Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 133 Hometown
After the peace treaty was reached, Ulf did not immediately return to Londinium to report back, but instead took the time to visit Kunsel—his hometown.

Riding a packhorse, Ulf led ten shield guards eastward. The scenery along the way was desolate, with sparse oat ears in the oat fields on both sides, jostled and bent by weeds. Not far away, a farmhouse had half its wall collapsed, and waist-high thistles sprouted from the cracks, where one could vaguely see the bones buried.

"It's only two days away from Oslo, yet it's been abandoned to this extent?"

At noon, the group rested at a nearby farmhouse and asked for a bowl of water. A dried wolf pelt hung under the eaves of the farmhouse. According to the owner, three months ago there were still sporadic wolf attacks on people and livestock, but with the outflow of people, even the wolves have now been driven away by hunger.

Ulf scratched his head, said nothing more, and walked for five days along the country dirt road, returning to his hometown after seven years.

The scenery in Konsel was equally dilapidated, with crooked boundary markers covered in moss along the roadside. In the distance, a shepherd boy was herding a small flock of sheep when he saw ten armored soldiers following behind the rider. Terrified, he abandoned his flock and ran away.

Ulf was embarrassed to find that his people had forgotten what he looked like, so he drove his packhorses over two low hills and into the settlement.

"grown ups?"

The old butler ran out barefoot to greet them, and the remaining residents also flocked to Ulf's side. In total, there were only 150 people left, and there were hardly any young faces to be seen.

“My lord, ever since Ragnar conquered Britain, young people have been inspired by him to always want to go out and make their way in the world. The population of our territory is decreasing day by day, and we can’t even spare the manpower to repair the stockade walls.”

Hearing the complaints of the crowd, Ulf remained unfazed and announced that taxes would be halved for the next five years. He had already profited greatly from trade, and Konsel's annual taxes were only worth a few hundred silver pence, so even if they were all waived, it would not make much of a difference.

Upon entering the lord's longhouse, Ulf walked toward the tall chair draped in a bearskin.

Upon closer inspection, the bearskin was riddled with holes from insects and ants. Sitting on it was no longer as soft and comfortable as before; the seat beneath creaked and groaned under the weight.

"Fortunately, I am relatively thin. If it were King Eric or Leonard, who is getting fatter and fatter, this chair would probably have collapsed long ago."

To entertain the lord who had not returned for many years, the steward slaughtered a lean sheep and had someone go to a nearby stream to catch a few river fish, thus preparing a makeshift feast.

This time, Ulf had a much better appetite, sipping coarse ale and gnawing on lamb ribs with little meat, occasionally mentioning names he remembered to the butler, until his consciousness gradually faded.
After a week's rest, Ulf left Consel amidst the cheers of the crowd, accompanied by fifteen young men and women, who planned to travel to Britain to enjoy a new life, including the butler's second son.

After traveling some distance southwest, Ulf arrived at Örebro, the territory of his old neighbor Leonard, which was also dilapidated and sparsely populated.

"Looking back, the two families used to argue all the time over small plots of farmland on the border. Now, even the farmland near the settlement has been abandoned and turned into grassland. These conflicts have naturally dissipated."

Four days later, Ulf led his entourage to Gothenburg, planning to take a ship back to Britain from there. This area was under the jurisdiction of Hafdan.

In Ulf's memory, Hafdan was a dissolute prince who spent his days idly in the palace, far inferior to his two older brothers. Unexpectedly, when they met again, the man had completely changed, becoming a slovenly, burly man with a thick hair and a full beard.

"Long time no see, Your Highness."

"Long time no see, Jarl."

Hafdan greeted Ulf with traditional courtesy, pulling him by the arm into the lord's longhouse. The house reeked of body odor, and dozens of warriors draped in bear and wolf skins were drinking and boasting. Berserker?

A word came to Ulf's mind, meaning "the bearskin-wearer," or what could be called a berserker.

Instantly, his vigilance spiked to its peak. "Damn it, where did Hafdan get so many lunatics? What is he planning?"

In past battles, Ulf had seen stray berserkers who, before fighting, would consume hallucinogenic mushrooms, entering an indescribable state of frenzy, ignoring pain and fatigue, and wielding double axes to crush enemy formations.

Besides killing the enemy, they can even boost the morale of friendly forces and weaken the will of the enemy.

Unfortunately, berserkers are eccentric and difficult to control. Throughout the entire island of Britain, only Ragnar and Ivar each have a small squad of berserkers under their command.

Soon, the banquet began. The berserkers grabbed pork and lamb chops and ate them, juices dripping down their messy beards, looking like a group of poor people who had never had a full meal, which made Ulf feel a little nauseous.

After several drinks, the berserker, emboldened by the alcohol, chatted idly, during which he made disparaging remarks about nobles such as Vig and Gunnar, believing that they had abandoned Viking traditions.

"Hiccup, Vig's name resounded throughout Northern Europe, and as a result, he abandoned those strong and skilled shield maidens and married the daughter of an Anglo-Saxon gentry. I heard that this woman's ancestors had some unclear relationship with the Northumbrian royal family."

“Indeed, Gunnar was far worse. He converted to Roman Catholicism for the title of duke, married a Frankish princess, and massacred Viking raiders without any regard for kinship. This traitor is the most hateful.”

"And there are Leonard, Niels, Om, and others."

After listening for a while, Ulf realized the seriousness of the situation.

Throughout the wars, Ragnar, Ivar, Vig, and Gunnar reaped the greatest benefits, becoming one High King and three Dukes.

Ragnar is Hafdan's father, and Ivar is Hafdan's elder brother. Hafdan cannot afford to offend the former two for the time being, so he can only treat Vig and Gunnar as targets of insults.

“This is a big problem. These people are ostensibly slandering Vig and Gunnar, but in reality they are venting their dissatisfaction, believing that Ragnar should not abandon tradition and adopt the Frankish feudal system.”

Ulf sipped his light beer, listening intently to the berserkers' words, trying to guess Hafdan's motives and next move.

Throughout the banquet, Ulf did not refute such nonsense. Even when someone mentioned his name, he pretended not to hear it, lest these madmen cause trouble while drunk.

The next day, Ulf led his entourage to board a ship and flee, but was stopped at the dock by Hafdan, who asked, "Yar, are you a Viking warrior or a spineless coward corrupted by heresy?"

Seeing the berserkers' gleaming swords and axes, he quickly replied, "I am a Viking, my wife is a Viking, and our children are Vikings as well."

“Very good,” Hafdan put his arm around Ulf’s shoulder. “Since we are Vikings, we should follow Viking traditions. We happen to be short-handed for raiding. Are you interested?”

(End of this chapter)