—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
865 AD, the third month of summer, Dover, on the edge of the British isle.
We crossed the sea under the cover of dawn’s twilight, and were greeted by the clamorous ringing of bells.
[Dong- Dong- Dong- Dong-]
The sound that rang periodically across the dawn-lit sea came from a tower.
And not just any tower, but one made of proper stone. It was the very first stone building I had encountered in this life.
‘I wonder if we could cut that and take it with us?’
“Danes-! The Danes are here!”
“Egenwulf! Alpha! Get inside the house right now! Hurry!”
The villagers responded somewhat systematically for people who saw twenty dragon ships appear silently like mist on the shore.
They evacuated the weak, the elderly, women, and children to the largest and sturdiest building. And the remaining able-bodied men hurriedly took up positions on high ground, forming a wall with wooden shields.
This could be considered a very impressive defense. After all, most raiding parties would turn to other villages upon seeing such a formidable defense system.
Unfortunately for them, we were not a small group of Vikings coming to plunder some monastery.
“They’re still as vigorous as ever.”
Ivarr stood at the prow of the dragon ship slowly approaching the shore, watching the resolute defensive wall before him with an amused smile, like an elder out for a stroll.
“It’s an interesting place, this Kent, as they call it. Heave-ho…”
[Splash! Crunch!]
We couldn’t crash our precious ships into the pebble-filled beach, so we slowly anchored them in water shallow enough to stand in. Eventually setting foot on British soil, one by one, led by Ivarr who jumped out first.
[Crunch!]
The journey to the Dover Strait was expectedly short, as the wind had pushed our fleet from behind.
Methodically, the warriors who donned chainmail (myself and the Aros warriors), lamellar armor (acquired by Ivarr and his direct guards from the eastern expedition), and gambesons (the most common armor made of multiple layers of cloth) disembarked safely, forming groups. Terrifying the people of Dover who attempted to intimidate us with their defensive wall.
“Well then, shall we go greet them?”
Ivarr walked forward steadily, with one hand on the single-edged curved sword he claimed to have purchased for 120 sheep’s worth (1.2kg of silver) from the Khazar Khanate¹ in the distant east, his helmet tucked under his arm.
‘…? Where is he going now? Doesn’t he see the people huddled like hedgehogs right in front of us?’
“Come along quickly, Helgi!”
‘Damn it…’
“Hrolf, follow behind me.”
“Understood!”
As I quickly gave orders to Hrolf and hurried to catch up with Ivarr, Ivarr’s adjutant, who had been left behind, caught my step with an urgent tone.
“Jarl Helgi, what should we do?”
“Ah, your name was-”
Guthrum, wasn’t it?
“-Guthrum. Leave some men to guard the ships and prepare to attack immediately.”
“Understood, Jarl Helgi!”
Guthrum nodded briskly, his light brown beard peeking out from underneath the guard of his helmet (which obscured all but his eyes), and hastened to the rear. Hrolf and I soon followed suit, leading my guard to trail behind Ivarr.
“Long-descended sons of the Jutes! Men of Kent! We have no desire to fight with you!”
Ivarr’s loud shouting caused the villagers’ eyes to roll wildly in confusion, their spears protruding from behind their shield wall like bristling alley cats.
They whispered urgently to each other from behind the shield wall.
To my ears, their murmuring sounded like a murder plot, “Should we stab him to death?” “Wouldn’t those barbarians behind him rush in immediately if we did? So, I rushed to Ivarr’s side.
“You’re late, Helgi.”
“Ivar, what on earth are you trying to do?”
This carefree man.
I was foolish for respecting him as a veteran of combat (raiding). A throwing spear or arrow could’ve fatally wounded him by now.
“Haha. Thanks for your concern, brother, but calm down and look at them.”
Following Ivarr’s endlessly calm—bordering on joyful—gesture, I looked at the writhing shield wall. I saw trembling eyes, feebly held shields, and spears that failed to stand straight, dipping towards the ground.
‘These people are not warriors.’
It made sense. In this era, standing armies were a privilege reserved for the masters of a few large empires and kingdoms, a complete fantasy for villages like this.
Despite that, from the perspective of a warrior, the people before my eyes were incredibly disappointing opponents.
“Look there! An even bigger one has appeared!”
“Is that even human? It looks like a bear!”
“Oh, God have mercy. We’re all going to die.”
“Quiet! Quiet! Everyone calm down!”
I wasn’t doing anything special, just standing there. But even that was threatening to the villagers, dropping their morale sharply. It seemed like they were ready to throw down their shields and flee, planning out escape routes.
Just as the villagers’ spear tips were about to hit the ground, an old man’s voice rang out from beyond the flimsy shield wall. And soon, the eyes, noses, and mouths of the villagers became visible.
“You, Norseman! Do you swear by your gods that you truly have no intention of fighting us?”
White hair and a bushy beard accompanied the old man who pushed through the shield wall. Despite that, his tightly closed mouth and determined eyes revealed a firm will.
‘This must be the village chief.’
“That’s right! Brave old man! I am Ivarr Ragnarsson, and beside me is Helgi Ragnarsson! I swear by Odin that we have no intention of harming you, so are you willing to lay down your weapons?”
The descendants of the Danes and Jutes, despite being separated for many years, could still communicate, albeit haltingly.
Of course, in my case, I could understand both languages without difficulty thanks to my high intelligence stat.
After deeply furrowing his brows, the old man looked at Ivarr, who boldly stepped forward, then at me standing behind him, and finally at the ominous aura of our warriors, before letting out a sigh.
