Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 238: Deep Coal Veins
Baghdad, Abbasid Caliphate 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢
Caliph Harun al-Mu’tasim stood overlooking the sprawling city of Baghdad. Two days of negotiation had passed since the eastern dragon first cast its shadow across the horizon.
The Caliph had signed the treaty with a hand that trembled only slightly, while his viziers watched in stunned silence. Now the eastern army was beginning its slow march westward, the ground shaking beneath the synchronized tread of a hundred thousand boots. e.
A high-ranking Arab vizier named al-Fadl knelt beside him, "Your Majesty... the treasury bleeds. The silver we surrendered could have funded ten campaigns against the Byzantines. Our merchants already whisper in the souks that the Caliphate has been humbled before the eyes of the world."
Harun ground his teeth together. He turned sharply, seizing the vizier by the collar of his silk robes and hauling him upright.
"Do you think I do not know the cost, al-Fadl? Do you imagine I enjoy watching my empire’s lifeblood flow into foreign wagons?"
"The Tang Emperor demanded passage or annihilation. I chose passage. Now we pray the dragon devours the Iron Father in the frozen north before it turns its gaze upon us."
Al-Fadl’s hands shook violently as he clutched at the Caliph’s sleeves, his eyes wide with the raw fear of a man who saw the end of an era.
"But the logistical weight, Majesty... feeding one hundred thousand foreign soldiers as they cross our lands will drain our granaries dry. Our own people already grumble in the streets. If the march continues for another month, famine will take root in the heart of Baghdad itself."
The Caliph released him with a sharp shove, sending the vizier stumbling backward until he caught himself against the balustrade. Harun’s chest heaved as he stared out at the marching host once more, the contradiction tearing at his soul like a blade.
He had saved Baghdad today, yet he had mortgaged its future. Pride demanded he refuse the eastern dogs, but cold reason forced him to bend. The empire he had sworn to protect now teetered on the edge of collapse, held together by a thread spun from eastern silver and desperate prayer.
While the Caliph wrestled with the weight of his decision, the massive Tang army continued its slow advance through the desert roads. Dust rose in choking clouds as wagon after wagon of Abbasid silver rolled alongside the troops, guarded by elite Tang soldiers whose faces remained impassive masks of discipline.
At the head of the column rode the lead diplomat, Zhao Feng. He rode in silence, but a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth as he watched the Caliphate’s wealth disappear into his army’s coffers.
In the rear of the procession, a cluster of Abbasid envoys rode under heavy escort, their faces pale and drawn. One of them, a young diplomat named Tariq, bit his nails until they bled, his eyes darting nervously between the endless ranks of eastern soldiers and the distant minarets of Baghdad.
"We have sold our future for a single month of peace..." he muttered bitterly to his companion.
"In truth, he has only purchased the rope with which the dragon will hang us all."
Back upon the balcony, Harun al-Mu’tasim finally turned away from the horizon, his hands still clenched into fists at his sides. The temporary truce held the continent together by a mere thread, yet the sheer logistical burden of feeding and watering the Chinese expeditionary force was already beginning to silently crush the Caliphate’s economy.
Granaries emptied faster than they could be refilled. Trade caravans were diverted to supply the marching host. Merchants whispered in the souks that the Caliph had traded the empire’s silver for a temporary reprieve from destruction.
Thus the masters of the Middle East kept their eyes glued to the Asian menace, blind to the greater storm gathering in the frozen north. Harun could only pray that the Iron Father and the rogue Tang warlord would destroy each other before the dragon turned its gaze southward once more.
Yet even as he whispered that desperate prayer, the Caliph felt the cold hand of history tightening around his throat.
...
The Deep Coal Veins of the Iron Empire, Near City Titan
A week passed. Ragnar stood upon the rocky overlook that commanded a view of the newly opened coal veins stretching westward from City Titan.
Forty-one thousand men marched in long lines under the watchful eyes of Viking overseers. Their once-imperial lamellar armor had been stripped away, replaced by simple woolen tunics and iron collars that marked them as the newest additions to the empire’s industrial machine.
The veins here were rich beyond measure, untouched by any previous civilization, yet extracting their bounty required precision, discipline, and above all, control.
Ragnar had spent the previous night reviewing the geological surveys with Gyda, mapping the tunnels that would soon plunge hundreds of feet beneath the surface. Every shaft, every gallery, every ventilation duct had been planned to maximize output while minimizing waste. The Tang soldiers, with their legendary discipline and endurance, would become the perfect workforce for such depths.
Thus the march began. The prisoners moved in silence at first. Their steps faltered at the edge of the first tunnel. One young officer, still bearing the faint scars of the loch bombardment, bit down hard on his lower lip until blood welled, his fists clenched so tightly that the chains at his wrists rattled.
As the first groups disappeared into the tunnels, the transformation began almost immediately. The Viking overseers, trained under Bjorn’s standards, moved among them. They demonstrated the proper use of picks and shovels, correcting posture with firm but non-lethal corrections.
When a prisoner collapsed from exhaustion, a bowl of hot gruel was placed before him rather than a boot. Slowly at first, the terror in the Tang soldiers’ eyes began to shift. The promise of consistent food, something many had not tasted since leaving their homeland, worked like a quiet alchemy upon their spirits. They began to move with purpose, their disciplined nature responding instinctively to the clear chain of command.
Ragnar allowed himself a satisfied nod, "See how quickly they adapt?"
