Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry

Chapter 371: Bad News

September 16, 870 AD.

City Titan, Iron Kingdom.

Nearly a month had passed since the coronation festival. Inside the great hall of the royal castle, the royal family and their guests sat around a dining table.

"Take that, you evil monster!" a tiny, high-pitched voice shouted.

Magnus was running across the rugs as fast as his short, wobbly legs could carry him. He was wielding a small wooden sword, swinging it wildly at the air with a toothy grin on his face.

"Oh, no! I am defeated!" King Louis the Stammerer gasped playfully. "You are too strong for me, Sir M-Magnus."

Magnus shrieked with laughter, jumping onto the cushions and poking Louis in the ribs with his wooden toy.

Sitting at the long dining table, Queen Ermentrude watched them with a soft smile.

She was the mother of the Frankish family, and seeing her eldest son actually smiling and playing was a rare, gift.

"You are remarkably good with him, Louis," Ermentrude teased gently, taking a sip of warm spiced wine from her silver cup. "Perhaps you should start looking for a bride soon. You would make a wonderful father, and an unmarried King cannot rule forever without an heir."

Louis blushed a deep shade of red, sitting up and fixing his rumpled tunic while Magnus climbed onto his shoulders. "There is plenty of time for a wife, Mother. Right now, I am happy just keeping my head attached to my neck."

Further down the table, Ermentrude’s younger children - Charles the Younger, Carloman, and Rotrude - were busy eating sweet honey pastries, ignoring their older brother’s embarrassment.

Princess Gisela, the youngest daughter, was sitting on her knees on her chair, leaning across the wood.

However, she wasn’t looking at the food. She was looking at the end of the table.

Gyda sat in her chair, smiling warmly at the chaotic family scene.

She was gently rocking a small bundle of soft wool in her arms.

Little Floki was resting against his mother’s chest. The tiny infant blew a small bubble of spit and let out a soft, happy coo, his little hands reaching blindly up to grab a strand of Gyda’s golden hair.

"He is waking up..." Gisela whispered, "Can I hold his tiny hand, Lady Gyda?"

"Of course you can, sweet girl," Gyda smiled, shifting the baby slightly so the young Frankish princess could reach over.

Gisela extended her finger, and baby Floki wrapped his tiny hand tightly around it, letting out another adorable giggle.

"He is so strong!" Gisela gasped happily.

"He certainly has his father’s stubborn grip," Gyda chuckled, kissing her baby’s soft forehead.

The heavy sound of military boots suddenly echoed from the stone corridor. The double doors of the Great Hall were pushed firmly open, and Lord Commander Leofric stepped inside.

Leofric was wearing his pristine gray military uniform, but it was currently soaked with rain, dripping dark puddles onto the fine carpets.

Though the hall was loud with laughter, Gyda noticed him immediately. She pulled baby Floki a little closer to her chest.

"Leofric?" Gyda asked, her voice cutting clearly through the noise.

The room instantly quieted down. Louis stopped bouncing Magnus on his shoulders.

"My Lady," Leofric gave a nod, though his jaw was clenched tight. "I apologize for the intrusion during your meal. Where is King Ragnar?"

"He is outside," Gyda answered, pointing toward the velvet curtains at the far end of the hall. "He’s on the balcony. Is something wrong?"

"Just a military operation," Leofric lied poorly. He gave another quick nod to the Queen and marched past the dining table.

Leofric reached the velvet curtains, pushed them aside, and unlatched the doors.

A gust of freezing wind whipped into the room for a brief second, but Leofric quickly stepped out and shut the door firmly behind him to keep the warmth inside.

Ragnar stood at the very edge of the balcony, leaning his arms against the wet stone railing. He was wearing a simple dark fur coat over his tunic.

"It is freezing out here, my King," Leofric spoke up, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the howling wind.

"The cold helps me think, Leofric," Ragnar replied, "Look at it down there. Every single day, we pour hundreds of tons of liquid steel. But the faster we build... the more people want to steal it from us."

Ragnar turned his head, his eyes locking onto his trusted commander.

"Speak," Ragnar commanded.

Leofric took a shaky breath, ignoring the rain beating against his face.

"We just received a raven from our deep-cover spies operating in the southern kingdoms, my King," Leofric started.

"...there is massive news about Ivar the Boneless."

"Tell me," Ragnar narrowed his eyes.

"He sailed his fleet to Ireland. He infiltrated the High King’s capital of Dublin." Leofric reported.

"And?" Ragnar demanded, stepping closer.

"He used bombs, Ragnar," Leofric whispered. "He packed a hundred barrels of highly concentrated black powder directly beneath the stone foundations of the royal keep. He detonated them in the middle of a massive royal gathering."

