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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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“This looks like Novgorod’s situation might be more complicated than Miklagard’s…”
This thought kept arising in my mind as I listened to Oleg’s story.
Continued provocations from the Magyars and the Khazar Khaganate in the south, uncooperative Varangians in Kiev (Kyiv), and other tribes seizing any opportunity to plunder from the west—these were just the external issues.
Internally, the decreasing influx of Scandinavian warriors due to Aros’s rapid growth weakened the support base for Rurik and Oleg.
A new threat had emerged: someone claiming to be the Knyaz (Konungr) of a large village like Polotsk (Polotesk, Palteskja) had appeared, threatening the southern trade route that was Novgorod’s lifeline.
Though I would need to examine the details when we arrived, I realized I needed to refocus my mind, which had set out with somewhat light thoughts.
The land of Rus, suffered from internal and external troubles…
I had heard that the Rus people, exhausted from fighting among themselves, had finally called warriors from across the sea to make them kings, but I hadn’t realized it wasn’t just a joke.
“Therefore, among the lands surrounding Rus, only Novgorod still heeds my brother Hrorik’s voice,” Oleg said, his expression darkening as the ship cut through the water.
“There have been constant internal threats since my brother was first proclaimed their Konungr. What we had been suppressing with force is starting to erupt as the number of warriors from across the sea decreases.”
Moreover, increased tension with the Magyars and the Khazar Khaganate meant that villages near the borders were being plundered.
‘Well, well.’
Oleg and Rurik—these cunning foxes.
They knew I was interested in Eastern Roman culture, so they waved Eudokia Ingerina’s letter to lure me out.
When in reality, their true intention was to solve Novgorod’s problems…
No, Oleg had confessed, hadn’t he? They had actually aimed for the Northern warriors, not me.
Somehow, I had taken the bait myself.
“This is roughly the situation in Novgorod, but since we’re hosting you as a guest, we’ll make sure you don’t feel any discomfort,” Oleg said resolutely, his eyes fierce as if facing a mortal enemy.
I waved my hand dismissively. “I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry too much, Jarl Oleg. I too am moving like this because there’s something I want to gain from Eastern Rome.”
“Thank you…! Konungr Helgi…!”
Leaving Oleg, who looked as if he might bow his head to the ship’s floor in excitement, I made some calculations in my mind.
‘First, I should observe the atmosphere in Novgorod and keep a low profile. After all, Hrorik is the master there, not me. More importantly, I need to find a way to contact Eudokia. Who delivered the letter?’
Riding a gentle wind that made it hard to believe we were entering the full-fledged winter season, our small fleet quickly moved eastward.
Under Oleg’s guidance, we entered Lake Ladoga.
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While sailing the eastern sea (Baltic Sea), I had my doubts about the occasional scenery I saw, but now I was certain. I understood why the Norsemen dominated this area.
Basically, this place was no different from our home turf.
It was just like Uppsala, Roskilde, and Kaupang—excluding Aros, which was a bit different.
The forests, the muddy land full of swamps and wetlands, even the waterways that looked as if a giant rock had just slid down—it all resembled southern Scandinavia.
The climate, the terrain, the appearance of mountains and sea…Only the people living here were different.
These people, who had begun to call themselves Rus, clearly had a different language and culture from us.
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The first month of winter, Gormánuður (the month of slaughter).
Living in the Northern Hemisphere meant enduring winter.
As the first month of winter began, the weather was still mild, but the daylight hours noticeably decreased.
So, many slaughtered plenty of livestock, salted them, and smoked them…preparing for the winter.
Especially in Uppsala, the religious holy site, and Aros, now the political-economic center, they held massive festivals.
These were usually to thank Freyr for the bountiful harvest, but after I had risen to prominence, they had also become festivals honoring both Freyr and the goddess Hel.
Of course, this year too, I couldn’t attend Aros’s festival, but instead, I shared a modest festival with our friends in Novgorod.
“To the great warrior, Konungr Helgi!”
“Perun! We offer this cup to you! Watch over our Konungr and the foreign Konungr…!”
The people of Novgorod earnestly prayed for my fortune and Rurik’s.
Suddenly, I thought, ‘Isn’t Rurik also a Konungr from a foreign land?’ but I didn’t voice this thought.
From the massive Lake Ladoga, which seemed more fitting to be called a sea, we traveled down the Volkhov River to the south and arrived at Novgorod.
Like other villages and cities, Novgorod perched on a high hill next to the riverbank.
My long-time veterans called this city Holmgardr, which meant ‘castle, village’. It certainly seemed to be the most prosperous city in this area.
Though it couldn’t compare to Aros, it had Lake Ilmen right below the city.
With water all around, it was a trading port that could securely accommodate 25 ships.
Indeed, it was a city worthy of dominating this area.
When a renowned king from the west personally visited, the people of Novgorod held a grand festival despite the recent unsettling atmosphere.
On one hand, I found small comfort in the fact that the warriors who had followed me could enjoy a festival in a foreign land, even though they couldn’t enjoy the festival with friends, brothers, and family in their homeland.
On the other hand, I was starting to get a headache as the situation was unfolding differently from my original plan.
“Do you like the alcohol, Konungr Helgi? Shall I call for more meat? The pork hind leg is perfectly cooked! Or if not that, shall I call for women?”
“Hey, if you’re going to say such things, at least lower your voice. How embarrassing…!”
Surprisingly, the man clinging close to me with these remarks was Hrorik, known locally as Rurik Knyaz.
Around the same age as Hrolf, with thick dark brown hair and a beard, Rurik had a somewhat slender build, quite unlike his younger brother Oleg.
But the scars and calluses on his hands—hands now offering me alcohol—revealed that he, too, had not led an easy life.
“No, no. I’m fine, Knyaz Hrorik. Novgorod’s alcohol and food suit my taste perfectly. Thank you for such generous hospitality.”
“What are you saying…!”
Rurik couldn’t hide his flustered expression, startled by my simple reply.
“It’s utterly shameful…! The great Konungr who personally broke the backs of those barbarians across the western sea is here, and all we can offer is this beer and meat…! I swear, next spring, as soon as the ice melts, I’ll shake down the merchants from Miklagard and those robed ones (Muslims)! I’ll present all sorts of rare treasures…!”
“No, no, there’s no need for that at all. I’m truly happy. Such a splendid festival makes my shoulders dance with joy.”
To convey my pleasure, I emptied my cup in one go.
The tangy aroma lingered at the tip of my nose for a moment before going down. The beer was still a bit bland for my taste, but it was enough to wet my throat, which felt dry in this awkward situation.
Perhaps moved by my jovial appearance, Rurik shouted for more alcohol, and the Rus in the banquet hall, along with my subordinates, all joined in cheering.
‘Wait, isn’t a dinner party supposed to be more uncomfortable for those of lower rank? I’m in the place of honor, so why am I the most uncomfortable?’
If I were uncomfortable, I’d normally adjust my posture, but unfortunately, sitting in the place of honor made even that difficult. If I crossed my legs now, wouldn’t Rurik make a fuss again?
Yes, that was the problem—being the highest ranked person here.
‘How did it come to this…’
Regardless of my inner turmoil, the grand feast, where Norsemen and Rus were becoming one, grew more and more lively.
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[Shio here~!
Welcome to another daily chapter of Helgi suffering from being Konungr! LOL]
The Norseman sure knew how to party…