and a faint hint of alcohol.
“Edmund, having suffered a major defeat, can no longer move recklessly. The initiative is now ours. We could pursue and pressure him further, but with our reduced numbers, we’re not in a position to challenge a large city.”
Hrolf, an experienced warrior who had served under my father, spoke wisely, and Ivarr and I nodded in agreement. His words were spot on.
“In the end, we’ll need to wait for Sigurd.”
Since our victory over Edmund, the vanguard had already exceeded its expected role. Though we could continue to fight, with our numbers reduced from 800 to 700, scaling stone walls would be difficult.
“Good. Hrolf is right. We need to catch our breath too—an overworked horse will eventually collapse.”
Ivarr stood, shaking his palms to rid them of the warmth from the fire. His guards, sitting around, rose in unison. Hrolf, with his graying hair and beard, made a strained sound. I should probably suggest that my long-time vassal retire from fieldwork once this expedition finished.
“Let those who are not in good condition rest. Divide those who are fit into two groups. Guthrum, you take half to guard the camp’s perimeter. Foolish thieves might strike.”
“Understood, Jarl Ivarr!”
Guthrum, Ivarr’s capable adjutant, responded energetically.
“Helgi, you and I will take the other half. There’s a large village a bit up the road; we should secure it.”
“I’ll prepare right away.”
“Good. It looks like today will be another busy day. That’s a good thing!”
After patting my shoulder in a show of camaraderie, Ivarr left, and we all dispersed in different directions.
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The British Isles’ relentless weather remained cloudy throughout the day. Thankfully, with summer’s warmth approaching, the conditions weren’t severe enough to leave anyone too disoriented.
Despite the warriors’ remarkable resilience, when it came to deciding who should stay behind at the camp to recuperate, everyone insisted they were fit and ready to fight. We had to forcibly leave behind those whose noses were red and who were sniffling or sneezing.
With the camp guarded, about 200 of us set out with Ivar towards the village. Though this number was inadequate for a full-scale battle, it was well-suited for traditional European raiding—roughly the crew of five dragon ships.
Upon our arrival, Sigebryht, the Earl of Rendlesham, immediately begged for mercy.
“Norsemen, I am Sigebryht, the Earl of this humble village. We have no desire to fight you any longer. Please, let there be no bloodshed.”
The man, with dark brown hair and a bushy beard, appeared to be in his thirties, but the deep worry in his eyes made him look older.
“Anymore? We seem to be meeting for the first time. Have we crossed paths before, Earl Sigebryht?”
Ivarr asked, and Sigebryht shook his head.
“This is our first meeting in person, Jarl Ivarr.”
“Oh, I haven’t introduced myself. How did you know me?”
Ivarr leaned back, genuinely amused, slightly raising his head and stroking his beard as he looked down at Sigebryht. Seeing Ivar’s other hand move towards his sword hilt, Sigebryht, with a calm demeanor, silently shifted his gaze from Ivar to me before meeting Ivar’s eyes again.
“Stories of you and your giant companion, Jarl Helgi, have already spread throughout the land. Soon, the defeat of our cyning, Edmund, will be added to that.”
Sigebryht’s voice was devoid of reverence as he mentioned the king’s name. I sensed a deep-seated animosity between Sigebryht and Edmund.
“I repeat, Rendlesham and its people will not oppose you. We will provide everything you need, so please show mercy.”
“Mercy, mercy.”
Ivarr, surprised by the emphasis on mercy, shrugged and glanced at me before his expression hardened into a threatening scowl.
“Tell me, Earl Sigebryht. We have already defeated your cyning and disbanded his army. Now, this land is like a flock of goats without a shepherd. Why should we show mercy to you?”
The chilling words from Ivarr seemed to lower the temperature around us. His guards, sensing the tension, bristled with hostility, while Sigebryht’s guards similarly tensed up.
