Being a Viking Isn’t Fun – Chapter 40

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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[On Becoming the Konungr of Rus When I Thought I Had Become the Konungr of the Norsemen]

This wasn’t the title of some novel—it was my current situation.

In fact, I had an uneasy feeling from the moment we left behind the beautiful scenery of Lake Ladoga and started sailing up the gently flowing Volkhov River.

Oleg’s expression had seemed somewhat grave. At the time, I thought it was just the anguish of a royal contemplating the complex circumstances of Novgorod.

From the moment I first set foot in Novgorod—a city impressive with its long palisades and large mead hall (Sal) built in the Norse architectural style—I knew something was amiss.

When people suddenly knelt before me, with Oleg bowing respectfully among them, and when a man who looked strikingly similar to Oleg introduced himself as the Knyaz of Novgorod while kneeling on one knee…

I realized then that things were not going to unfold as I had expected.

If there was a misstep, it was that I had overestimated the power of Novgorod and Rus.

Since there couldn’t be another ethnic group using the uncommon name of Rus, I assumed these people must be the precursors to Russia.

And what kind of country was Russia? By 21st-century standards, it was a nation that never dropped from 2nd place in global military power, even in a world where combat capabilities were insanely standardized upwards.

First in land area! First in vodka consumption! And so on and so forth!

I thought that as the precursor to such a country, they would be overflowing with pride in themselves and love for their Konungr.

As an outsider, I assumed I’d be lucky if I didn’t face outright hostility…

But suddenly bowing their heads—where on earth did they learn such diplomacy?

Oleg, with his grave expression, still seemed to have some regrets, but Rurik—who upon closer inspection had dark circles under his eyes from extreme stress—had seated me in the place of honor as soon as the feast began and was now sitting in a lower position, volunteering himself as my right-hand man.

The real problem was that no one found this strange.

Only after the alcohol had gone around twice more in this confusing situation did I realize: the people of Rus were not united at this point, and their identity as “people from such-and-such city” or “from such-and-such place” was closer to their sense of self than their identity as Rus.

In other words, to put it simply, Rurik, the Knyaz of both Novgorod and Polotsk, was currently losing power as the supply of warriors from his support base in Scandinavia proper had been cut off.

Amidst the threats from the Magyars and Khazars, Polotsk, unable to endure any longer, was on the brink of breaking away and declaring independence.

Then a Konungr from across the sea appeared, responding to Rurik’s desperate plea for help—a request for salvation that even Rurik himself hadn’t expected much from.

If we stretched it a little, it might have seemed similar to King Gwanggaeto saving Silla.

But this case was rather different… so perhaps it was more comparable to Emperor Wanli of Ming saving Joseon.

Then again, I was a workaholic, while Wanli despised work…

I suppose the best comparison would have been Rohan rushing to save Gondor from the clutches of the evil Sauron.

‘Oh, my head…’

Reality flowed cruelly and mercilessly.

Now that I roughly understood the situation, I had to decide on my next action.

‘Polotsk…I have no particular regrets, but it’s positioned exactly to block the southern waterway, so it must be brought under Novgorod’s influence no matter what.’

First, we would have to talk.

It was time to use Aros-style diplomacy—first, we would offer an overwhelming amount of goods, and if that didn’t work, we’d use our fists.

Of course, we couldn’t transport a massive amount of goods right away, since we’d have to see how cold this winter would be.

But if they wanted peace, they could rely on my promise—a Konungr’s promise, worth far more than a thousand gold coins.

‘However, if they refused, they would lose something precious, like half their property.’

I asked, “Konungr Hrorik, what is the name of the one who calls himself the Knyaz of Polotsk?”

“Please speak comfortably, Konungr Helgi. As I dare not stand in the same position as you, I would be grateful if you called me Knyaz…!”

“…I will do so, Knyaz Hrorik.”

“Thank you, Konungr. The one who calls himself the Knyaz of Polotsk is named Miroslaw. With the decrease in slaves coming from across the sea, he’s in a somewhat difficult position. I heard he was a great slave trader who had already amassed enormous wealth before my brothers and I came to this land.”

Ah—so he was a slave trader.

Having awakened in this distant past, long before even Hangul was invented, I had long since discarded all 21st-century common sense. I had no particular regrets. I just made a mental note.

Hrorik continued, “Moreover, Polotsk…it’s no exaggeration to say it’s essentially in competition with Novgorod. Although the waterway of Lake Ladoga is much wider and safer, there’s a waterway that can enter Polotsk directly from the eastern sea (Baltic Sea).”

“Then Polotsk already had more than enough reasons to rebel against Novgorod’s dominance,” I concluded.

“That’s right. Merchants naturally want to make up for their losses. As those who fought and trained under the oath-takers who came with me gradually increased, it seems Miroslaw thought it was worth a try. However, he probably never imagined that a true Konungr would cross the sea in person.”

Miroslaw of Polotsk…their relationship seemed far more complicated than what Hrorik had told me, as a bitter smile crossed his face when he mentioned Miroslaw’s name.

“He’s also a comrade-in-arms with whom we fought together against the Khazars, Magyars, Bulgars, and western tribes. However, when doing the work of a Knyaz, it’s natural to cross swords regardless of personal feelings, isn’t it?”

Amidst my subordinates laughing and chattering loudly, I saw Hrorik’s face, gloomily shadowed by the flickering firelight.

The duties of a Konungr… Somehow feeling a sense of kinship with his pitiful appearance, I filled his empty cup.

[Gurgle- Gulp gulp! Phew-!]

