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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
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Whether it was the King of Breizh or the Fylkir of our Scandinavia.
I decided to put all of those things aside for now. After all, this was just the wedding of me and my brothers, and it was hardly a good place to deal with such serious and major issues.
Of course, I had properly kept the gift and message from Salomon, the leader of the Celts in the western land of Francia. The golden necklace was quite beautiful, and since he had thoughtfully sent about five, I was able to distribute them evenly to both my mothers, Inga, and both Bóthilda and Aethelthryth.
It must have been calculated. The first impression of this person, Salomon, was very good.
Konungr Halfdan, his son Harald, and Konungr Bagsecg stayed for three more days before heading to their own fiefdoms.
In fact, it was a wonder that people who were the kings of a region had moved their heavy bottoms like this. The sight of them leaving through the west gate and the south docks, each leading a group of retainers, was quite imposing.
Of course, in the case of the Black King of the West, Halfdan, he would have to reconfirm his rule and authority.
The vassals who had rebelled against him were all coastal lords lined up on the west coast of the Scandinavian peninsula, much further west than Kaupang, and it seemed they had all leaned toward Olaf, the ‘White One’ of Dublin.
Because Olaf had declared his swiftness to me.
‘I didn’t give any permission…’
I explained to Konungr Halfdan that it was the first I was hearing of it, and he, saying he understood, showed a sign of trying to reassure me instead.
I didn’t know when Olaf would leave Dublin and return to his homeland, but in my opinion, the White One would have to be careful of the Black King’s attack.
Because he did not seem like a person who would back down meekly.
Anyway, I apologized to my retainers and other lords, but as the Konungr that I was, I was not a workaholic, so I sealed up the major problems and delegated all the well-done issues to my competent vassals, leading the court by receiving only important reports in between.
My retainers ran around so much their beards flew, but isn’t that all experience that becomes blood and flesh?
As a result, I was able to spend a satisfactory amount of time with my bride, Inga.
The woman who had now become my other half, Inga, was a person who, even if she wondered when I would return, never asked what I had talked about with the other lords, or what my future plans were.
If she had asked subtly while attacking my weakness, the earlobe, even I would not have been able to withstand it, but my wise wife left the matters of the country entirely in my domain.
So, for the woman who became cautious without fail whenever my ears asked for the time, how could I bury my head in those endless administrative, political, economic, social, military, and other miscellaneous tasks.
I believe I was not reborn into this world for that.
And so, I gave my retainers plenty of work, pointing out only the important contexts, and a system where the king, his retainers, and the queen were all happy was being established.
Huh? The retainers’ opinions might be different? That can’t be. Just look at Hrolfr’s face over there. Isn’t he eating and living so well that flames are about to shoot out of his eyes?
Anyway, while I was just waiting for the day to move into my new house, where the roofing work was finally finishing up, I received news that I had not even thought of.
A letter sent by Sigtryggr, my vassal in East Anglia and the representative of my direct domain, Beodericsworth, arrived, and its contents informed me of the rapidly changing situation in a calm tone.
[The northern marshland has been split in two, and Edmund, supported by Mercia, is plundering the Konungr’s territory. I will first… the people of the area to Beodericsworth…]
Edmund had moved.
And Mercia behind him.
It was as I had expected, but I couldn’t help but feel one cheek sting from being hit first. I looked for the name of Wessex, but nowhere in Sigtryggr’s refined sentences could I find the name of Wessex.
‘They’re surely behind this, in some way.’
I should just wipe them all out at this opportunity.
If it hadn’t been for the good luck kiss I had received when leaving the house in the morning, I would have torn this letter to shreds. I spoke to Refill, who was standing quietly by my side.
“East Anglia has been invaded, Refil.”
My brothers were, in effect, the lords of a region, and in the middle of my more immediate vassals, Eric, Refil, Storolf, and Leon, I passed around Sigtryggr’s letter so that they could all see.
The brilliant Sigtryggr. The quick-witted one. The smart one. When on earth did he learn the Northmen’s runes? Well, seeing Ubba speak broken Latin, it wasn’t a big surprise.
When Storolf, who was weak with letters, received the letter last and was glaring at the paper, the clever Eric spoke up first.
