Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry

Chapter 382: Handing Over the Seal

Ragnar was miles across the freezing ocean, locked behind the walls of City Titan.

If the commanders on the front lines didn’t learn how to stand on their own two feet without the Iron King holding their hands, the entire kingdom would eventually collapse the second Ragnar closed his eyes.

Bjorn slowly turned away from the window.

"No, Hakon," Bjorn said quietly, his voice calm.

Hakon blinked, "What do you mean, no? Bjorn, we cannot fight a million Frankish soldiers with muskets by ourselves... we need Ragnar!"

" f we sit here like frightened children waiting for our big brother to fix the problem... this city will burn to ash." Bjorn corrected , walking slowly back to his desk.

After hearing such words, Hakon ran a hand through his messy hair, completely at a loss. "Then what the do we do, Bjorn? If the Franks march on us with those new fire-weapons, we are dead."

"We use our brains," Bjorn stated firmly, "We dig the trenches. We build the sandbag walls. We fight dirty. We stop relying on magic and start acting like the brutal warriors we were entirely born to be."

Bjorn paused, "And you are going to be the one to lead them," Bjorn added, his tone serious.

Hakon stared at his commander for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again.

"I am sorry, what?" Hakon whispered.

"I am changing my mind," Bjorn announced, grabbing the crumpled parchment letter from his desk and smoothing it out with his hands. "Ragnar gave me two options in this letter. Option two was to stay here and secure the city. That was what I was going to do.

But... after hearing you just blindly beg for Ragnar’s magic... I am taking option one."

"Option one?" Hakon gasped, "What is option one?!"

"I am going home," Bjorn smiled, a sudden genuine warmth washing over his rough face. "I am making you responsible for Calais and the trading ports for a few weeks."

"Are you fucking crazy?!" Hakon yelled.

He threw his hands in the air, his eyes wide. "Do you want to leave me here, at a time when the Franks are mass-producing muskets?!"

"Yes," Bjorn nodded calmly, walking around the desk.

"...If you leave me here, I will probably start a war with someone just by looking at them wrong." Hakon panicked, following his commander around the room like a lost puppy.

"Well, then you better learn how to smile," Bjorn chuckled, entirely amused by his friend’s meltdown.

Even so, Hakon wasn’t laughing. He grabbed Bjorn’s arm, forcing the warlord to stop packing.

"Why are you really doing this, Bjorn?" Hakon asked, "You never run from a fight. You have held this muddy city together with your bare hands. Why leave now?"

Bjorn stopped moving. "Because my mother is in City Titan," Bjorn whispered, "My father is there. Helga and Astrid are women now, and I wasn’t there to see them grow up. Little Arne is ten years old, and he probably doesn’t even remember what my face looks like."

Bjorn let out a long sigh, "I am tired, my friend. I just want to sit at a warm dining table and listen to my father laugh. I want to eat my mother’s terrible, over-salted stew."

Hakon swallowed the hard lump of panic in his throat.

He straightened his back, pulling his shoulders up and giving his commander a serious nod.

"I understand, Lord Bjorn," Hakon said quietly. "You deserve to go home. You deserve to see your family."

"Thank you, Hakon," Bjorn smiled warmly, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t trust you. You have the heart of a true Norseman. You don’t need Ragnar’s magic to win a battle... you just need to trust your own instincts."

"But the Frankish muskets...?" Hakon muttered, the fear still lingering slightly in his eyes.

"Let the Franks entirely waste their expensive black powder shooting at mud. And when they get close..." Bjorn ordered smoothly.

Bjorn grinned, "You blow them to pieces with the heavy grapeshot cannons," Bjorn finished.

"Understood." Hakon nodded firmly, an excited energy finally replacing his panic.

"Good," Bjorn chuckled.

Bjorn walked over to his desk one last time. He reached into the top drawer and pulled out the iron seal of Calais.

It was the symbol of rulership in the city. He tossed it through the air.

Hakon caught the iron seal with one hand.

"You are the ruling warlord of Calais now," Bjorn declared, walking toward the door of the office. "Do not let the merchants cheat you on the salt taxes. And for the love of the gods... do not punch anyone in the throat unless they deserve it."

"I will try my best, Bjorn." Hakon laughed nervously.

Bjorn pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway.

Hundreds of dockworkers were shouting, hauling wooden crates of imported salt and iron parts off the merchant ships, ignoring the reality that the Frankish Empire was currently arming itself with muskets just a few miles south.

Bjorn walked slowly down the pier, the travel bag slung over his shoulder.

He took a deep breath of the salty sea air. He was actually doing it. He was going home!

Standing near the gangplank, loudly arguing with two dockworkers about coal rations, was Julian.

"Hmmm..." Bjorn hummed quietly to himself, a slow amused smirk spreading across his face as he approached the arguing men.

Julian stopped yelling at the dockworkers. He turned around, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the warlord standing right behind him with a travel bag.

"Lord Bjorn?" Julian asked, "Shouldn’t you be up in the keep, losing your mind over the harbor taxes?"

Julian looked down at the bag, his brow furrowing. "Wait a minute... where are you going with that?"

"I am going home," Bjorn answered smoothly, dropping the bag onto the pier. "I am going to see my family."

"You are leaving Calais?!" Julian gasped, "Are you fucking crazy, Bjorn?! The message I just brought you said that The entire Frankish army could march on this city at any given second, and you are just... going on a family vacation?!"

"Calm down, Julian," Bjorn chuckled warmly, "I left Hakon in charge. He has the Iron Seal, and he is currently burying my men in deep dirt trenches to counter the Frankish guns. The city will hold."

"Hakon?!" Julian groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Oh, we are doomed..."

"...يo not worry about Hakon. I have a much more important job for you right now." Bjorn grinned

Julian swallowed hard, "A... a job?"

"Yes," Bjorn nodded, "You are going to navigate me through the channel to City Titan."

"Damnit, Bjorn." Julian complained, "I spent three days fighting terrible ocean storms to bring you that message. I haven’t even had a hot bath or a decent cup of spiced wine yet!"

"You can drink all the warm wine you want when we get to my brother’s castle," Bjorn promised, "And we are not going alone..."

However, organizing a sudden voyage across the sea required muscle.

As Bjorn’s sharp whistle echoed over the chaotic harbor, the marching of iron boots drowned out the sound of the ocean waves.

Marching in disciplined unison down the pier were one hundred elite Viking warriors.

"Lord Bjorn!" the captain of the guard, "The men are ready!"

"Good work," Bjorn smiled. "Get the men on board and secure the cargo. We sail in ten minutes."

Julian let out a sigh.