“Thank you, Konungr Helgi. Haha-”

Hrorik emptied the cup I had just filled in one go. And as if he had thought of some amusing joke, he let out a light laugh. As I refilled his cup again, I asked:

“It seems some pleasant old memory has come to mind.”

“Haha. No, Konungr Helgi. It’s just that whenever I say your name, it reminds me of my brother. Ah, I mean Oleg. When we used to grow up like mischievous kids in Visby on Gotland, we would always call each other Konungr or Jarl…”

“It’s an honor for me to share a name with a warrior like Oleg.”

“Thank you, Konungr. I’ll be sure to tell my brother you said that.”

Thanks to Hrorik momentarily lost in reminiscence, I too was able to recall my brothers and father.

Come to think of it, what a life I had been given.

I was blessed with a family that treated me well, never disparaging me for being an illegitimate child, and I was gifted with overwhelming power.

It was a happy memory, but now was the time to do the work of a Konungr.

“About that Miroslaw…”

My iron-like willpower did not allow me to waste time on unnecessary thoughts, and I soon conveyed my opinion on our next action to Hrorik.

“Please speak, Konungr.”

“Do you know exactly what he wants? Is he not willing to talk?”

“Hmm. It’s been five nights since we last exchanged words, so I can’t even guess what he might be doing in Polotsk now… But judging by how rude and aggressive the words of the messenger who came were, it seemed he had already made up his mind to fight.”

“Huh-”

They must have eaten from the same pot for quite some time. Even if Miroslaw was blinded by greed, did the people under him agree? Or was it the custom in this neighborhood to fight first and ask questions later?

No sooner had my brow furrowed slightly than Hrorik tried to bow his head apologetically, but I forcibly stopped him.

“Well, there’s no helping it now. We’ll have to meet him.”

We needed to prepare the army and read the terrain first.

“There could be a fight if we’re not careful…”

As time passed and the feast grew more intense, it finally ended. While resting comfortably and replenishing my strength amid the gracious hospitality, the news that broke this brief period of peace came about three days later.

The news that Miroslaw of Polotsk had begun moving north with his troops.

Although I had said it was similar to where I lived, because the most important thing—the people—were different, I couldn’t understand their thoughts well.

“You bastard-! Hrorik! After you undeservingly sat in the Knyaz’s seat…! Do you think you can send some nobody to attack me?”

Through the cursing messenger, I could roughly tell that this man was used to selling people’s lives rather than leading them. Miroslaw of Polotsk was both a savage slave trader and a bandit.

“Perun is angry! When those horse-riding bastards from the plains took away our wives and daughters, sons and mothers, what on earth were you doing!”

In the center of those dirty—not metaphorically, but literally dirty—fellows, the enemy leader, whom Hrorik, standing next to me, had pointed out saying, “That’s Miroslaw,” was spouting all sorts of curses and imprecations.

“You pig! And you fools of Novgorod who just wipe Hrorik’s behind! You’re all wrong! We barely have enough even if we capture and sell the tribes from the west and north! We’re getting plundered left and right!”

His squawking was a bit funny, but fearing he might suddenly go berserk and charge if left alone, I slowly walked forward. Of course, with Hrorik and Refil flanking me.

“Listen here, Miroslaw! Let’s talk—”

“And who are you!?”

?

Had this fellow lost his mind?

I had spoken politely, but Miroslaw cut me off abruptly. Strike one.

“You fool! Watch your tongue! The person before you is—”

“You shut up! You dogs of Hrorik! I see you’ve brought some big guy, but I, your elder, have hunted four ferocious and sacred bears!”

“Yeah—! Bear hunter, Miroslaw!”

“Our Knyaz hunts bears too! You followers of this overly flashy Norse Knyaz! Kekeke!”

“Eat this—!”

[Pffft—]

“Khehehe! Huff…! Ugh—!”

Well, well…

When I heard that the Mongol Empire’s warriors were famous for their false retreats and luring tactics, I used to wonder why anyone would fall for such obvious provocations.

But now I thought I understood. When you see these fellows constantly interrupting people, spitting in your face, and giggling, anyone would want to rush out.

Even Genghis Khan might have grabbed his sword and charged.

Look at how Refil’s face, who had stepped forward for my honor, had turned bright red.

But I was different.

“Hoo—”

With a deep exhale, I instantly suppressed the anger in my heart. I could control my emotions. Still, Miroslaw, that was strike two.

I’d give you just one more chance.

“Y-you…!”

“Enough, Refil. Step back.”

“Yes…! Konungr…!”

Pushing back Refil, who was grinding his teeth, I took another step towards Miroslaw, who was squinting his eyes to see my face more clearly.

“Listen, Miroslaw, I am Helgi Ragnarsson.”

Not wanting to expend any more mental energy, I quietly stated my name while subtly placing my right hand on the hand axe at my side.

Please insult me one more time.

“Stop—!”

“You guys, have another— … Huh?”

“Haha! You can’t do anything! You bastards—… Hm?”

Contrary to my expectations, Miroslaw didn’t interrupt me this time and instead calmed his warriors, who were jumping around excitedly.

The warriors of Polotsk were looking at Miroslaw with questioning eyes, but Miroslaw stared at me with narrowed eyes, then stepped forward and raised both arms to me.

“Let’s talk peacefully! Konungr Helgi!”

“…”

Silence fell over the scene for a moment, and I soon nodded, putting aside my feelings of disappointment.

Miroslaw, you were lucky. Sadly, you were smart enough to avoid strike three.

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[Shio here~!

He’s seriously fucking with the wrong person LOL! Bear hunter? Well, I guess he hasn’t met Helgi before.]