“Although Konungr Sigtryggr has prepared well with Beodericsworth as the center, the capacity of East Anglia has not yet risen enough to face Mercia.”
It had not even been a year since Beodericsworth had become my direct domain, so whether intended or not, Edmund and Mercia had chosen their time well.
If it hadn’t been now, it would have been more difficult as time went on.
“It is clear that we must act. Refil, the jarls have not yet left Aros, have they?”
“That is correct, Konungr.”
“Let them all know that a Thing has been convened. We must have a war council.”
“… Understood, Konungr!”
Flames erupted in the eyes of my competent but still young, direct retainers, and they rose from their seats, bowed their heads to me, and went to find their tasks.
‘I do not understand. Is Burgred of Mercia mad? Does he truly not know that I am looking down on them from right above?’
My power was not limited to just East Anglia. Rather, within the Isle of Britain, my true capacity lay in Northumbria.
He should not be ignorant of that.
This question of mine was answered by another letter that arrived about two hours later.
The letter, delivered by a merchant famous for sailing fast ships, was sent by Jarl Uhtred, who could be considered the person in charge of the northern part of Northumbria, Bernicia.
The letter sent by this competent man, who smelled less of a sycophant than Sigtryggr, was also filled with carefully written runes, but.
Its contents were not pretty at all.
[The Kingdom of the Scots and the Ravine Kingdom have all risen up at once. Some villages near the border have been plundered. Beyond that, the enemy’s forces have been witnessed. Northumbria will prepare for war..]
A sentence closer to the style of the North than Sigtryggr’s.
‘… I see. They’ve formed an alliance.’
Now Mercia’s confidence made a little more sense. Seeing it like this, I really felt that in Britain, I was surrounded by enemies.
‘Mercia, do you think you’re the only ones with friends around? Then I will bring in the Cymry of the west.’
Didn’t those friends love to see the Anglo-Saxons die?
And with Hásteinn here at the right time, with the guarantee of the next ‘king’ of Breizh, who was very close to the Cymry (same Romano-British, Celtic culture, similar language), it seemed there was some room for cooperation.
I, who had been drumming on the table, stored the idea that had popped into my head in a corner and stood up, heading to the great hall connected through the passage.
The war had already begun.
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Usually, the king’s council was not convened in this way.
“No, what is this? The Konungr’s domain has been attacked!? Isn’t this place fine? I don’t see any enemies!?”
“Hey, are you in your right mind? Where is the case of appearing in the Konungr’s hall in such heavy armor…?”
“If an enemy appears, should I not protect him!”
“… You, can you break a rock with your bare hands?”
“That and this are different!”
That is to say, a usual king’s council was not held on such a grand scale, and so chaotically.
At the sudden news that the king’s domain had been attacked, the Northmen lords, filled with righteous indignation (even the jarls who had not yet sworn allegiance were angry), gathered their armor, axes, swords, shields, and helmets, which they had put aside for the festival period. Some of the more radical among them tried to enter the council hall in full gear but were stopped by their comrades, or by Storolf.
The lords who showed such enthusiasm were able to experience just how vast the domain of Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson was on this occasion. Starting from the famous warrior lords established across the Eastern Sea, Knyaz Rurik and Jarls Oleg, Djur, and Hásteinn, to the king’s two brothers in the west, Jarls Sigurd and Ubba.
The scale of the lands of the powerful lords sitting here, when connected from end to end, was beyond imagination.
Therefore, the lords who had already made up their minds felt much lighter, and the minds of the rather powerful lords who were still agonizing became even heavier, but such things were not important in this place right now.
“Ahem ahem…”
“What? You, why is your voice so low- mmmph…”
The jarls, who had frantically given their names and domains to the Huscarls guarding the main gate and had entered the great hall. Those wild horses all fell silent as soon as they entered the king’s hall.
Because at the end of their gazes, a man dressed in mysterious purple clothes was sitting.
The man, who was exuding a completely different aura as if his appearance at the wedding and the subsequent ‘Fylkir meeting’ was a lie.
The name of the man, who seemed to be asking Jarl Hásteinn and Thorgnýr, who were sitting on either side of him with a deep frown, various things, was Helgi Ragnarsson.
