Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 167 The Viking King
Lexal's suggestion was adopted, and the remaining nobles made further demands: lower tax rates, exemption from regular pilgrimages, and the formation of a noble council with the power to resist the Duke's (Hafdan's) orders.
Ragnar nodded: "Okay, everything is negotiable."

With their demands met, the nobles, their faces grim, took turns pledging allegiance to their new master. Neither side looked pleased, their eyes revealing resentment and a sense of threat.

"Wait until Ragnar leaves, then we'll see how we beat you up!" This was the nobleman's thought.

“A bunch of country bumpkins. I’ve been slowly saving up money over the years to buy weapons. You’ll get what’s coming to you!” This was Hafdan’s plan.

After the ceremony, Hafdan received a ducal title that was not yet secure. Ragnar dismissed everyone and spent most of the day alone with his son, as if to impart all his life experience to him at once.

"Finally, let me emphasize again: treat civilians within our borders with kindness. The more outstanding a person is, the more arrogant they may be. Always remember to respect these people and don't push them to the other side."

"I know, you've said it twice, no, three times already."

Hafdan yawned, thinking himself quite adept at winning over warriors; otherwise, he wouldn't have founded the Sword of North. Seeing his distracted expression, Ragnar, who still had much to say, was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Erik and his son.

As Ragnar stepped out the gate to greet him, he almost didn't recognize his old acquaintance. This didn't look like a king; he was clearly just an ordinary shaman.

"Long time no see, old friend. I heard you pacified Denmark and Sweden in one fell swoop, so I came here to congratulate you."

Eric walked steadily with an oak cane, wearing a gray-brown coarse linen cloak. He was still fat, with a square face, wide ears, and a round double chin, but he no longer had the air of old age and senility. Instead, he had a refined air of having experienced many ups and downs and had gained profound understanding.

The two men embraced, Ragnar's expression slightly unnatural. He had originally planned to take care of Norway along the way, ostensibly to punish Eric's usurpation. But now, with Eric and his son openly visiting the camp and finding no sign of discord between them, the offensive had completely lost its legitimacy.

"Old buddy, I heard about what happened a while ago?"

“Fake news, you shouldn’t believe the lies of drunkards.” Eric pulled his eldest son to his side, claiming that he had voluntarily abdicated the throne, that there was no coup, and no messy conspiracies.

Eric publicly refuted the malicious rumors with ulterior motives, and even had his eldest son kiss Ragnar's left hand as a sign of respect and obedience.

Now, Ragnar had no reason to attack Norway. The two countries were in an alliance and marriage relationship. If he were to conquer it by force, his decades of accumulated prestige would surely vanish, and the Norwegian region would fall into long-term turmoil. The nobles of Denmark and Sweden would also be dissatisfied.

After pausing for several minutes, Ragnar composed himself and spoke again: "Those who spread rumors are truly hateful; may the gods punish them."

Eric and his son repeated, "May the gods punish us."

The fear that had been weighing on his heart dissipated, and little Eric found a quiet shady spot to sit and rest. Soon, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

Eric: "Do you know why I helped you?"

“Because I am more suitable to inherit the throne than Horst or Heath. Horst is mediocre; after more than ten years of hard work, he still only controls the area around Schleswig. He always thinks others are fools, but in reality, it's just that the nearby lords are yielding to him, fearing to incur your wrath. Heath is too young, and with turmoil looming, he has absolutely no chance of keeping this position.” Eric acknowledged his eldest son's answer. He sat on the grass beside him, gazing at the unchanging fjord scenery. After a long while, a raven landed on his broad shoulder, mistaking him for a strangely shaped rock.

“Indeed, your knowledge is broader than Hafdan's, so dealing with him shouldn't be a problem. As for Niels, his ambition is too intense, which is both a strength and a weakness. Ambition can inspire motivation and unleash unprecedented potential, but the weakness is that ambition can sometimes cloud one's judgment and lead to unexpected consequences.”

Thinking about it carefully, Ragnar was indeed very lucky to have gathered such formidable figures as Ivar, Vig, Gunnar, and Nils. The problem is, ordinary people simply can't control them. Once Ragnar dies, it's destined to trigger a great upheaval, potentially engulfing the entire Viking world. You must remember to remain patient and avoid unwittingly getting involved in this war.”

After saying that, Eric slowly got up, leaning on his cane, and prepared to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Walk around and take off this burden. The scenery in front of you will become much more open. Don't look for me anymore."

Ignoring his eldest son's call, Erik ventured alone into the vast, desolate wilderness, intending to visit temples throughout the land and explore a new path suited to the Vikings.
Thus, the turmoil that swept across Northern Europe came to an end. Before leaving, Ragnar made a special trip to Kalmar, which he had not visited for more than ten years.

Along the way, Vig observed the nearby villages and found that the population of Northern Europe was dwindling; sometimes he would walk for more than ten miles without seeing a single local. Occasionally, he would encounter packs of wild dogs, no longer afraid of humans, emitting deep whimpers, their foul-smelling saliva dripping from the corners of their mouths, their scarlet eyes fixed intently on the passing army.

"Bandits pass by like combs, soldiers pass by like fine combs. The berserkers of the Sword of North are like both bandits and soldiers. With them causing so much damage, Sweden will not be able to recover for twenty years. I wonder how many immigrants will arrive this year."

Five days later, Kalmar.

Surrounded by hundreds of nobles and knights, Ragnar returned to his original country farmhouse.

After more than a decade of neglect, this place has become a ruin, overgrown with weeds. The turf roof that once sheltered us from the wind and rain has collapsed in large part. The oak beams and pillars lean crookedly toward the sky like broken whale bones. The stone foundation has been washed away by rain and is in disarray. Broken pottery jars are scattered at the base of the walls, and the cracks are covered with cobwebs.

As he approached, Ragnar excitedly shouted, "Look, Ivar, Bjørn, Hafdan, these are your childhood drawings."

He pointed to a stone in the corner of the wall, on which were drawn five small figures, two large and three small. Then, hunching over, he continued searching and found a rusty sickle and tattered fabric hanging from a broken beam.

He tiptoed, took down the piece of woolen cloth woven by Lagassa, held it in his hand and looked at it for a long time, then silently walked to the back of the house and sat down next to the old ash tree that still stood tall.

"My father told me that the old ash tree was there when he was building the house. He originally planned to use it for the construction, but just before he was about to lay the axe, he suddenly abandoned the idea and thought it would be nice to leave a big tree behind the house."

After a long while, Ragnar recalled a bard's words: when someone spends more and more energy reminiscing about the past, it means he is truly old.

(End of this chapter)