Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 101 Ceremony of Loyalty
Seeing the green-cloaked man's stammering expression, Theowuff roughly guessed the reason—Hafdan had been shot in the left arm, and it was probably this guy who did it.

"Relax, my lord. His Majesty has granted a pardon to all Welsh nobles who are willing to submit, and you are naturally included. Uh, I suppose so."

Scratching the back of his head, Theowuff became increasingly unsure of himself as he spoke, turning to look at the "white-haired" Oleg.

"Why are you looking at me?" As the newly promoted commander of the guard and a knight, Oleg had a shallow foundation and dared not offend Hafdan, so he could only give an ambiguous reply:

“His Majesty commanded me to witness this ceremony of allegiance and to pardon all the nobles present. I have done all of that. Everything else is none of my business. As the commander-in-chief of this operation, Vig is the most appropriate person to ask.”

Hey!
Fighting and appeasement are already exhausting enough, why should I be dumped on this mess?
Vig narrowed his eyes and scanned "white-haired" Oleg's entire body from head to toe, as if searching for a suitable spot to operate on.

At this point, two other minor nobles stepped forward and asked Ragnar what he thought of the Welshmen who had defeated Hafdan and Ethelwaugh last time.

Their questions aroused the vigilance of all the nobles, and many of them began to doubt the Vikings' sincerity with shifty eyes.

Sensing the instability of the situation, Vig sternly questioned "White-haired" Oleg, "Is there any precondition for His Majesty's pardon of the Welsh nobles who are willing to submit?"

"Uh, I don't think I heard that."

Vig placed his right hand on the hilt of the Dragon's Breath Sword and approached the latter. "Did you not hear me or not? As an envoy, you can't even do the most basic thing of relaying a message?"

A murderous aura swept over them, and "white-haired" Oleg quickly repeated Ragnar's original words:
“Vigg fought well. The Welsh are willing to submit. Oleg, as my envoy, accept their allegiance on my behalf. Pardon all nobles who are willing to submit. Be as amicable as possible. The kingdom cannot afford any more war.”

With a sigh of relief, Viggo had the Welsh translator relay the original words, announcing that Green Cloak and others were also included in the pardon.

However, after all this commotion, the Green Cloak and the other two leaders became increasingly anxious. "Are you willing to guarantee that Hafdan will not become the Duke of Wales or the Governor-General in the future?"

Vig stood frozen in place. "Gentlemen, as the lord of Tyneburg, I have no right to decide who should be granted Wales."

He looked at Oleg again: "What is His Majesty's attitude? Is there any talk of it in the palace? Speak!"

The situation took a sharp turn for the worse, and Oleg was now terrified. "Some of the maids are talking privately, saying that Hafdan might become the Duke of Wales. However, according to some of the guards' gossip, it seems unlikely that Hafdan will be granted the title of Duke of Wales."

Overhearing their conversation, Theowuff sighed in anguish, rubbing his forehead. The proper ceremony of pledging allegiance had turned into a farce, and now he was in real trouble.

As time passed, the atmosphere grew increasingly eerie. Finally, Rhodes made a suggestion: "The Shrike (the Green Cloak) and the other two leaders are worried about retaliation from the future Duke. Why don't they move to the North? You may not trust Hafdan, but you should trust Lord Vig's promise."

In Rhodesi's plan, the Shrike and two other leaders migrated to the North, leaving behind lands not far southeast of Maratfar, which would be a good deal for him.

He secretly pondered, "The shrike gains shelter, I gain land, and Vig gains a group of loyal subordinates. All three parties benefit at the same time. Haha, I am truly a genius."

After discussing the suggestion with the other two leaders for a few minutes, the Shrike asked, “Based on the ‘Northern Serpent’s’ performance over the past few months, he possesses a rare virtue among the Vikings—restraint. He is a rare and wise lord. What do you think?”

"I agree."

"Me too."

When the three men offered their allegiance, all the nobles' eyes were on Vig. If he didn't even have this much sincerity, perhaps they would have to reconsider their previous promises. "You've ruined me, you've really ruined me."

Vig sighed to the heavens, then drew his Dragonbreath Sword and gestured for the three to kneel on one knee. "I, Vig Tynburg, with the witness of the gods, accept your allegiance and promise to grant you personal protection and each a suitable fiefdom."

Twenty miles northwest of Tyneburg lies a vast expanse of mountains and hills, providing ample space for herding sheep, hunting, and farming.

After a moment's thought, Vig decided to exempt the three tribes from taxes, requiring them to pay only a small amount of fur each year. In times of war, they would be required to serve and be organized into a mountain infantry unit specifically for reconnaissance and harassment.

"How many of you are there in total?"

The shrike replied, "My tribe has two thousand people, and each of them has fourteen hundred."

The total number of people was less than five thousand, with only a little over a thousand being young and middle-aged. It was these people who defeated Hafdan and Esserwolf.
Vig concluded that Ethelwolf deliberately lost the last war, and poor Hafdan was kept in the dark, even thinking of speaking well of him.

“Go back and have your people pack their things. We’ll depart in half a month. According to tradition, new immigrants are exempt from taxes for the first two years, so there’s no need to worry about making a living.”

“Yes, sir,” the shrike and the other two leaders nodded.

Finally, the chaotic allegiance ceremony came to an end.

Five days later, Vig went to Lundnium to report on his work.

Royal Palace Hall.

As the High King of Britain, Ragnar's entourage grew considerably. A magnificent and luxurious throne was placed on five steps, and he wore a golden crown and a bright red velvet cloak embroidered with intricate patterns in gold thread.

Two seats were placed on the slightly lower four-tiered steps. Queen Sora, with her exquisite and aloof face, sat on the right, while the second queen, Asura, sat on the left. A row of palace guards stood around the steps, constantly watching the nobles and officials on both sides of the hall.

It took Ragnar about ten minutes to look through the battle reports and the list of those who surrendered, and he couldn't help but sigh:

"The conditions you offered are too lenient; it will take a hundred years to recoup the costs of the war. Alas, you're letting these rebels off too easily."

Ragnar was unwilling to accept the outcome, but Vig had ultimately achieved a nominal victory, deterring the Anglo-Saxons within his territory. After much internal struggle, he reluctantly accepted reality.

"Very well, what reward do you desire?"

Upon hearing this, Queen Sora, who was sitting to Ragnar's right, became suspicious.

Currently, Ivar is stuck in Ireland and can't get away, Bjorn is wasting his time on a desolate and cold island and is indulging in self-destruction, the third son Hafdan has lost a battle and is living a dissolute and depressed life recently, and the land of Wales should belong to his son - the fourth son Uber.

She cleared her throat, intending to refute Vigg's claim regarding Wales. Unexpectedly, Vigg responded calmly:
“Serving the monarch is my duty as a vassal. If you insist on rewarding me with something, how about this: I plan to attack the northern border, and it would be best if you could provide some financial support for the campaign.”

(End of this chapter)