Among the fleet of longships, one at its center was far longer and wider than the surrounding vessels, large enough to hold over a hundred men. Its dragon figurehead towered majestically, its warriors were well-equipped, their long-axes fearsomely sharp, and its runes were ancient and profound.

Seated within, Godred, the King of the Isle of Man, gestured to a burly warrior in animal hides beside him. The warrior nodded, grabbed the horn at his waist, and ran swiftly along the longship. He clambered onto the massive dragon figurehead at the bow and sounded the horn.

It was the call to set sail.

Soon, deckhands moved back and forth, undoing the walrus-hide ropes mooring the ship. They pushed the vessel away from the dock with long poles. Oarsmen dipped their oars into the water, and the captain began directing them, having them row the ship from the pier into the current at the mouth of the harbor, where spray splashed against the ship’s thin planks.

The oarsmen rowed, first west, then south. Finally, the entire fleet headed for the open sea.

The sea breeze, carrying a faint briny scent, rushed against Eric’s face.

Compared to Hessin’s knock-off Viking longship, a real longship was a completely different experience. ’If only I weren’t a slave.’

Hessin was on another ship. As a Shipwright, his appreciation for it was surely deeper than Eric’s. Leif, meanwhile, still wore his usual sullen expression.

Eric also saw many warriors praying to Ran for a safe journey. Perhaps two hundred years ago, the first Vikings who ventured out to sea had prayed in the same way. The waves were merciless; their only hope was to trust in the protection of the Thunder God and the Sea God, praying the gods would bless a Hero’s return. (Ran, the goddess of the sea in Northern Europe mythology, wife of Egil. In Old Norse, Ran means "sea" or "robber.")

Perhaps thanks to the protection of the goddess Ran, the sea remained calm for most of the voyage from the Isle of Man to the Hebrides Islands. The wind was strong, allowing the ships to travel under full sail, so even the slaves didn’t have to row for long. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

If he hadn’t known they were being shipped off to be cannon fodder, sailing on a longship would have felt just like a holiday.

Eric noticed Lagman, the Viking who had spoken to him. He was very different from the other Vikings on the ship, and from the Vikings Eric remembered. For the first time in a long time, Eric felt an aura of "tranquility" from someone. He had a strong, friendly presence.

He was so gentle, he didn’t seem like a Viking at all.

The captain of this ship was an irascible man, with a scar running across his forehead as if someone had tried to rip his skull open. Whenever it was the prisoners’ turn to row, he would curse and complain.

His favorite refrain was, "I fought alongside the great Lord Godred in Haral the Ruthless’s Battle of Stanford Bridge, and I came back alive!"

The other Vikings on the ship were also constantly clamoring about how many Scots they were going to kill this time.

Against this backdrop, Lagman seemed all the more remarkable.

「On the fourth day of the voyage,」 they reached the Isle of Arran, on the outer edge of the Hebrides Islands. There, they joined a fleet of over two hundred ships.

On the coast, the tide first pushed waves onto the grassy, reed-covered land, then dragged the water back, carving out channels and exposing large patches of sand and mud.

「On the fifth day,」 they finally reached their first stop: Bit Island.

Bit Island was not completely occupied by the Scots; they held only the north, while the south remained in Viking hands.

Many of the slaves began to break down, refusing to disembark no matter what. In the end, they were carried off by several Vikings and brutally beaten.

All the warriors and prisoners rested outside the Vikings’ fortress.

「Around dusk,」 Lagman, inside his tent, calculated the time and decided it was right.

’I have to do something before the battle tomorrow.’

This was, however, his first time commanding an army, and he wasn’t sure how much he could accomplish.

He had only ever observed armies in battle. Despite his strong desire, his father had never let him lead troops. This time was an exception—if, of course, the "army" his father had given him could even be called one.

Thus, he had spent most of his time honing his skills with the Longsword and the Bow and Arrow to pass the time.

’Perhaps I can teach them some useful Swordsmanship beforehand, or how to form a shield wall or something.’

But just as he stepped out of his tent, he ran into someone.

"Uncle Alette, what are you doing here?"

"Your bastard of a father thinks a main force doesn’t need two commanders. I could have broken my contract with him, but it’s not worth the trouble. I figured I’d help you out with your first battle."

Behind Alette followed a squad of well-equipped Archers and axe-wielding Guards, as well as a dozen or so cavalrymen.

Without waiting for Lagman’s response, he waved a hand at the men behind him.

Eric and the others were herded into an open area. A pile of wooden Shields was thrown before them, along with a number of Longswords and axes of varying quality. Some of the weapons were covered in rust.

Many of the prisoners were already on the verge of a mental breakdown, in no state of mind to care about the quality of the weapons.

"No! I can’t die here! My wife is waiting for me at home! I have to get out of here!"

A Christian prisoner grabbed his hair with both hands and screamed, knocking over several other prisoners as he charged toward the nearby Forest.

Following his lead, several other prisoners who also intended to escape took the chance to bolt from the group and run for the Forest.

Arrows immediately flew toward the escapees, hitting a few and sending them to the ground screaming in agony. The rest made it into the Forest, but a few seconds later, their screams echoed from within.

The prisoners were thrown out of the Forest. Several axe-wielding Warriors emerged from the trees, walked up to them, and brought their axes down directly onto their spines. This was followed by several more chops, accompanied by piercing wails.

Many of the prisoners watching from a distance couldn’t bear to look. The escapees’ backs were practically hacked into mincemeat. The Warriors controlled their strength to avoid damaging the internal organs, torturing them without letting them die quickly. Only after their backs were reduced to pulp did they smash their axes into their heads, which shattered like watermelons, ending their lives.

Blood and brain matter splattered onto the faces of the axe-wielding Warriors. They seemed to derive a cruel satisfaction from it, breaking into gratified smiles. Perhaps they had been waiting for this all along.

Hessin was so terrified he instantly collapsed to the ground, clutching at Eric’s sleeve.

"Priest... Priest, I don’t want... I don’t want to die. If I die fighting for Heretics... I’ll be... I’ll be eternally damned by God, won’t I?"

"Later, just stick close to me. Don’t be afraid."

Eric watched the scene unfold quietly, a memory stirring within him. He gently patted Hessin’s head.

He then shot a look at Leif behind him, and Leif slowly moved closer to Eric.

Eric handed him a Kite Shield.

"Those who flee without fighting deserve this punishment. Those who fight without fear shall earn their freedom." Alette circled slowly before the prisoners on his Warhorse, his voice cold.

The Guards around him loudly repeated his words.

"Uncle..."

Lagman frowned. The scene of brutal slaughter made him very uncomfortable, even though he knew that a proper display of authority was necessary to build cohesion in an army.

"Even if you can’t become King, you must learn to be a proper Viking leader. Vikings must be cruel! Slaves are just consumables. The only thing you need to cherish is your Personal Guard."