On May 25th, Basil led ten shield-bearing guards and a civilian official to a small river at the border between the two armies, requesting a eting with the Serpent of the North.
Vig sent scouts to investigate. After confirming it was indeed Basil himself, Vig arrived at the riverbank, similarly accompanied by ten shield-bearing Royal Guards and one civilian official.
Across the river, which was over sixty feet wide, Vig called out a greeting in fluent Latin. "It has been a long ti, Your Majesty. Thirty years have passed, and it seems we have both found our rightful places."
Back then, Ivar, Vig, Gunnar, and the others had traveled to Constantinople. At a hunting ground on the outskirts of the city, Vig and Basil had engaged in a duel before the throne. eting again now, both n had beco emperors, filling their hearts with a profound sense of nostalgia and irony.
Thinking about it carefully, they both shared origins as humble farrs.
One of them had relied on his military acun, fighting wars for over three decades to forge a massive empire from nothing. The other had depended on his outstanding social skills and political talent, navigating through countless conspiracies and sches until he finally rose above the rest to usurp the supre imperial throne.
None of it had been easy.
Vig lowered his head, gazing at his reflection in the river's surface. He could almost see the few strands of white hair at his temples. From a remote village in Northern Europe to where he stood today, he was no longer young.
The conversation lasted for over ten minutes before Vig proposed an additional condition:
"Since you refuse to hand over the Frankish remnants, at least move them further away. Do not leave them in Italy or along the Balkan borders. In exchange, I will settle those captives in Britain so they cannot threaten your rule."
Basil agreed. He had his civilian official take a small boat back and forth across the river to draft two lengthy copies of the peace agreent. After verifying that everything was correct, both parties signed and sealed the end of the docunts, each keeping their respective copy.
With this, the war was over.
The Second Prince read over the docunt written in both Viking and Greek. "We campaigned for an entire year, yet we never got to see the sights within Ro. What a pity."
"There is no need," Vig replied. "In the fifth century, the Visigoths and the Vandals took turns sacking Ro. Coupled with the impact of plagues and famines, the city has long since fallen into decline. The population is a re forty thousand, not even matching Londinium."
He believed that Ro represented the past, Constantinople represented the present, and Londinium represented the future. With the developnt of Western Europe, Eastern Europe, and Northern Europe, along with the continuous frontier expansion into the New World, the scale of trade across the Atlantic Ocean would eventually surpass that of the diterranean Sea.
In early June, Vig began his journey ho. Along the way, he stopped in Genoa and summoned the Italian rchants who had been captured during the war.
Northern Italy was too far from the core territory of the Viking Empire, making the cost of governance excessively high. As usual, he opted for the feudal system of allotnt. In addition to creating an earldom, he considered establishing two Imperial Free Cities to foster trade.
One Imperial Free City would be located in Ravenna on the east coast of Italy, responsible for Eastern diterranean trade.
The other would be situated in Cannes on the French-Italian border, handling Western diterranean trade.
Although Venice boasted the best geographical conditions, Vig did not even consider it.
The reason was simple: the city's political stance was unreliable. Vig had no reason to direct valuable trade resources toward a city that was nominally neutral but actually favored the Eastern Roman Empire.
He ordered his guards to distribute docunts explaining his future comrcial plans.
Once the situation stabilized, goods from the New World, Northern Europe, and Britain would be transported up the Seine River. After a short overland journey, they would travel down the Saône River and the Rhône River to reach the diterranean coast. Most of these goods would then be sold in the two Imperial Free Cities.
Before this, the empire already possessed two Imperial Free Cities. The first was Visby on Gotland Island, serving as the trade hub of the Baltic Sea.
The second was Bayonne, situated on the Atlantic coast west of the Pyrenees Mountains. Its sole responsibility was conducting trade with the Visigoths and the Moors.
The concept of Imperial Free Cities originated from the Free Cities of the Holy Roman Empire. They were not ruled by any noble but were directly administered by the emperor. Normally, they governed themselves through a city council composed of rchants, enjoying nurous privileges and holding seats in the Witenagemot of the Viking Empire.
Upon hearing the emperor's explanation, the rchants were half-skeptical. They clamored to ask about various details, bringing up the many new technologies of the Viking Empire.
Their greatest interest lay in the new sailing ships. Boasting massive cargo capacities, excellent resistance to wind and waves, and requiring fewer crewn than galleys of equal tonnage, they were phenonal vessels for transport.
Vig slowly shook his head. "Gentlen, do not push your luck. The winds and waves of the diterranean are relatively mild; your current galleys are more than sufficient. You do not need to worry about the Atlantic trade.
"The empire enforces the Patent Law. The patents for the brigantine and the three-masted sailing ship belong exclusively to the royal family. Aside from the British mainland, no other faction is allowed to privately copy them. If discovered, such ships will be imdiately sunk.
"Similarly, the new spinning machine, new dyeing process, papermaking technology, printing technology, new iron slting furnace, new glass slting process, and other such advancents are also protected under patent. In the future, I might grant certain patents to specific city-states. However, if anyone deliberately breaks the rules, do not bla for showing no rcy."
