Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 222: Unseen Banners

"Your Highness," Al-Hakam grinned, looking at Louis. "It’s a money-printer. The weavers who threatened to strike are now begging for more machines. We have entire warehouses running day and night. It’s genius. Pure, absolute genius."

He turned his burning gaze back to Ragnar. "So, I ask again. What else is hiding in that terrifying head of yours? Name your price. Gold, silver, salt... whatever you want, Granada will pay it."

Ragnar let the silence stretch, letting the Vizir’s desperation stew.

"I have two," Ragnar said, "And they aren’t for sale. Not for gold, anyway."

Al-Hakam blinked. "Not for gold? Then what?"

"Let me show you what they are first," Ragnar said. He reached out and unrolled the first scroll, pinning the corners down with a pair of silver goblets.

The parchment was covered in complex, isometric drawings.

"This," Ragnar pointed to the metallic blocks, "is a movable-type printing press. Combined with a new oil-based ink formula written on the back."

Al-Hakam frowned, tracing the lines. "Printing? Like block printing? We already do that in the East. Carve a wooden block, ink it, stamp it."

"No," Ragnar corrected sharply. "Carving a whole page takes days. This system uses individual metal letters. You arrange them in a frame to form a page, press it, and print five hundred copies in an afternoon... Then, you break the frame apart, rearrange the letters, and print a completely different book the next day."

"..."

The room went dead silent.

"Individual letters..." Al-Hakam whispered, "You could mass-produce ledgers. Accounting books. Royal decrees... Religious texts!"

"Information," Ragnar said softly. "With this, Granada can educate an army of bureaucrats, engineers, and commanders while the rest of Europe is still paying monks to copy a single Bible over ten years."

"Fuck," Louis breathed out, rubbing his face. "If my uncle had this... he could spread propaganda across Francia faster than I could ever raise a banner to stop him."

"Exactly," Ragnar said, rolling the first scroll up. "But your uncle doesn’t have it. We do."

Before Al-Hakam could even recover from the printing press, Ragnar unrolled the second scroll. This one was much larger.

It was a ship. It had a deep V-shaped hull, towering masts, and a complex rigging system combining square sails for raw speed and lateen sails for maneuvering against the wind.

"The galleon," Ragnar announced. "Deep-water keel. It doesn’t rely on oarsmen, which frees up massive amounts of space in the hull for cargo... or cannons, when we get to that point. It can weather Atlantic storms that would snap your galleys in half. More importantly, it can sail against the wind."

"The Frankish blockades wouldn’t mean a damn thing!"

Al-Hakam sank back into his chair. He reached for his wine and drained it in one gulp.

He was a man who negotiated over hundreds of thousands of gold pieces without breaking a sweat, but the sheer magnitude of what Ragnar was offering was staggering.

"You said... you said these aren’t for sale for gold," Al-Hakam rasped, clearing his throat. "So what is the price, Ragnar? Because you don’t just hand over the keys to global naval supremacy out of the goodness of your heart."

Ragnar leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.

"I don’t need your gold, Al-Hakam. I have my own iron and my own forges. What I need is a hammer in the south." Ragnar gestured toward Louis.

"The boy needs his throne back. His uncle has two thousand knights and the backing of half the Frankish nobility."

Louis stiffened, suddenly realizing that he was the centerpiece of the negotiation.

"I am going to march an army of Northmen and modern steel through the northern borders of Francia," Ragnar said, "I am going to crack their fortresses open, one by one. But if the usurper king pulls his southern garrisons north, it will be a bloodbath. I want to split his forces."

Al-Hakam narrowed his eyes. "You want me to declare war on Francia?!"

"I don’t need you to march on land," Ragnar corrected. "I need you to build these galleons. I need you to arm them. And when the spring thaw comes, I want the entire Granadan fleet to blockade the southern Frankish coast. You freeze their southern trade, and force them to keep fifty thousand men stationed in the south to defend the coast." 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"If we do this," Al-Hakam said slowly, "The Caliph will be committing to a massive naval campaign. It will cost a fortune in timber and men. The Franks will hate us for a generation."

"The Franks won’t exist as you know them in a generation," Ragnar replied smoothly. "Because once Louis is on the throne, he’s going to sign a treaty giving Granada exclusive, tax-free access to all southern Frankish ports for the next fifty years."

Ragnar glanced at Louis. "Isn’t that right, Your Highness?"

Louis swallowed hard. He looked at the blueprints, then at Al-Hakam, and finally at Ragnar.

"Fifty years. Tax-free. You have my word," Louis said, his voice surprisingly steady. "If your ships help me take my uncle’s head, the south is yours to trade..."

Al-Hakam looked down at his hands, letting out a long, slow breath.

The math was impossible to ignore. If they failed, Granada would face the wrath of a united, furious Frankish Empire.

But if they won?

Al-Hakam stood up. He smoothed the emerald silk of his robes, the very silk that Ragnar had made fifty times more profitable.

"You magnificent, terrifying bastard," Al-Hakam whispered. He reached his hand out across the table. "You have yourself a southern fleet."

Ragnar stood, grasping the Vizir’s forearm in a crushing grip. "Pleasure doing business with you."

As the two men shook on a deal that would drown the Mediterranean in blood and gold, a heavy, knocking echoed from the doors of the solar.

Tariq, the Mamluk guard, opened the door just a crack. One of Ragnar’s scouts stood there, chest heaving.

"Iron Father!" the scout gasped, pushing past the guard. "Forgive the intrusion, but you need to come to the watchtower immediately..."

Ragnar’s smile vanished. "What is it?"

The scout looked terrified, his eyes darting to the Frankish prince before settling back on Ragnar.

"It’s the eastern pass, my lord. The scouts... they found an army marching through the blizzard. Banners we’ve never seen before... And they have machines!"