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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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“Ahahahaha-! All the heroes of this battle gathered in one place!”
Basileios, striding confidently into the emperor’s tent, exchanged casual greetings with Basiliskianos and then accepted the cup I offered, taking a light sip. He wore a welcoming smile that only the most discerning could distinguish from a polite facade, as he grasped my arm… Anyone who didn’t know us would have thought we had been acquainted for years.
Unlike my armor, practically re-dyed with human blood, and Basiliskianos, whose armor bore some traces of enemy blood, Basileios’s golden armor gleamed and shone as brightly as when we had set out. Yet, no one doubted his skill.
In fact, that was the most appropriate appearance for a commander.
Of course, the Northmen, who didn’t give much thought to such rational command and tactical systems, exchanged subtle glances amongst themselves, but didn’t cause any trouble.
We exchanged pleasantries, praising each other’s efforts and acknowledging the legendary breakthrough. As we emptied our second cups of wine, brought by servants at Basileios’s gesture,
Michael, having removed his armor with Rentakios’s help in the inner chamber of the large tent, emerged and approached us with a bright smile.
“Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty.”
Basileios and Basiliskianos saluted sharply. Unlike them, I was not the emperor’s subject, so I offered a simple nod instead, but no one pointed fingers at my informality.
In fact, Michael barely acknowledged the two Romans’ greetings and approached me, raising the golden cup he had brought from the inner chamber.
[Clink-]
As his jewel-encrusted cup met my relatively plain one, a clear ringing sound echoed, and the wine within gently swayed. The sweet fragrance rose from the rippling surface, and Michael, already drunk on victory, raised his cup high.
“Today, I fought alongside a hero worthy of legends! To our victory, to the glory of Konungr Helgi! Let us empty our cups!”
“Gladly.”
“Of course!”
“…Thank you.”
It was nice to be recognized, but I was the type who felt pressured by such overt displays…
Still, since the three Romans, in their complex relationship, all seemed to be in good spirits, I couldn’t spoil the mood. I raised my cup and joined them, draining the wine in one gulp.
Basileios and Basiliskianos only took a moderate sip.
But the emperor and I, both notorious drinkers, emptied our cups in an instant and lowered them for the servants waiting behind us to refill.
[Glug glug glug-]
“So, Konungr Helgi, I will decide on a gift for my true friend later. First, I must commend my valiant cavalry commanders…!”
Michael, with a playful smile towards me, turned his gaze to the two cavalry commanders standing silently.
“First, Basileios, my proud co-emperor! My old friend and loyal subject! You shine brighter with each passing day!”
“I simply did what I had to do, Your Majesty.”
“Hahaha! That is the most difficult thing, Basileios!”
After patting Basileios’s shoulder, who had bowed respectfully, Michael began to speak in a low voice about various privileges.
Privileges regarding Macedonia and neighboring Strymon, plans for a new palace in his name, and even a chariot race named after him…
They were gifts that any Roman would consider the pinnacle of glory, but Basileios’s wide smile couldn’t conceal the desire in his eyes for something more, something higher.
Something greater.
‘Rentakios. It seems you were right again.’
I recalled the note the emperor’s chief attendant, the eunuch Rentakios, had slipped to me.
[Keep an eye on Symbatios, Basileios, and Thekla (Michael’s sister).]
I had confirmed the traitor Symbatios and the would-be traitor Basileios, so now all I had to do was investigate the family drama?
I was starting to understand why Michael drowned himself in alcohol.
In his youth, he couldn’t marry the woman he loved due to his mother, who had seized the regency, and lived like a puppet. Then, with his uncle’s help, he forced his mother into a monastery.
Even his uncle, not satisfied with the high honor of Caesar, interfered in the succession and was eventually purged.
And now, he had to face Symbatios, the man who had helped him oust his uncle, in battle.
He was pitiful, but I considered it the fate of one who sat on the throne of Constantinople. At least he could drink this delicious and expensive wine to his heart’s content, right?
‘That is, while he’s still alive.’
After finishing his praise for Basileios, Michael promised Basiliskianos the honor of leading the vanguard in the victory parade, riding right behind the emperor, and the position of Strategos of Thrakēsiōn, originally Symbatios’s.
Basileios finally opened his mouth, which had been hanging open in a wide smile, after Basiliskianos bowed deeply in gratitude.
“The traitors Symbatios and Peganes were already fleeing the battlefield when the Domestikos of the Scholae (Basiliskianos) charged.”
Come to think of it, Symbatios was still alive.
Michael, whose wide grin had reached his ears, suddenly frowned upon hearing this.
“So, that’s how it was. He was still alive…”
“According to my scouts’ report, he fled along the road south of Adramyttion with a small escort.”
“The soldiers of Thrakēsiōn and Opsikion will no longer protect him. It is unforgivable that they dared to defy me by following a traitor, but enough Roman blood has been spilled…
I will not punish those who lay down their arms and surrender now. Rentakios!”
Michael, making a rational judgment without being swayed by emotions, called for Rentakios, his secretary and chief attendant. The emperor’s shadow, who had entered the tent quietly and bowed respectfully, immediately received his orders.
“You called, Your Majesty.”