Vig ruled over a massive empire with a highly complex internal structure. He had to prioritize his core territory—the eighteen Imperial Counties of Britain, which housed the most technologically advanced and lucrative industries, such as textiles, iron slting, and shipbuilding.
Next in importance were the noble fiefdoms of Britain and the twenty Imperial Counties along the Southern Channel Coast. As long as he maintained stability in this fundantal power base, no amount of chaos in other regions could capsize his rule.
With the war concluded, the Expeditionary Force gradually departed from Northern Italy. However, the diterranean Fleet continued to expand, with its number of cannon ships increasing to eight.
Joren lit his pipe. As he puffed out clouds of smoke, he didn't forget to grumble quietly. "We were too late. If we had arrived half a year earlier, we could have sailed to the waters between Southern Italy and Greece to harass Basil's supply lines."
Suddenly, he turned to Brigadier General Hadvard beside him. "Now that the fighting is over, there will be at least eight to ten earldoms granted in enfeoffnt. You should definitely be among them. Do you have a specific fiefdom in mind?"
Hadvard gazed out at the endless azure expanse of the sea. "I haven't decided yet. As long as it is by the ocean, I'll be satisfied."
Joren scratched his head. "Nice? Genoa? Or maybe the east coast of Northern Italy? If there's truly a place you want, you need to hurry and speak to His Majesty."
Having followed Vig for nearly thirty years, Joren was well-acquainted with his liege's way of thinking. For a very long ti moving forward, the empire was highly likely to focus solely on internal affairs. This upcoming wave of enfeoffnt could be considered the final feast. If anyone missed out now, they would likely never see such a golden opportunity again in their lifeti.
In mid-July, Vig returned to his loyal Londinium. After his ship docked, the Crown Prince and the Cabinet hosted a grand Triumph for him, as was customary.
His golden carriage rolled down the main thoroughfare. After traveling a short distance, a bustling construction site blocked the path ahead, nearly choking the entire street. Pedestrians and carriages flowed slowly around it, like water parting around a reef.
Vig sounded puzzled. "What is this?"
The Pri Minister explained, "Your military rits have surpassed those of all living monarchs. The nobles and rchants decided to pool their funds to construct a magnificent Triumphal Arch to commorate it all. Rest assured, it hasn't cost the treasury a single penny."
'Is that so?' Not having to spend his own money put Vig in an excellent mood. He examined the construction site with great interest and requested the blueprints from the chief engineer.
The Triumphal Arch was designed with a triple-arch structure: a massive central archway flanked by two smaller ones. It stood approximately sixty-five feet tall and eighty feet wide.
Currently, the construction crews were busy excavating the foundation. From a courtyard on the right side of the street ca the rhythmic clink and clank of chisels. Artisans were carving marble reliefs that would later be mounted on the structure's surface.
The chief engineer explained that the estimated construction ti for this marvel was two years. They had conscripted the finest artisans across Britain, and the civil engineering departnt of Lundinium University was also assisting.
"According to historical records," Vig noted, "Roman emperors and generals would return victorious, leading captives and spoils of war through their triumphal arches right away. How could they possibly build them so fast?"
The chief engineer hesitated. "Er, stone triumphal arches in Ro also took a notoriously long ti to complete. When generals returned in triumph, they passed through temporary wooden arches. We have prepared one of those as well, just a short distance to the north."
After observing for a mont longer, Vig handed the blueprints back to the engineer and resud the grand yet tedious ceremony.
Soon, an ornate wooden archway appeared ahead, adorned with symbolic spoils of war, statues, and gilded wreaths. It failed to capture Vig's interest; right now, he only wanted to return to the reclining chair in his office and go to sleep.
Once the emperor's carriage returned to the Royal Court, the Triumph was officially declared over. The Expeditionary Force retreated to the eastern suburban camp, where the War Departnt calculated their rits and military pay before discharging them in batches.
"A whole year of grinding away, and it's finally quiet."
Håvarun dumped his administrative chores onto his subordinates. Leading a black horse laden with spoils of war, he entered the eastern gate of Londinium.
He was the fourth son of the wealthy rchant Harry. His family commanded imnse financial power, and their mansion was located in the West End—where land was most expensive—separated from the royal palace by rely three streets.
In the eastern part of the city, a lingering scent of alcohol hung over the streets. Countless taverns, theaters, and public bathhouses were offering half-price deals to entice the victorious returning soldiers. The entire capital was steeped in a rare, jubilant atmosphere.
The further west he walked, the more the raucous noise faded away, replaced by occasional patrols of detectives and military police. At a certain intersection, Håvarun was stopped by two black-clad military policen. He didn't lose his temper; instead, he obediently pulled out his identification from his coat, stating his rank and destination.
After verifying that the cavalry Colonel's identity was genuine, the military policen offered a respectful salute. "Your Excellency, there are simply too many drunken soldiers causing trouble today. The boys are just carrying out routine checks."
