After spending a week having the army's carpenters construct battering rams, extra long ladders, and mantlets, Niels drew upon the Royal Guard's past tactics to capture Antwerp in a single, decisive strike.
Once the battle concluded, Niels tallied the spoils of war and found that his previous concerns had beco a reality.
Following months of conflict, Antwerp's trade had suffered severely. Its population had dwindled to less than two thousand, and its wealth was a re shadow of its forr glory, falling drastically short of the raiders' expectations.
After a brief council with Halfdan, the raiding fleet set sail for Ghent. To their dismay, the locals had already fortified the city's defenses back in March. The raiders laid siege for several days, but the arrival of the Earl of Flanders' cavalry, who had caught wind of the attack, quickly broke the encirclent.
Calculating their profits, Halfdan estimated his share would be a ager fifty pounds of silver. The current him scoffed at such a paltry sum. He complained at the top of his lungs, his furious roars startling the waterbirds nestled in the reeds along the riverbanks.
"Damn it all! We finally launch a proper raid, and this pitiful pocket change is all we get?" he bellowed. "No, this won't do. We are going to plunder until we are thoroughly satisfied."
"Isn't that far too risky?" Niels instinctively voiced his opposition. However, he was powerless against the collective greed of the raiders. Even his own direct subordinates were clamoring to continue the pillaging.
Following this, Halfdan ordered ten cumberso Knarr ships to transport their captured supplies and prisoners to the nearest shores of Britain, while the main force remained anchored along the coast of Flanders.
Before long, the raiding fleet coerced a local rchant into guiding them upstream along the Weser River. Lush oak and birch forests lined the banks, swaying together like a vast, erald sea of leaves.
After a full day of sailing, the fleet arrived at their first major target: Bren. It was a vital town in the Saxony region, fortified with wooden palisades and sturdy earthworks.
The fleet had encountered no resistance during their journey, nor were there any warning beacon towers stationed along the riverbanks. Seizing the opportunity presented by the enemy's lax defenses, Niels selected a squad of elite warriors and had them disguise their vessel as a rchant ship to scout ahead, with the main fleet trailing closely behind.
Following a brief but exceptionally bloody skirmish, they successfully seized the town, even managing to capture the local lord's wife and daughter.
"Excellent! The haul here completely eclipses what we scrounged up in Antwerp." Halfdan ordered his n to break out the cellar's hidden ale and slaughter the livestock for a grand, raucous celebration.
After reveling through the night, they pressed further along the Weser River. They ruthlessly breached over twenty settlents of varying sizes, stuffing their pockets to the brim. A continuous stream of spoils of war was shipped back down to the river's mouth; so of it was transported straight to Northern Europe, while the rest was shipped off to be sold in Britain.
In mid-August, the raiding fleet arrived at a royal manor known as Kassel. However, the local defenders had hastily assembled a force of over a thousand soldiers, including three hundred cavalryn.
Niels urgently advised Halfdan and the other chieftains, "It is ti to retreat. Our loosely organized light infantry cannot withstand a heavy cavalry charge. If you insist on pressing this attack, then forgive , but I will take no part in it."
Over the past month or so, the two leaders had each amassed wealth valued at over eight hundred pounds of silver, and their subordinates had also reaped bountiful rewards. They were like a pack of gorged wolves; it was high ti to return to their dens and digest their feast.
That very night, entirely disregarding Niels's warnings, Halfdan led his Berserkers in one final, frenzied assault. They breached and torched the manor, successfully slipping away into the shadows just before the break of dawn.
Ultimately, the raiding fleet sailed out of the Weser River completely unopposed. After dividing the final spoils, they officially disbanded. Niels was in no rush to return to Schleswig; instead, he set a course for Londinium to sell off his share of the plundered goods.
As for the absolute chaos Halfdan and Niels had stirred up, Wigg had remained entirely uninvolved from start to finish. He rely ordered his fleet to monitor the southern waters of The Channel, strictly to ensure those madn didn't try to turn their plundering blades toward his own lands.
Overall, this large-scale raid had severely crippled the strength of Flanders, which indirectly benefited him greatly. Upon hearing that Niels had co to visit, Wigg hosted a lavish reception for him in the Royal Palace.
