Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 302 Going and Returning

After walking for more than two hours, as dusk approached, Leif became increasingly tired.

He looked around and saw that the soldiers were yawning, many of them using their spears to move forward, and the marching column was gradually loosening. Realizing that the soldiers were nearing their physical limits, he ordered them to rest on the spot.

Leif slept soundly until dawn, then struggled to get up and count the horses. Because the sentries were too tired last night, more than twenty grooms took the opportunity to escape, causing the number of warhorses to drop again.

“Fools! A warhorse is worth more than four pounds. Because of your negligence, the Marines lost a hundred pounds of spoils. That’s all the brothers’ money!”

Leif looked around for a riding whip, intending to lash the negligent sentries, but the next moment, the deputy battalion commander, Invalon, came to dissuade him, "Forget it, let's go back and talk about it. The brothers have been working for a whole day and night, they could fall asleep standing up, there's really no other way."

"Okay, we'll deal with them when we get back."

Forcibly suppressing his anger, Leif ordered the convoy to continue on its way. At noon, he suddenly saw a large flock of birds taking flight from the northern woods.

Are there enemies?
After a moment's thought, Leif abandoned twenty of the slowest carriages and placed them across the middle of the road as a roadblock, while leaving two skilled horsemen behind.

"Once the enemy appears, immediately set fire to the roadblocks and then escape on horseback."

"understand!"

An hour later, a thick plume of black smoke rose from behind. The pursuers were closing in, and Leif panicked. The marines were exhausted and their fighting strength was far from what it used to be, making them unable to withstand the French attack.

In order to speed things up, he reluctantly abandoned the grain, smoked meat, and weapons loaded on the supply wagons, piled them up haphazardly by the roadside, and then set them on fire.

Instantly, acrid black smoke billowed into the air, making the nearest soldiers' eyes water. Leif ordered the soldiers who could ride horses to choose their mounts, while the remaining soldiers boarded carriages and fled desperately toward Hamburg.

However, this was just a forest path, and the road conditions were far worse than the two Roman-style main roads in China. The caravan bumped along, and every now and then a carriage would break down and be abandoned on the side of the road.

As the sun began to set, the marine battalion had fewer than thirty wagons left, and order was increasingly chaotic. The soldiers who could ride horses ran faster and faster ahead, gradually disappearing from sight. Meanwhile, French cavalry silently arrived from behind, pursuing and killing the clumsy and slow wagons.

The distance between the two sides continued to shrink, and Invallon felt bitter inside. "If I had known it would turn out like this, I should have stopped Leif from chasing these damned warhorses."

Bang!
Suddenly, the carriage went out of control and overturned. Invallon was thrown into the bushes by the roadside, rolling around ten times before everything went black and he lost consciousness.

I do not know how long it has been.

"Hiss, where am I? What happened?"

Invallon struggled to his feet from the bushes when he suddenly heard several sharp screams. Through the gaps in the branches, he saw French soldiers chasing down a few scattered Viking soldiers. Terrified, he lay back down, trying his best to suppress his breathing.

Not far away, a knight was looting his spoils when he was quickly drawn to a tin kettle. After tasting it, he exclaimed:
"This water bottle is of good quality; the water has no odor and is much better than a leather water bladder."

He rummaged through the remaining corpses. Every Viking had one of these jugs, and they were all the same size, with strange Viking characters and numbers printed on the bottom, which seemed to be the manufacturer's name and production date.

"Standard armor, standard canteen—where did the Serpent of the North get so much money?"

The knight muttered to himself, taking advantage of his companions' inattention to scavenge as many water jugs as possible. He also found many small boxes; upon opening them, he discovered they contained needles and thread, the backs of the lids worn smooth and shiny enough to be used as mirrors.

The knight stared at the slightly blurred reflection, deeply shocked. "The Serpent of the North is so generous?"

Comparing his own treatment to his own, the knight couldn't help but mutter curses under his breath. He dared not insult King "Bald" Charles, so he could only vent his anger on Prime Minister Lambert, several other cabinet members, and Duke Gunnar of Normandy.

Then, the knight searched through the officer's body and found a strange wooden box. He opened the lid and inside was a thin needle resting on a straight shaft. The knight reached out and fiddled with the needle; when he released it, the needle returned to its original position, still pointing in a fixed direction.

"Dark magic!"

In the chaos, the wooden box fell to the ground. The knight suspected that the object was cursed by the Vikings. After hesitating for a moment, he called his henchman and said, "Keep it safe. Have the priest perform an exorcism when we get back to camp."

The knight shifted the risk to his squire and continued rummaging through the spoils, completely unaware that a figure was quietly lying in the bushes nearby.

Time passed, and the knights, urged on by their commander, finished looting, climbed onto their horses, and galloped away into the distance.

Confirming the enemy's departure, Invalon left the bushes and ran desperately into the depths of the woods. After a long while, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he leaned against a tree trunk, panting, his lungs burning as if they were about to explode.

Just then, a pair of dark green eyes appeared ahead, radiating a cold killing intent. A gray wolf silently emerged from the shadows, its forequarters low, muscles taut, and a deep growl rumbling from the depths of its throat.

The next moment, the gray wolf pounced, and Invalon rolled to the side with all his might, the stench of the wolf passing by him.

After landing, the gray wolf turned around with lightning speed and pounced on its prey's throat once again.

Unable to dodge in time, Invallon could only raise his left arm to protect himself, preventing the fangs from piercing his skin. He swung his right hand recklessly, the tip of his dagger plunging deep into the wolf's neck. Warm, foul-smelling wolf blood spurted out, smearing his cheeks and chest.

"You actually want to eat me!"

Using his weight advantage, Invalon pinned the gray wolf down and twisted the dagger with all his might until the wolf's howl finally stopped.

After the fight ended, he collapsed to the ground, panting. Then he took out his compass, used the faint moonlight to orient himself, and groped his way forward in the darkness until dawn.

As the sun rose higher into the sky, the bad luck that had plagued Invalon seemed to be over. He was lucky enough to find a stream, and he greedily bent down and drank deeply until his belly was full of icy water.

After walking for another two hours, he was found by a mountain infantry battalion that came to meet him, and with the help of his allies, he retreated to the rear.

Hamburg East Gate.

Upon seeing Invaren's appearance, Leif was so excited that he almost burst into tears. The main reason was not because of their friendship, but because it concerned his future prospects.

This operation was an unauthorized campaign. Although it brought back 270 warhorses, it resulted in 120 casualties or missing men, including his own deputy battalion commander!
Now that Invalon has returned alive and kicking, Leif's burden of guilt has lessened considerably, and given the precious warhorses he now possesses, he has a high probability of surviving this ordeal.

(End of this chapter)