“…May God watch over us, of course! Ivarr, son of Ragnar! Dover will not be hostile to you! Everyone, lower your weapons.”
As Ivarr and I walked towards the old man, the people of Dover quickly lowered their weapons, relieved that these terrifying raiders had no intention of fighting.
“Brave old man, what is your name?”
“My name is Eadbert.”
“I see, Eadbert, are you the Jarl of this place?”
“…I am the Earl of this place.”
“As I said, we have no intention of harming you. I am a man who keeps his word.”
Although creaky, the conversation between the two was proceeding smoothly. So, I took the opportunity to look around.
The small village sat gently upon the slope of a hill, with patches of white covering the ground.
And despite struggling to meet my gaze, the villagers seemed well-fed, with flesh on their bones.
“-So, we just have business in the land of the Angles. We just need you to open the way for us.”
“Hmm, Jarl Ivarr. Opening the way is not difficult. But, not doubting your word, what if Norsemen who come after you, unaware of our agreement, plunder our village?”
Deep fatigue settled in the eyes of the old man, who was concerned not for his own life but for the survival of his village.
“Oh- Don’t worry about that, wise old man! Here.”
Ivarr suddenly took a gleaming amber ring off his finger and handed it to the village chief.
Unbelievably, the ring had Arabic letters inscribed on it.
‘Allah (الله)? Where on earth did he get that?’
Due to the postponement of Father’s funeral, I didn’t have the presence of mind to carefully examine the foreign object between Ivarr’s fingers.
I had roughly thought, ‘Oh, he wears rings?’ but I didn’t know that ring would have Allah written on it.
“This is a precious ring.”
Ivarr forcibly placed the ring in the old man’s hand, his face clearly questioning, ‘Why are you giving this to me?’
“I got this from a city far in the east, a long journey from here. Have you heard of Atil?”
“In all my life, I’ve never heard such a name.”
“It’s a place with impressive endless grasslands. Of course, there are waterways, but there’s a kingdom far down from that city (the Abbasid Caliphate, but Ivarr is not a man who cares about such titles), and this is a ring highly valued by the people there.”
‘You should also mention that the ring has Allah written on it, which Christians are crazy about…’
Ivarr firmly pressed the ring into the bewildered village chief’s hand with a satisfied look, even going so far as to pat his head.
It seemed I was the only one who felt the irony of this situation.
‘If there happens to be someone who knows Islamic language, the village chief might be branded as a heretic.’
In an era where religion was life itself, being branded a heretic could be a pain worse than death.
However, it was hard to believe that Ivarr handed over this poison to the village chief knowing this.
In my opinion, there was a higher possibility that Ivarr himself didn’t know what the letters on the ring meant. Or maybe he just thought the pattern was pretty.
“…Thank you, Jarl Ivar. Dover will always be friendly to you.”
“Haha! Thank you! Earl Eadbert!”
“…It’s Eadbert.”
Thus, negotiations between the Danes and Kent were concluded under Allah’s blessing, and we were able to establish Dover as a friendly foothold on the British island.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“-So, the kingdom above the Humber (Northumbria) is currently in a chaotic situation.”
Invited to the house of Dover’s chief Eadbert, Ivar and I were extracting information from the chief while eating bread, stew, and salt carefully prepared by the chief’s wife, who looked uneasy at the appearance of strangers.
The rest of our forces, having heard my stern warning not to cause trouble, had set up a small encampment (merely lying down in a sunny spot) next to the village and were resting.
Only the main adjutants had entered the village with us. Even so, the people of Dover were anxious.
“Hmm-.”
The chief’s house was a wooden house slightly larger than the surrounding houses.
Of course, houses in Scandinavia were also made of wood, but while Scandinavian houses were long like ships, these houses in Kent were square-shaped like the houses we commonly imagined.
Almost as if drawn by children.
Cozy sunlight beamed through the chief’s thatched roof and squared windows. However, Ivarr focused on digesting the information provided by the chief, completely ignoring the interior design.
“Aella overthrew Osberht and took the throne. And they’re even brothers? Huh, really.”
“That’s right, and it’s already been two winters ago.” (AD 863)
“He must have needed a sacrifice to establish his shaky authority, and just then, Father…”
A terrifying aura radiated from Ivarr, causing him to trail off. I grabbed his shoulder to calm him down, and just then, the chief handed me some coins with trembling hands.
“Here, these are coins of the two men currently fighting for the throne of Northumbria.”
On the two coins, which seemed to be made of silver and copper, were inscribed:
Along with simple inscriptions, two faces were engraved.
“So these are the bastards.”
“Aella .”
The faces of Aella and Osberht engraved on the opposite side of the cross seemed to be mocking us brothers.
Conversely, Ivarr’s face twisted into a demonic snarl, and my own flushed with the rush of blood, probably wasn’t much different.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Did you guys enjoy this chapter? I mean, I really enjoyed this chapter. I already told y’all that I viewed Helgi as an 8 foot behemoth, and this chapter solidified that mental image further. The villagers were scared at the sight of Ivarr and Helgi’s fleets, but the mere presence of Helgi literally had ALL of them shaking in their boots (despite being LITERALLY armed with spears).
The village chief is a brave man. I wouldn’t stand before a damned grizzly bear for nothing. How about you guys?
Anyways, thanks for reading! As always, if there are any typos or grammatical errors, ping Oihs in the Arcane Translations discord! This is my first novel after all, and I’d greatly appreciate any assistance.
Even the foreign people view Hilgi as a bear…