In this atmosphere, where it felt like any slight movement could spark bloodshed, Sigebryht’s unwavering eyes impressed me deeply. Regardless of his true feelings, this man knew how to mask his emotions.
“Edmund, the cyning of East Anglia, is weak. He lacks strength and is only notable for his foolish piety. In truth, only the bishops and the soldiers of the bishoprics serve him in this land.”
His calm assessment succinctly captured the complex political situation of East Anglia.
“It’s actually Aethelberht of Wessex who rules this land, but rumors suggest his life has been precarious for about two years now. Since then, Wessex’s influence has waned. Kent, East Anglia, and Mercia have all started to reconsider their positions.”
Sigebryht paused briefly, raising his eyebrows toward Ivarr as if seeking permission to continue.
“Interesting. Go on.”
“Additionally, Northumbria, the one kingdom outside Wessex’s sphere of influence, is embroiled in a civil war between Aella and Osberht, leaving it preoccupied with internal strife. It is under these circumstances that you have arrived, Jarl Ivarr.”
As Sigebryht spoke, his calm eyes began to blaze with intensity.
“In times of chaos, a weak king is both a curse and a hindrance. Since the great Wuffinga lineage was broken, East Anglia’s cynings have been compelled to bow to Mercia and Wessex. However, the people beneath them have not shared this sentiment. As I mentioned, we are prepared to aid you, Jarl Ivarr.”
By now, Ivarr had lowered his chin and was beginning to smile.
“If you insist on plundering and slaughtering us to the end, we will have no choice but to fight back. But if you wish to lead us, Rendlesham will support you in your endeavors.”
This was not merely a plea for mercy but a pledge of loyalty. I had been pondering day and night how to divide and conquer against Northumbria and Wessex, only to find that this land was already ripe for division.
It was akin to exposing a large, juicy prey to us Norsemen, who were like wolves.
“Earl Sigebryht.”
Ivarr approached Sigebryht with a relaxed stride, arms open as if greeting an old friend, and extended his right forearm.
“We are already friends. How could I think of harming you?”
[Thud-]
Sigebryht, who had been staring at Ivarr’s outstretched arm, clasped it firmly.
“Rendlesham welcomes you, Jarl Ivarr.”
“My brother and I are grateful for your hospitality, Earl Sigebryht.”
As the two men clasped arms, the thick tension that had enveloped the space began to dissipate.
“Then let us go inside. Although modest, we have prepared bread and salt, and I swear by God that you will be treated as honored guests.”
“Excellent! I was just feeling hungry after sleeping in the fields last night, this is perfect! Haha! Let’s go in!”
Laughing heartily, as if he owned the village, Ivarr threw his arm around Sigebryht’s shoulders and strode confidently into the village. I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.
‘What if it’s a trap?’
Was such fearless behavior necessary to survive as a Viking in this era? Or has he simply been fortunate thus far?
“Huu—”
“Huh—”
Hrolf and I exchanged awkward glances, both sighing in unison. The surrounding guards seemed to share my unease. It would be problematic if everyone were just fools full of courage…
“Let’s go in too.”
Whether aware of our concerns or indifferent to them, Sigebryht made no move to disarm us. With no other choice, we followed.
‘If things go wrong, we can always smash everything.’
I chuckled at myself for entertaining such barbaric thoughts so casually, but I knew well that I had strayed too far from the innocent 21st-century human I once was.
Accept it, Helgi Ragnarsson.
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Hello~ Shio here! Ivarr’s shamelessness was definitely required to survive as a plundere—I mean Viking. By showing off his fearlessness, it solidified Ivarr and Helgi’s capabilities in Sigebryht’s mind.
Top tier cunning play!
Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! You guys already know the deal by now. If you find any grammar errors, ping Oihs in the Arcane Translations discord.
I’d thought he would stick to his mindset as a 21st century person every now and then, but now, he’s slowly but surely realizing that it’s simply a luxury in this time period of war and conquest. Where everything and anyone could kill you.
So yes, embrace the essence of a Viking…