"I understand," Håvarun replied, tucking his papers away. He continued leading his black horse down the road, encountering two more checkpoints along the way.
Over ten minutes passed before Håvarun stood before the grand gates of his family's estate. The fragrant scent of blooming flowers wafted over the high walls, instantly settling his mood into a state of tranquility.
The very next mont, the gatekeeper rushed out to enthusiastically welco the young master ho. Håvarun tossed him the reins and strode straight into the courtyard.
The architectural style of high-end estates in Britain closely mimicked that of Ro. At the center of the courtyard sat a marble fountain inlaid with colorful mosaics. The bubbling water produced a crisp, lodic trickle. Verdant vines climbed the pillars of the surrounding cloisters, while the flowerbeds boasted vast expanses of irises, lavender, and Damask roses imported from the East.
"Such vibrant blossoms... I bet they didn't co cheap," Håvarun muttered under his breath. Just then, Harry ca jogging out, completing a full circle around his youngest son.
"Not a single scratch! It seems the money I donated to the temple actually paid off. Co inside; I need to speak with you."
Upon retreating to the second-floor study, Harry brought out a prized bottle of vintage wine and poured a glass for each of them. As soon as they sat down, Harry eagerly began probing for news.
"In your last letter, you claid to have achieved a great rit during the decisive battle. What exactly happened?"
Håvarun drained his wine but found it lacking the desired kick. Standing up, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet, bit off the cork, and briefly recounted the events.
At the ti, many cavalryn had been drawn to the Labarum, the banner representing the Eastern Roman Emperor. Håvarun, however, had sensed that sothing was off.
He had ignored that conspicuous target, instead rallying mbers of the 4th Ranger Battalion to give chase toward the south. They pursued the enemy until that afternoon, successfully cornering over two thousand fleeing Greek soldiers.
Håvarun ordered his n to gather scattered allied forces nearby, successfully forcing the enemy group to surrender. They captured two generals of the Eastern Roman military districts, along with over two hundred high-value targets—nobles, civilian officials, high-ranking clerics, and court eunuchs—while also seizing a massive haul of royal ceremonial items.
By evening, he had arranged for his subordinates to escort the captives back to the main camp while he continued the pursuit. Through a sheer stroke of luck, he managed to pluck the Duke of Naples right out of a clump of roadside bushes.
"The operation lasted until the next day. Judging by the sheer value of the captives, the 4th Ranger Battalion vastly outperford every single infantry regint, mountain infantry battalion, and fellow ranger battalion. His Majesty even praised personally and granted a field promotion to cavalry Colonel."
Harry's face shone with expectation as he pressed on, "So, you actually have a chance of being granted a higher noble title this ti?"
Before the expedition, Håvarun's title had been Baron, with a fiefdom located in a remote stretch of Flandre. The annual revenue it provided was entirely negligible, not even enough to cover a single day of their family's expenses. The true value lay solely in the prestige, proving that Harry's household officially belonged to the aristocratic class.
"Judging by His Majesty's attitude, I'm guessing... I might just be promoted to Earl."
Harry was infuriated by his youngest son's casual tone. He slamd his hand heavily against the desk. "How can you use the word 'might' for sothing of this magnitude?! There is a world of difference between a Baron and an Earl. Over the past few years, more than twenty barons and knights have been stripped of their titles, all over trivial nonsense.
"In truth, the Great Nobles have their share of scandals too, but the emperor rarely pursues them. The privileges enjoyed by the Great Nobles far exceed those of Minor Nobles. As long as it doesn't involve outright rebellion, any other offenses barely even register as problems."
Harry held a thirty percent stake in the Wool rchant Guild, along with various scattered business ventures. For this pivotal opportunity, he was fully prepared to sell off portions of his shares to raise the capital necessary to grease the right palms.
Håvarun was utterly taken aback. "Is that really necessary?"
Harry's tone was ironclad. "To squeeze our way into the ranks of the Great Nobles, any price is worth paying. Don't you dare slack off these next few days. Go out, attend gatherings with your colleagues or your old classmates. Don't be lazy about this. The wealth and prosperity of our family for the next several centuries hinge entirely on this mont."
An unknown amount of ti passed before an exhausted Håvarun finally stepped out of the study. Waiting outside were his three older brothers, along with their wives, concubines, and children. The atmosphere in the hall was noticeably awkward.
Harry had always staunchly adhered to the philosophy of diversifying his investnts. His four sons had been guided down distinctly different paths: the eldest son worked at the rchant guild's headquarters in Londinium, the second son handled business across the Baltic Sea, the third served as a civilian official, and the fourth had joined the military.
None of them had expected the fourth brother to end up being the most successful. Despite serving as a Ranger in the most perilous combat zones, he had survived two massive wars without missing a beat. Now that he had a genuine chance of being elevated to a Great Noble, it was all but guaranteed that the overwhelming majority of the family's fortune would go directly to him.
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