Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 66: Civilization

After leaving the Royal Suite and the depressing atmosphere of King Horik’s existential crisis, Ragnar returned to the Great Hall where breakfast was being served. Once more, Gyda and Torbjorn were at the table; however, this time, the two were engaged in a surprisingly civil debate regarding the tensile strength of wool versus flax. Ragnar did not know how Gyda had managed to tolerate Torbjorn’s obsessive rambling about gear ratios, but they appeared to be on better terms than before; at the very least, Gyda was no longer threatening to audit Torbjorn’s personal consumption of mutton.

While snacking on a piece of smoked herring, Gyda could not help but ask about Ragnar’s visit to his father-in-law, which put him in a difficult spot. If Torbjorn were still sequestered in his workshop, Ragnar might be able to tell the unvarnished truth about the King’s liver failure and morale collapse. But with the lanky, socially awkward textile genius innocently dipping his bread into a bowl of porridge, Ragnar could not very well inform both of them of the severity of the King’s obsolescence. As such, he merely shrugged his shoulders and said the least dishonest thing he could think of.

"I have guided his outlook..."

Though Torbjorn was too engrossed in analyzing the weave of the tablecloth to notice Ragnar’s solemn expression, Gyda immediately picked up on it. She could tell that things were not going well for the Monarchy department. She felt a bitter taste in her mouth, knowing full well that if the Director of Industry couldn’t fix the figurehead, then the political stability of the realm was in jeopardy. After all, the traditional Jernheim warriors did not exactly accept a corporate hierarchy, even if they tolerated the paychecks.

As such, she snacked on her herring in awkward silence. Ragnar, on the other hand, gazed deeply into his mug of herbal tea, which he desperately wished was a double-shot espresso. However, he had more than enough self-restraint and forcefully deterred himself from resorting to caffeine dependency this early in the fiscal quarter. He preferred the slightly more productive alternative of throwing himself into logistics. As such, he quickly steered the conversation into a path more favorable for him.

"The groundbreaking for City Titan is underway. Soon enough, the new capital will be a metropolis like no other. It might take a couple of years to achieve fully, but ultimately the Ferro-Concrete designs I have planned will usher in a new age of sanitation and ballistic immunity for the North!"

Gyda had witnessed his grand plans and was functionally impressed by such a proposition. It was truly an extraordinary design, and she had no idea how Ragnar kept coming up with such capital-intensive ideas. She greatly admired his intellect and his approach to structural engineering. Though she felt he was spending too much silver to make the thralls’ lives comfortable. The star-shaped walls she could understand but the advanced sewage system and the multi-story brick apartments would come at a staggering cost. Even if he deducted rent from their wages as he planned, it would take decades to recoup the initial outlay of iron rebar.

As a woman who grew up in the cutthroat environment of Viking nobility and was greatly spoiled by the concept of raiding for instant profit, some things like "long-term infrastructure investment" were hardwired against her instincts. As such, Gyda could not fully understand Ragnar’s benevolent attitude towards the workforce. Though she did not understand it, she did not audit it; she figured Ragnar’s obsession with hygiene was one of his quirkier qualities. If he was a completely ruthless warlord who only cared for gold, she figured the empire would have collapsed from dysentery months ago.

Knowing that her partner’s plans were progressing within the acceptable margin of error made Gyda feel relieved, even if she felt he was wasting good iron on poop tubes. She smiled and congratulated Ragnar on the current success of his grand infrastructure initiative.

"That is... ambitious news. I can’t wait to inspect the depreciation value of the walls once they are completed. Your designs are expensive, to say the least."

Torbjorn looked up from his plate at the couple with a gaze of confusion. He had no idea what Ragnar was planning, nor the ludicrous amount of limestone Cedric was burning daily on such plans. He lived a carefree life completely devoid of any thoughts regarding the realm’s defense or its geopolitics. However, the term "walls" brought a minor degree of interest to him; as such, he could not help but question what Ragnar was planning. His pale eyes twinkled with a singular focus as he questioned the Director about his supposed plans.

"Walls? Will they have space for the new water-frames? The vibration requires a stable foundation."