During the banquet, he posed a profoundly pointed question:
"Niels, you are a rare breed—a noble of Northern Europe who actually uses his head. Why on earth did you agree to raid East Francia? Their northern border directly neighbors Denmark. If full-scale war breaks out, your territory in southern Denmark will be the very first to bear the brunt of their wrath."
Niels offered a bitter, rueful smile. "My original plan was simply to raid Flanders, but unfortunately, there was hardly anything left to take. Afterward, soone suggested using a local guide to strike deep inland along the Weser River. The vast majority overwhelmingly approved of the idea. I simply lacked the power to deny the collective greed of an entire army..." As they discussed the matter, a profound sense of unease settled over Niels. Acting on his instincts, he completely abandoned his original rcantile plans. Rather than purchasing highly profitable resale goods like woolen cloth and strong spirits, he poured every coin of his funds into stockpiling military equipnt. He procured two hundred sets of used armor and over ten thousand feathered arrows.
By September, Niels had returned to Schleswig, only to be t with devastating news: a massive army and a mountain of supplies were currently massing in Hamburg.
Hamburg was situated roughly seventy miles south of Schleswig. It served as the primary frontier outpost for the Kingdom of East Francia and was ho to approximately two hundred households.
"Damn it. They are clearly coming straight for ," he muttered in dread.
Turning pale with fright, he imdiately dispatched scouts to the south to gather intelligence. They quickly spotted the royal standard of "Louis the German," alongside the grand banners of the Duke of Saxony and several other prominent nobles.
Fortunately, the terrain of Northern Germany was entirely dominated by dense forests and treacherous swamps. The advancing enemy forces were forced to waste ti clearing roads and constructing pontoon bridges, buying Niels a precious window of ti to react.
A brutal war was now entirely unavoidable. Niels urgently summoned his vassals, ordering them to imdiately garrison the Danevirke in southern Denmark.
This was a massive defensive earthwork and palisade stretching roughly thirty kiloters, situated directly on the border between Denmark and the Germanic territories. It had been constructed and expanded piece by piece by nurous lords over the span of centuries. Unfortunately, it had been severely neglected during Niels's rule, and several sections of the earthen walls had already collapsed.
"Do not waste a single second!" Niels commanded. "Assemble every available commoner for the militia and put them to work repairing the earthworks! If the Franks breach that wall, every last noble and commoner will be slaughtered without rcy!"
At the sa ti, Niels sent frantic letters pleading for reinforcents to Ubbe, Halfdan, and Erik Jr., begging them to lend a hand for the sake of their shared Viking blood.
anwhile, in Aalborg, Northern Denmark.
Surrounded by a massive crowd of onlookers, Ubbe was in the midst of executing a noble.
"...My lord, you have committed the unforgivable cri of high treason. Therefore, I, the King of Denmark, hereby strip you and your entire family of your lands and titles. I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead. Do you have any final words?"
"You are no king of mine!" the man spat.
Ubbe simply gave a cold, dismissive glance. The adjacent soldiers roughly shoved a black hood over the condemned noble's head and secured a thick noose around his neck. A split second later, a soldier kicked away the wooden stakes supporting the man's feet. The noble convulsed violently, his legs kicking and thrashing wildly in the empty air.
Soon, the violent struggles began to weaken, slowing down until the man hung completely motionless. Ubbe swept his piercing gaze across the terrified crowd and declared in a dark, threatening tone, "This is the fate of all traitors!"
During the early days of his ascension to the throne, Ubbe's thod of rule had been relatively gentle—one might even have called it weak. The turning point had been the assassination attempt. A Royal Guard officer, heavily bribed by Aslaug, had managed to sever half of Ubbe's left palm and had left a ghastly, permanent scar running across his face.
As he recovered from those grievous wounds, Ubbe had spent long hours reflecting on the bitter experience. His temperant underwent a drastic, terrifying shift, and his ruling style plumted to the absolute opposite extre. To date, he had systematically executed a total of eleven nobles, brutally stripping them of their territories and redistributing their lands among his loyal Guard mbers to forge an entirely new, iron-fisted ruling order.
Only the dead could never betray him.
Ubbe took a deep, calming breath. Just then, an attendant hurriedly stepped forward, presenting a letter sealed with heavy wax.
"Your Majesty, there is urgent news from southern Denmark."
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