Ch 45: Wooden Plank

The next day, Vig, with a small group of attendants, went to scout the South Bank, discovering that the lake on the East Side of Dyfflin was vast. To prevent a surprise attack from the attacking party, the garrison was urgently harvesting the reed beds on the shore.

South of the town lay continuous swamps, similar in terrain to the Great Swamp north of York, producing a dark brown peat suitable for burning.

After circling around, only the West Side proved to have flat terrain and open sightlines, suitable for large-scale siege warfare.

On the third day, Vig led his troops to land on the West Side of Dyfflin. The garrison dared not leave the city for a field battle, only driving a large number of slaves to dig moats outside the walls, planning to introduce river water as a moat.

According to the schedule, by the time Vig had manufactured enough siege engines and siege towers, the moat on the West Side of Dyfflin would also be nearly complete. With the moat as a barrier, the difficulty of the siege would be further increased.

“This man is shameless; he’s unworthy of being a Viking warrior.”

To stimulate the garrison into engaging in battle outside the city, Ivar selected more than ten men with loud voices, having them insult Sven’s cowardice from morning till night, slandering him as a dull and incompetent old pig. This lasted for a whole week without the slightest effect.

In a moment of desperation, Ivar went alone to a distance of one hundred paces from the wall, at the edge of the garrison’s crossbow range, and holding his sword aloft demanded a one-on-one duel.

“Sven, get out here!”

However, the other party didn’t bother to pay him any attention. They even drove out a sow covered in mud, with a crude and comical drawing of a swordsman on its back, clearly insulting Ivar.

The challenge failed, and Ivar was insulted in return. His patience reached its limit, and he asked Vig if there was a quick way to breach the city.

“It’s difficult. The West Wall is under close attention, and they’ve specifically dug a moat. The North Wall has the Liffey River as a barrier, and Sven is also forcing slaves to build an inner wall. Therefore, even if we use siege engines to destroy the outer wall, we still won’t be able to get in afterward.”

Vig quickly sketched a simple diagram on the ground with a wooden stick, his expression serious. A sudden thought flashed through his mind, and he paced back and forth on the grass. After half an hour, he finally came up with a bold plan.

Time passed, and it was the middle of May. The wheat fields on the West Side of Dyfflin were ripe, and Ivar sent soldiers to harvest the wheat for military rations, greatly alleviating the logistical pressure.

With the crops harvested, the garrison still did not come out to fight, continuing to dig moats day after day. At the same time, the siege camp’s machines were constantly increasing: large siege engines taller than ten men, giant towers that could be slowly pushed, and countless siege ladders.

According to Sven’s prediction, the real decisive battle would take place next month. As long as he could withstand the first few offensives and kill as many of Ivar’s elite soldiers as possible, he might have a one-in-five chance of victory.

At night, he fell asleep attended by two maidservants. Even in his hazy state of consciousness, he still muttered in his sleep,

“Mmm, ten heavy crossbows are too few. This weapon can pierce through the defense of chainmail; I should have bought more.”

After an unknown amount of time, Sven was awakened by screams and footsteps from outside and, putting on his clothes, went to the balcony.

The sky was just beginning to lighten. Siege engines on the North Bank of the Liffey River and West of the City were simultaneously launching stones, their shrill cries coming closer and closer, constantly bombarding the two walls and nearby houses.

“Strange, many siege weapons are not yet completed. Why are they so hasty?”

Hastily putting on his armor, Sven led most of his soldiers to the West Wall. Five siege towers were slowly moving on the open space, with thousands of Viking warriors gathered beside them, their killing intent palpable.

At this time, a guard ran to deliver a message, saying that five turtle ships had appeared on the surface of the Liffey River, seemingly preparing to attack the North Wall.

“What can five ships do? It’s probably a ruse to draw my forces away.”

Over a thousand Vikings were now gathered outside the city, and Sven judged that the main attack would be here. For safety’s sake, he instructed his subordinates to selectively dispatch reinforcements from the East and South sides to the North Wall.

“Half will do. Don’t send too many.”

More than ten minutes passed. The siege towers were less than one hundred paces from the West Wall, and Sven ordered a volley of rockets. As the number of hits increased, a qualitative change occurred, and the fire quickly spread to one siege tower. The Vikings hiding inside fled in panic, with many casualties.

Approaching the West Wall, only two of the five siege towers remained. Sven dispatched soldiers to the nearby battlements, and he himself led one hundred warriors down from the wall to wait quietly behind a breach.

This breach was wide enough for five people to walk side by side, the greatest achievement of the siege engines. Ivar would, without a doubt, lead his elite warriors to attack here. Sven was prepared. He had arranged ten heavy crossbowmen nearby, hoping to kill him the moment they met.

Ideally, both the Boneless and the Serpent of the North would be killed simultaneously. While the enemy army was in chaos, he would lead his troops out of the city in pursuit, completely eliminating this scourge.

Suddenly, a frantic shout came from behind. Sven turned around—the East Wall had been breached!

A feint, or the true main attack?

His heart pounding, Sven hesitated for a few seconds before selecting thirty warriors, rushing to the East at top speed.

Four minutes later, he climbed the steps to the East Wall. Three turtle ships were approaching on the lake nearby; a large, thick wooden plank was raised on the bow, its purpose unclear.

Getting closer to the shore, the three turtle ships not only did not slow down, but the frequency of their paddling actually increased. The keels of the ships scraped against the gravel on the shore, producing a high-pitched, harsh noise that made people inexplicably restless.

Immediately after, the wooden plank raised at the bow crashed down, heavily striking the battlements of the wall. In a matter of seconds, in the astonished eyes of the garrison, a small group of warriors in iron armor surged over the walls, using the plank as a bridge.

“Stop them!”

At Sven’s signal, the soldiers shouted as they charged toward the nearest warrior. This man was tall and clean-shaven, wearing expensive chainmail; the patterns on his longsword’s blade were intricate and beautiful, instantly capturing everyone’s attention.

That sword should belong to me!

Sven unconsciously took two steps forward. When he came to his senses, the six soldiers in front had been killed; bright red blood dripped continuously from the tip of the sword, possessing a captivating beauty.

“Are you Sven? My name is Vig Hakenson. Surrender or fight?” After introducing himself, Vig, seeing that the man wasn’t going to surrender, prepared to attack.

For enemies wearing chainmail, one must target the weak points. Vig took a deep breath. Just as he was about to swing his sword, the man suddenly jumped down from the more than four-meter-high wall, using incredible agility to dart into a house, disappearing without a trace.

What’s going on?

Vig looked around blankly, his longsword in hand, his mind suddenly freezing. It took him three minutes to grasp the reality of the situation.

Is this kind of person worthy of calling himself the King of Dyfflin?

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