Ragnar could not help but smile at the single-track mind of his Minister of Textiles. It greatly calmed his nerves about the issues with the Frankish Crusade looming on the horizon. As such, he decided to spoil the man with information about the industrial zoning.

"I’m currently transforming the floodplains into a fortified industrial zone; with the increase in production, a lot of the looms are exposed to the elements; as such, I have plans to move the textile department behind a Star Fortress, utilizing the river current for maximum torque!"

Though Torbjorn did not understand half of the architectural terms Ragnar had used, he felt as if it was something extraordinary for his wool production. As such, he smiled and congratulated Ragnar on his progress.

"Good torque! More yarn!"

He said while raising his spoon in approval. Though he would later come to realize just how effective the Star Fortress was at stopping cannon fire, it would not be for some time before he came to such a conclusion. For now, the lanky genius merely enjoyed his porridge as Ragnar and Gyda continued their discussion about topics that bored him. After finishing his meal, Torbjorn looked up at Ragnar with an expectant expression; considering he was now a high-ranking Minister, it would be considered rude to run off to his machines without permission.

"Director, may I please be excused? The sheep are waiting."

Ragnar smiled and nodded, allowing the textile savant to flee off to his factory to play with his gears. Completely unaware that he was missing a discussion about the construction of monumental advancements in anti-cavalry technology that would one day come to dominate the battlefields of England.

Once Torbjorn was gone, the atmosphere in the Great Hall shifted instantly. The warmth evaporated, replaced by the cold, hard steel of reality.

Gyda pushed her plate away. She reached under the table and pulled out the Black Ledger the book that contained not the profits, but the threats.

"The Raven Flight returned from the South this morning," Gyda said, her voice dropping an octave. "Princess Judith has accepted the velvet. The trade route is open. But the intelligence attached to the message is... concerning."

Ragnar leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "The Franks?"

"The Order of the White Cross," Gyda confirmed. "They are not just sending knights. They are sending Cataphracts. Full plate armor. Barded horses. They are tanks, Ragnar. Our pikes held against the Danes because the Danes ran at us half-naked. These men... they are encased in steel."

Ragnar stood up and walked to the large slate board mounted on the wall. He picked up a piece of chalk.

"A 1,500-pound horse moving at 25 miles per hour, carrying a 200-pound man in plate armor. That is a massive amount of force concentrated on the tip of a lance." Ragnar muttered.

He drew a diagram of a standard pike wall.

"If they hit the pikes," Ragnar explained, drawing an arrow, "the sheer mass will shatter the ash wood. The Huscarls will be trampled. The ’Range Department’ will be overrun before they can reload."

Gyda looked at the diagram, her face pale. "So we lose?"

"No," Ragnar said, a dangerous glint appearing in his eye.

He erased the pike wall.

"We cannot stop the charge with wood. So we don’t try to stop it. We let them in."

He drew a new formation.

"We create lanes," Ragnar explained. "We bait them into the gaps. And once they are inside the formation, slowed down by the mud and the confusion..."

He sketched a new weapon. It looked like a spear, but with a heavy, four-pronged hammer head and a vicious spike on the back.

"The Lucerne Hammer," Ragnar introduced. "The Can-Opener. It generates enough percussive force to concuss a man through his helmet. And the spike? It punches through plate armor like it’s paper."

Gyda looked at the drawing. It was brutal. It was efficient.

"And the horses?" she asked.

Ragnar added a detail to the bottom of the diagram. Small, buried pots filled with Helga’s gunpowder and a pressure plate mechanism.

"Landmines," Ragnar whispered. "Or at least, primitive ones. We break the legs of the horses. We break the spirit of the riders. And then..."

He tapped the hammer drawing.

"...we crack them open and liquidate the contents."

Gyda shivered, but she nodded. It was the only way.

"I will authorize the budget for the new hammers," she said, standing up. "And I will tell Helga to stop making soap and start making boom-powder."

Ragnar watched her go. He looked at the empty hall.

"Come on, Franks," Ragnar whispered to the empty room. "Come and see what happens when the Middle Ages meets the assembly line."