Ch 46: Wealth

As 150 warriors from three turtle ships surged onto the city walls, the defenders completely lost hope of a comeback. In less than half an hour, the remaining soldiers were forced to lay down their weapons and surrender.

Proceeding to the lord’s hall, Vig found Ivar removing his armor and bandaging a wound on his left shoulder.

“Damn Sven, he actually ambushed me with a team of heavy crossbowmen. Do you have any news about this man? I want to use his skull as a drinking bowl.”

“He got away.” In front of many warriors, Vig recounted his experience with a gloomy face, and the hall was immediately filled with laughter.

“Does this man deserve to be called king? Hmph,” the movement aggravated his wound. Ivar’s thick eyebrows furrowed together as he continued to treat his shoulder injury.

In the afternoon, Ivar assembled two thousand residents and over one thousand soldiers. He and Vig stood side-by-side on the second-floor balcony to proclaim his rule over the town.

“Who is in favor? Who is opposed?”

No one dared to question. A faint sound of weeping from women and children could be heard from the crowd. Ivar had no time to pay attention to the cries of the defeated, and he signaled his subordinates to pile the plundered treasure in front of the hall.

Before dividing the spoils of war, he grabbed Vig’s arm. “Regarding this battle, the person we should thank most is Vig Hakanson. His designed warships and strategy saved the lives of many warriors and helped us capture Dyfflin ahead of schedule. Odin above, may his deeds spread far and wide, until the end of the world.”

Led by Ivar, thousands of people shouted Vig’s name in unison.

“Serpent of the North!”

“Serpent of the North!”

“Chosen One!”

“Serpent of the North.”

Cheers resounded everywhere. The nickname “Serpent of the North” clearly overshadowed “Chosen One.” Obviously, people generally regarded the five-clawed golden dragon on the banner as a strange serpent.

Enduring his inner urge to complain, Vig participated in the money-sharing process led by Ivar. The proportions were as follows:

The soldiers received 55%, Ivar and Vig each received 15%, and the remaining 15% was divided between the Mancunium and Lancaster nobles.

“My dearest brother, you choose first.”

“Are you sure?” After a few seconds of eye contact, realizing that Ivar wasn’t joking, Vig climbed over the railing, jumped from the second-floor balcony to the ground, and began selecting his spoils of war.

Although Tyne needed manpower urgently, he did not intend to take slaves back. Their loyalty was questionable, equivalent to a time bomb that could explode at any time.

After a moment’s consideration, he chose two sapphire and gold brooches. The nobles of Britain nowadays liked to wear this kind of ornament on their chests, and he and Herigifu should also have a decent brooch, so as not to lose face in public.

The next moment, someone shouted loudly: “A total of ten pounds of silver. You still have a quota of 230 pounds of silver.”

In the next few minutes, Vig demanded 150 pounds of silver, 50 sets of damaged iron armor, three intact heavy crossbows, sixty light crossbows, and all the Latin books.

After verifying the count, he instructed his subordinates to load the spoils of war onto the wagon and watched other people’s choices with interest.

For ordinary raiders, the most popular items were armor, iron swords, silver coins, and jewelry. Strong wine and slaves were in the second tier, while cloth and iron tools were in the third tier. Grain and livestock were difficult to carry, so they were the least popular.

As dusk approached, the vast majority of people were satisfied. Under Ivar’s enthusiastic hospitality, the entire town fell into a three-day celebration.

That night, Ivar got completely drunk and kept patting Vig’s shoulder. “You helped me a lot this time. Remember to ask me for help when attacking the Picts.”

“It’s estimated that we still have to wait for two years.”

In Vig’s opinion, attacking the North was not difficult; the key was how to govern this unfamiliar land. If the operation was mishandled, it could easily lead to a protracted war for public order.

After weighing the options, he planned to first cultivate a group of officials who knew literacy and arithmetic. With sufficient preparation, he would then consider going north.

After the banquet, Vig’s fleet sailed north along the coastline. During the voyage, he accidentally overheard sailors mentioning “Giant’s Causeway,” and he immediately became interested.

“Where is this natural wonder?”

A tall young pirate replied: “Half a day’s sail further north.”

At dusk, the fleet arrived at a desolate and strange beach. It was low tide, and jagged gray stone pillars gradually emerged from the receding seawater. The hexagonal facets of the pillars gleamed with a bronze luster in the setting sun.

These pillars, about ten meters high, were arranged so neatly that they formed a seawall stretching for several kilometers, as if they had been meticulously carved by giants with axe and chisel.

“Gods above.” The sailors jumped off the ship one after another. Some drew short axes and hacked at the stone edges, and only whitish scratches remained where sparks flew. After a brief discussion, everyone agreed that this wonder was the work of some giant.

As time went on, the tide receded further, revealing more stone pillars that had been sleeping beneath the sea. Joren suddenly pointed to the horizon:

“Look! These pillars lead into the sea!” Indeed, tens of thousands of pillars were densely packed and visible, as if a bridge to Jotunheim was emerging from the water.

（Jotunheim, one of the “Nine Realms” in Norse mythology, is desolate and cold, the dwelling place of frost giants and mountain giants.）

Unlike the others, Vig’s expression was calm. Later geologists have given an explanation: these basalt columns have nothing to do with giants; they were formed by the cooling and solidification of volcanic lava, about tens of millions of years ago.

“Hey, have you had enough sightseeing? Find a place to camp, and we’ll cross the sea tomorrow morning.”

Landing at the Derwent River Mouth, Vig spent three days traveling and returned to his territory in late May.

Looking at the dragon banner fluttering over Tyne, Vig finally put his worries aside. When he was out, his biggest concern was that his own territory would be plundered.

“My dear, you’re back?”

Herigifu was reading a book on the wall, enjoying the warm sunlight. When she saw her husband’s figure, she threw down the scroll to greet him, even losing a shoe in her haste.

The woman ran into Vig’s arms. He casually ruffled her dark chestnut hair. “How is the territory?”

“The summer harvest went smoothly. We have successively received two batches of Viking peasants, totaling 105 households.”

Herigifu accepted the sapphire brooch her husband gave her and wore it on her chest. “The speed and depth of plowing with heavy iron plows far surpass light wooden plows. They are enthusiastically sought after by gentlemen and small landowners. I allowed them to copy them, on the condition that they allocate one-third of their land to promote the three-field system. Nearly half of them refused, preferring to use the old wooden plows.”

“Don’t worry. After the autumn harvest of oats and peas, they will naturally realize the superiority of the three-field system.”

The territory was running smoothly, and Vig and his wife enjoyed a rare period of peace until a new problem arose in June.