Not to mention Jarl Thorgnýr, but even Jarl Hásteinn was a great warrior whom everyone wished to meet at least once, but even they did not even enter one’s eyes unless one paid close attention, sitting next to the Konungr.
A power as if he existed alone in this great space.
Yes, that was not an illusion like an aura or an atmosphere, but a power that actually existed.
In the weight that made it seem difficult to even breathe without permission, had about 10 minutes passed after all the jarls who had taken their seats one by one had entered?
In the silence that was too calm for a meeting of the always boisterous Northmen, the Konungr, who had finally noticed the jarls’ stance, put down the paper he was holding with a low voice and stood up.
He was huge even when sitting, but when he stood up, his majesty was such that the will to oppose him disappeared.
Helgi Ragnarsson, who had already brought everyone to their knees with just the gesture of extending his arms and turning to the jarls on both sides to express his gratitude, opened his mouth without hesitation.
“Respected jarls, thank you very much for accepting my request and attending like this.”
The voice, which was loud enough to sound like a hammer hitting the eardrums of the person sitting farthest away, how would it be for the jarls sitting in the very front?
In the midst of everyone shouting with one heart and one mind that they had only done what they naturally should have, the Konungr of Aros continued to speak stoically.
“As the party to the wedding and the master of this place, I have a duty to properly see off my guests after the feast is over, but the reason I have gathered you all like this is because urgent news has come from the Isle of Britain in the west.”
The words of Helgi Ragnarsson were different from anyone else’s.
They were different from the famous speakers Konungr Halfdan and Jarl Ivarr, and also different from Konungr Bagsecg and Jarl Hásteinn, whose strengths were their rough but powerful eloquence.
Jarl Bjorn was famous for not speaking much in the first place, and Jarls Halfdan and Sigurd were known to be surprisingly hot-blooded, so their actions often preceded their words.
But Helgi Ragnarsson did not belong to either of those categories.
The ruler of Aros had a natural power.
Not simply referring to physical strength, but a power that drew in the souls of the listeners, as if he had been made to walk the path of a king from birth.
The self-proclaimed scholar of Rome, Leon, who was continuously recording the Konungr’s words, wrote in a corner of his thick book that this was something like magic. The will of the king, which was clearly transmitted even to him, who was not yet fluent in the Northmen’s language. If the power that held and wielded the heart of even him, a foreigner and an infidel, was not magic, then what was it?
“My domain in the east of the Isle of Britain, East Anglia, has been attacked by Cyning Edmund, and Northumbria in the north has been attacked by the Kingdom of the Scots and the Ravine Kingdom. That land is especially the land I obtained when I achieved my father’s revenge, so I intend to protect it at all costs.”
By omitting the minor situation descriptions and conveying only the essence of the event, most of the jarls who had entered this suffocating place without knowing what was going on were able to grasp the situation.
“But I do not know how many the enemy will be, and if things go wrong, I may have to fight with enemies on both sides.”
A great war led by the strongest Konungr, with no opposition. And it was a battle that would take place not on this barren mainland, but on the fertile land across the sea.
To the Jarls, who understood the value of the sea routes and the power of Helgi Ragnarsson better than anyone else in this world right now, this was a huge opportunity.
A golden ticket to be able to board at the very front of the new order that would soon be established.
“Thus, I am asking for your help. Will you help me and fight alongside me?”
Even though he had not strained to raise his voice, Helgi’s voice, which had penetrated everyone’s hearts, ended, and the hall was plunged into a brief silence.
A time long enough to take one deep breath in and out.
And then finally, starting with the Jarl of Gotland, the lords of large and small fiefdoms began to rise from their seats one by one.
When finally, everyone had stood up proudly and expressed their agreement, Helgi Ragnarsson nodded his head heavily.
“Then, from now on, it is war, respected jarls.”
The spirit of Helgi Ragnarsson soon spread to everyone, and even in the grip of Leon, who held a quill pen, a blood vessel popped out from his excited heart.
Leon, who had gathered his trembling hands and heart, completed his record steadfastly amidst the Northmen who were all raising both hands and letting out a roar like thunder and lightning.
[-And so, the Northmen accepted the challenge that had come before them.]
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