“Record my words and make them known to the people of Thrakēsiōn and Opsikion! And my words must also reach the thema of Anatolia and Armenia.”
Michael’s gaze was cold and calculating, a stark contrast to the jovial man from just moments ago.
“It shall be done as you command, Your Majesty.”
Rentakios bowed deeply to the emperor and then exited the tent.
In the tent, now only occupied by a few wine drinkers and guards standing like statues, the emperor sat down and offered us seats before bringing up the main topic.
“So, Symbatios and Peganes. Where do you think they went?”
Opsikion and Thrakēsiōn surrendered.
It was almost laughable to call it a surrender. Their strategoi had fled, their armies were routed, and the citizens of Nicaea and Chonae, the most important strongholds of the two thema, had welcomed the imperial army, so there was no real resistance…
The emperor, venting his anger towards Symbatios and Peganes, finally lifted his heavy bottom and mobilized the eastern legions of Anatolia and the imperial navy, based on the escape route deduced by Basileios and Basiliskianos. They blockaded the sea routes and closed in on the southern part of the Thrakēsiōn thema.
A week passed amidst the siege and the cleanup of the battlefield.
866 AD. The second month of winter. Julian calendar, December 16th.
Nine days before Christmas, Symbatios and Peganes, unable to escape to the island of Samos, were captured thanks to an informant.
“Symbatios, did you truly not understand the significance of the Strategos of Thrakēsiōn…? Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything they have for that position, the one you deemed insufficient?”
The emperor’s fury, which had been burning like a volcano, quickly cooled as the captured Symbatios burst into tears and pleaded for mercy.
Symbatios, once a comrade and close friend who had participated in political schemes together.
The emperor’s gaze towards the now-traitor held a weariness, sadness, and pity that hadn’t been there before…
But as always, the personal feelings of a leader had to be different.
Regardless of Symbatios’s intentions, he had failed. The emperor could not simply forgive Symbatios, who had challenged his authority, as if nothing had happened.
Finally realizing that the emperor would not forgive him, Symbatios was bound, alongside Peganes, who had already resigned himself to his fate and sat with his eyes closed.
The emperor’s trust in Basiliskianos, who had once again proven his competence in the pursuit of the traitors, grew stronger with each passing day. The emperor’s favoritism towards the young cavalry commander was evident to everyone around him.
Now that the traitors had been captured and the unrest in the east quelled… Unlike the seemingly joyous atmosphere among the troops, the uneasy feeling I had since before our departure only grew stronger with time. The problem was that I was the only one feeling this way.
The civil war was officially declared over by the emperor, and the traitors were captured, but the emperor insisted on returning by land. Those who could travel quickly, including myself, separated from the main army and took the road north along the coast towards Constantinople.
Our group consisted of the emperor’s personal guard, co-emperor Basileios, Basiliskianos, rumored to be appointed Caesar soon, and finally, myself, Helgi Ragnarsson, whose name was now known throughout Rome.
The emperor gifted me a large, powerfully built horse, offering to personally teach me how to ride… But his expression turned strange when the black stallion, as proud as it was large, started to nuzzle me like a puppy and became docile.
And when we rode together, he couldn’t stop praising my riding style, saying it resembled that of the Bulgarians or Khazars.
Both Basiliskianos, who had become quite friendly with me, and Basileios, the epitome of a haughty Roman, echoed the emperor’s praise, making me feel awkward. Just when I was starting to feel uncomfortable,
our group stopped to rest in a city called Cyzicus.
At this point, I couldn’t help but be suspicious.
“Come, come! Fill your cups! And drink! Ahahahaha!”
“Long live His Majesty the Emperor! May his wine flow eternally!”
“Rome-! Invincible Rome-! Goddess of Victory! Sing of our victory forever!”
This damned emperor hadn’t chosen the land route to appease the people of Thrakēsiōn and Opsikion. He was simply thirsty.
“Now, now! Mayor of Cyzicus, come forward and accept this cup! You have managed this city so well, I must offer you at least ten cups of wine!”
“Woo-! Woo-! Cyzicus! Cyzicus!”
[Clap clap clap!]
The banquet hall was a chaotic mess, unbefitting the emperor’s presence.
The people lying around were the captains of the guard, personally made drunk by the emperor, and the dapper old man stumbling towards the emperor was the unfortunate mayor of this city.
‘That man… he looks half-gone already.’
Alright, let’s be generous and assume the mayor of this city could get this drunk. The problem was that the emperor, who seemed fine at first glance, was also half-gone(?).
There was a big difference between liking alcohol and being able to hold your liquor.
[Glug glug glug glug-]
‘What should I call this? Alcoholic leadership? Should I learn this too…?’
Watching the emperor pouring wine with a big laugh, as if he might overflow, and the cheering crowd around him, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the surreal scene.
‘Well, it’s not bad.’
As I quietly enjoyed the sight, which felt strangely familiar, an unexpected voice spoke from beside me.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it? Konungr Helgi.”
Basileios. He held a cup in one hand and spoke to me in a friendly tone.
His mouth still wore a smile. His gestures were dignified, his demeanor noble. His attitude was amicable.
But there was one thing he couldn’t hide: the coldness in his eyes.
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