Ragnar gripped the stone railing.

"The High King?" Ragnar asked.

"Dead," Leofric answered grimly. "The main gates were crushed. The entire eastern wing collapsed. But the blast wasn’t even the worst part. Ivar hid hundreds of his elite raiders in the lower city. When the bombs went off, they stormed the broken keep. High King Aedh is dead. The Irish royal bloodline was either slaughtered in the mud or dragged into the deepest dungeons."

"Damnit!" Ragnar roared, smashing his fist against the stone railing.

"Ivar currently controls all of Dublin," Leofric continued, forcing himself to deliver the rest of the report. "He seized the city’s food supply to force the local lords to bow to him."

Ragnar turned his face back toward the furnaces, gritting his teeth.

"Even so... there is one more detail, my King," Leofric swallowed hard, "Something unexpected happened during the slaughter in the courtyard."

Ragnar snapped his head back to Leofric. "What?"

"The Irish Prince Conor..." Leofric whispered, shaking his head. "Right before he died... he landed a suicidal strike. My King... Ubba is dead."

"...Ubba is dead?" Ragnar repeated, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Leofric nodded firmly. "And that is why the spies sent the raven so desperately. Ragnar... the reports say that watching his brother bleed out in the mud broke Ivar’s mind."

Leofric took a step closer. "The spies say Ivar has gone completely insane with grief."

"He blames the entire world for his brother’s death," Leofric asked softly, shivering in the wind. "What do we do, my King?"

"Hmm, your report is very strange, Leofric." Ragnar muttered, "I can hardly believe Ubba is actually dead. That giant survived getting shot with arrows and stabbed in the neck back in Northumbria."

"I thought the same thing, my King," Leofric nodded, wiping a streak of rain from his cheek. "But the spies were clear. Prince Conor drove a broadsword completely upward into his lungs. The warlord bled out right in the middle of the courtyard."

Ragnar still let out a long sigh. "What do you think, Leofric?" Ragnar asked smoothly, leaning his back against the railing. "What do you think we should do? I already have an idea, but what about you?"

After hearing such words, Leofric didn’t even hesitate. "War, of course, our defenders can get rid of him in a few weeks. We have the rifles, heavy artillery, and an entire fleet sitting right down in the harbor. We sail to Dublin, completely surround the coast, and blow his stolen fortress."

It was a logical strategy... However, Ragnar slowly shook his head. "I talked to Ivar a lot when I first came to England," Ragnar explained, "Back when the Great Heathen Army was still terrorizing the kingdoms. Ivar is a genius, yes. But his pride is entirely absolute. I don’t think he could ever be my subordinate. He would rather burn his own kingdom, his own men, and his own body to ash before he ever bends the knee to me."

"Then we don’t ask him to bend the knee," Leofric argued, his brow entirely furrowed in serious confusion. "We just kill him."

"It isn’t that simple anymore." Ragnar barked suddenly.

He rubbed his temples. "If we sail a massive fleet into his harbor, Ivar will see us coming from miles away, he has the royal children. He has the entire winter food supply of Dublin locked in stone warehouses. If we fire a single cannon at his walls, he will simply slit the Princess’s throat, toss the children off the highest balcony, and light the grain silos on fire."

"..." Leofric paused.

"You said the spies sent a raven," Ragnar said, "How long ago did the bombs explode in Dublin?"

Leofric blinked, slightly confused by the sudden change in topic. "The raven took four days to fly across the ocean, my King. The explosion happened nearly a week ago."

"A week ago..." Ragnar murmured, tapping his chin. "And how many barrels of explosive powder did the spy say Ivar packed under the Irish gatehouse?"

"About a hundred barrels, my King," Leofric answered. "The spy reported that the blast was entirely massive. It vaporized the main gates and collapsed the entire eastern wing of the keep."

"A hundred barrels..." Ragnar whispered, letting out a low chuckle. "Leofric, do you remember the chemical formulas that were stolen from the royal laboratory during the coronation festival?"

"Yes, my King," Leofric nodded. "The blueprints detailed the purification process for saltpeter and sulfur."

"So it was Ivar who stole the manuscript and sent this Byzantine spy," whispered Ragnar, "Hmm, it’s all beginning to become clear now."

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. "...the spy who was going to kill me on coronation day turned out to be under Ivar’s orders."

Leofric clenched his fists, "That son of a bitch..." he growled, staring into the rain.

"Alright, go now, Leofric," Ragnar sighed heavily, turning his gaze back to the horizon. "I must think about this matter."

Leofric bowed low, his expression grim. "As you command, my King. I will await your final orders outside the hall."

With a wave, Ragnar finally left the balcony, descending back towards the bustling dining table.