Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 227: Political Marriage for City Titan

A full week had passed, and the frantic preparations within the shipyards of City Titan had finally concluded. Ragnar stood upon the frost-bitten wooden piers, observing the ironclad mortar vessels bobbing in the frigid tide. He had successfully overseen the outfitting of the fleet, ensuring that every cast-iron fragmentation shell was securely stored within the reinforced holds.

With those monumental tasks handled, Ragnar took a moment to enjoy a rare pause in his schedule. In his hand, he held a heavy iron mug filled with hot, spiced ale.

Standing beside him were the two pillars of his military might: his father, Ulf, and his brother, Vanguard Commander Bjorn.

While the crews finalized the rigging for their voyage to Scotland, where they would rain explosive hell upon the Tang warlord’s anchored junks, Bjorn suddenly broke the comfortable silence.

"Ragnar," the massive warrior began, his voice carrying a rare hint of hesitation. "I have given it much thought... I wish to take a wife."

Ragnar took a slow sip of his ale before processing the request. Bjorn was a high-ranking commander, and establishing a lineage was necessary for the long-term stability of their empire. However, in Ragnar’s mind, a marriage of this caliber could not be wasted on mere affection; it had to serve a calculated geopolitical purpose.

"An expected and welcome decision, brother," Ragnar replied, "Though, as the supreme commander of my vanguard, your union will be a matter of state diplomacy, not a simple tavern romance."

Before Bjorn could inquire further about what exactly that meant, a shadow detached itself from the bustling dockworkers. One of Ragnar’s elite intelligence operatives approached, bowing deeply before handing over a sealed leather cylinder.

Ragnar set his mug upon a nearby crate and broke the wax seal. As he unfurled the parchment, his sharp eyes scanned the coded text. His spy network had retrieved some highly valuable intel.

Across the western sea, the King of Leinster had launched a brutal and sweeping military campaign. The squabbling clans had been effectively crushed, and the man had officially unified the territories, declaring the Kingdom of Ireland.

With this information assimilated, Ragnar’s mind instantly began to calculate the strategic implications. A newly unified Ireland resting on his western maritime border was a wild card that could threaten his trade routes if left unchecked. He did not desire to fight a two-front war while dealing with the Chinese in the north.

Therefore, he needed to subjugate this new kingdom economically and politically without shedding a single drop of Viking blood.

It was then that Ragnar glanced back at Bjorn.

"Is the news troubling, my son?" Ulf asked, noting the sudden stillness in Ragnar’s posture.

After hearing his father’s question, Ragnar rolled the parchment back up and offered a calm, wicked smile.

"On the contrary, Father. It seems our western flank has just solved its own instability." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

After saying this, Ragnar turned his gaze back to Bjorn,

"It appears the King of Leinster has unified Ireland under one crown. A new kingdom requires allies, modern steel, and legitimacy to survive its infancy. I will dispatch envoys to the Emerald Isle by nightfall. We shall offer the new Irish King a formal pact of non-aggression and a steady supply of our surplus industrial steel. In exchange, to solidify our newfound alliance, he will offer his royal daughter’s hand in marriage to you, Bjorn."

Bjorn’s eyes widened in mild shock as he processed the sheer scale of the proposal.

"You intend for me to wed an Irish princess?"

Ragnar took a deliberate sip from his drink before answering his brother’s question.

"Indeed."

Upon seeing his brother’s stunned silence, Ragnar placed a reassuring hand on Bjorn’s shoulder, demonstrating his affectionate dominance over the situation.

"We will bind their royal bloodline to City Titan and render their military entirely dependent on our blast furnaces. By the time the ink dries on your marriage contract, Ireland will be nothing more than a vassal state serving our empire’s expansion."

When Ulf heard this, he let out a booming laugh, clapping Bjorn on his broad back. It was only after a few moments of celebrating the impending royal union did the men part ways.

To execute this delicate maneuver, Bjorn had already departed the docks, making his way to the palace of Ragnar’s spymaster, Gyda. A formal proposal could not be drafted blindly; it required precise psychological leverage.

Following a short walk through the fortified upper districts, Ragnar entered the lavishly decorated chambers of Gyda’s palace. Inside, he found his brother pacing nervously while Gyda sat behind a wide desk.

Upon his arrival, Gyda looked up.

"Tell me you have uncovered the necessary leverage, my dear," Ragnar murmured.

Gyda leaned back into his touch, sliding a piece of vellum toward him. "The King of Leinster’s daughter is highly educated but deeply anxious about her father’s fragile new borders. They lack the iron reserves to maintain their unified army if a rebellion sparks. They are terrified of a prolonged civil war."

Ragnar’s lips curled into a wicked smile. The problem was clear, the deduction was flawless, and the solution was now entirely within his grasp.

"Perfect," Ragnar said, "We offer them our surplus Bessemer steel and a guarantee of absolute maritime protection. In exchange, they bind their royal bloodline to my top commander. They will perceive it as their salvation, all while handing us the keys to their kingdom’s economy."

Under Ragnar’s strict dictation, Gyda’s elegant penmanship went to work, translating the warlord’s devious scheme into a beautifully worded, highly formal diplomatic missive.

While the ink on the heavy parchment was still drying, the doors to the chamber swung open. A slender, sharp-eyed man dressed in pristine, exotic silks from the Abbasid Caliphate stepped into the room, bowing deeply.

It was the Weasel, Ragnar’s first and most ruthlessly effective master trader. He had just returned from a highly lucrative, months-long expedition to the Middle East.

"You summoned me, my King?" the trader asked,

"Indeed," Ragnar replied, picking up the sealed letter and holding it out. "Your work in the Caliphate has funded half my industrial sector, but I require your silver tongue for a new theater. You sail for Ireland at first light. Deliver this to the King of Leinster. Ensure he understands the sheer magnitude of the industrial wealth backing this proposal."

The Weasel accepted the missive with a greedy gleam in his eye, "Consider it done, Iron Father. They will beg to sign it."

With the diplomatic front fully mobilized and the western flank secured in motion, Ragnar returned his attention to the immediate violence required in the north.

As dawn broke over the black-iron walls of City Titan, Ragnar stood once more at the bustling docks. The seven heavily modified, shallow-draft mortar ships sat low in the water.

Bjorn stood before the boarding ramp, clad in his heaviest plate armor, the anxieties of his future marriage pushed aside for the grim reality of warfare.

"The Irish matter is handled," Ragnar commanded, "Now, execute your primary objective. Sail into the Scottish lochs. Anchor behind the fog, and rain explosive hell upon the Tang armada."

Bjorn offered a bloodthirsty grin and slammed his fist against his breastplate in salute. As the young monarch watched his brother board the lead vessel, a profound sense of satisfaction washed over him.