Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 221: Fifty Year Debt

The southern gates of City Titan stood open beneath the Lion Banner, the winter wind whipping across the stone walls as the small caravan from Granada approached.

Al-Hakam rode at the front on a sleek Arabian stallion, emerald robes fluttering, fifty Mamluks in perfect formation behind him.

Al-Hakam dismounted in the outer courtyard, handing the reins to a waiting stable hand while his Mamluks formed a protective half-circle.

He adjusted his robes, eyes scanning the towering black-iron walls and the distant smoke from the forges, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He had come expecting new blueprints, fresh alliances, and perhaps word of some desperate French duke begging at Ragnar’s feet. What he did not expect was the young man standing beside the Iron Father on the steps of the great hall.

Ragnar stood waiting with Louis the Stammerer at his side. Gyda and Leofric flanked them, the Lion Banner snapping overhead.

Al-Hakam stopped a few paces away, bowing deeply with one hand over his heart.

"Salam, Iron Father," he said, voice warm and rich with genuine respect. "It has been too long since Granada felt the shadow of the Lion. I bring gifts from the south, and news that the Caliph himself grows curious about your latest victories in the North."

Ragnar stepped forward, clasping the prince’s forearm in the old warrior’s grip. "Salam, my friend. Your timing is impeccable as always. The markets are open, the forges are roaring, and the world is shifting faster than even I expected."

Al-Hakam straightened, eyes flicking to Louis with open shock. The young French prince met his gaze steadily, but Al-Hakam’s mind was racing. He had expected a duke, maybe a lesser king crawling for help. Not the rightful heir to the entire Frankish throne standing here like he already belonged.

"Fuck me," Al-Hakam muttered under his breath. He recovered quickly, bowing again, this time toward Louis.

"Your Highness. I did not expect... this. The last raven I received spoke of chaos in Francia, but I thought the dukes would be the ones knocking on these gates. Not the son of the dead emperor himself."

Louis gave a tired laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well... shit changes fast when your uncle decides the crown looks better on his head than yours. I ran. My mother sent me. Figured the only man who could actually do something about it was the one who just broke a mountain in Norway."

Ragnar chuckled deeply, "Come. The wind is cold and the wine is not. We have much to talk about, and I suspect our guest from the south will want to hear every detail."

They walked together into the private solar, Servants moved silently, pouring wine and setting out plates of warm bread and spiced meat while the four men settled around the long table. Tariq, the young Mamluk Al-Hakam had brought, took up position near the door, his hand never far from his blade.

Al-Hakam accepted a cup, eyes still flicking between Ragnar and Louis, "Truthfully, I came expecting to discuss new machines and perhaps a desperate French duke... Instead I find the rightful emperor sitting here like an old friend. How did that happen?"

Louis took a long drink, then set the cup down, "My uncle took the throne with two thousand knights and a lot of scared dukes. I got dragged away in chains the same night. My mother got me out. Three assassins rowed me across the Channel. Now I’m here, offering the southern ports and whatever else you want if you help me take back what’s mine."

Ragnar leaned back, tapping his cane lightly, "The moment I realized the Franks just handed us the keys to the entire southern coast without firing a single shot."

Al-Hakam shook his head, laughing softly in disbelief. "You people move like the wind. I sail north expecting to haggle over blueprints and trade deals, and I walk into the middle of a civil war where the rightful heir is already sitting at your table. Shit. The Caliph is going to lose his mind when he hears this."

Leofric grinned from his seat, raising his cup. "The more the world knows the Lion is watching, the faster the weak ones come crawling."

Louis looked at Al-Hakam directly, "What do you think the south will do when the Iron Empire decides which side it wants?"

Al-Hakam took a slow sip, "The Caliph will wait to see who wins. But me? I came here for new machines and new alliances. If you can give us stable ports and open trade, I’ll speak for Granada. We don’t care who sits on the Frankish throne as long as the ships keep sailing."

"Alright. Geopolitics, usurpations, and dead emperors aside," Al-Hakam said, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the wood.

"I came here for trade, Ragnar. You and I both know the world runs on coin, Tell me you have more blueprints. My engineers have been starving for a new project for months."

Ragnar chuckled, "Before I start handing out the keys to the next century, I want to know about the last one. How did the silk industry blueprint fare?"

At the mention of the looms, Al-Hakam completely lost his aristocratic composure.

"How did it go?" Al-Hakam barked out a laugh that bordered on manic, "Ragnar, it’s sorcery! That’s how it went!"

Leofric snorted into his ale from the corner of the room, and even Gyda allowed a smirk to cross her usually stoic face.

"I am not exaggerating," Al-Hakam continued, his hands moving frantically as he explained. "When my master weavers first looked at the schematics for the automated foot-pedals and the shuttle tracks, they called me a madman. They said you couldn’t replace a human hand with a wooden block and a spring. Two of the guild masters threatened to strike!"

"And?" Ragnar prompted, leaning back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the show.

"And I told them to build a prototype or I’d find someone who would!" Al-Hakam’s eyes were wide, "Within three weeks, we had the first mechanized loom operational. Ragnar... the output. A single weaver was suddenly doing the work of five. We’ve tripled our silk production in six months. Tripled! We are flooding the Mediterranean markets. The Venetians are bleeding out their asses trying to match our prices, and they don’t even know how we’re doing it!"

Louis was staring at Al-Hakam, utterly bewildered. "Wait," the young prince interrupted,

"You’re telling me you collapsed the Venetian silk monopoly with... a wooden loom?"