After persuading the Welsh clans to join the war, Shrike returned to Tamworth to report.
After hearing the report, Vig remained calm.
"Eight hundred damaged suits of armor, plus an entire county as fiefs, in exchange for two thousand militia and seven hundred longbowmen. A fair price. You did well."
With the matter of Welsh reinforcements settled, Shrike withdrew. Vig lifted his cup of water and ordered a guard to summon Ceolwulf, who was waiting in the reception hall.
After Ivar led his army north in retreat, Ceolwulf had remained stationed in Oxford, only to be quickly besieged by four thousand Wessex troops.
During that time, the attackers busied themselves constructing siege engines. When news arrived that Charles of Poitiers's Frankish army had been defeated, the Wessex forces were shocked by how swiftly Vig had acted and hastily packed up, withdrawing back to Reading.
With the siege lifted, Ceolwulf learned of the recent upheavals and rode to Tamworth to probe Vig's next move.
"Hand over your cavalry and supply provisions," Vig said. "You'll take the remaining infantry and garrison Oxford. After the war, your lands will not be reduced."
Different stakes meant different treatment. At this point, nobles like Ceolwulf and Little Pascal had lost most of their strength and were nearly useless. Being allowed to keep their domains was already generous.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Ceolwulf agreed.
He had only fifty cavalry left—fewer than even Earl Lennard. With reinforcements from the two men, Vig's cavalry strength recovered to seven hundred.
After Ceolwulf took his leave, Vig refused further visitors. He returned to his study, staring at the cluttered maps on his table, occasionally adding new markings with a quill.
"Our cavalry is at a disadvantage," he murmured. "It severely limits our tactical initiative and reconnaissance range… hm. I need another solution."
At the same time, Londinium.
Gunnar was faring no better, tied down by endless affairs and unable to leave the city.
First, Orm and Ulf in the south were still stubbornly holding their lands. Their cursed castles were simply too tough—assaulting them would be slow and costly, leaving only long-term sieges as an option.
More troubling was the chaos in Londinium and Cambridge. Soldiers extorted nearby villages every few days. At first, they targeted Vikings—but soon even Anglos of the same faith were not spared, steadily fueling popular resentment.
The Vikings hated Gunnar, viewing him as a traitor and refusing his rule. The Anglo-Saxons, meanwhile, were secretly plotting to restore a ruler of their own people—clearly, Æthelbald fit the bill best.
"That useless fool," Gunnar cursed. "He can't even take Oxford, yet he dares eye my Londinium?"
He dispatched an envoy to Reading, delivering a blunt warning to his mediocre ally: withdraw those rumor-spreading spies immediately, or face consequences.
Once that was done, Gunnar focused his attention on Vig.
According to Charles's report, Vig possessed five thousand suits of standardized armor—nearly every soldier was an armored infantryman, with combat power that crushed the Franks.
"Strange," Gunnar muttered. "Even a plain suit of armor costs at least two pounds. Five thousand sets means ten thousand pounds of silver—not to mention spears, axes… Where did he get that kind of money?"
Seated on the throne, Gunnar arrived at three possibilities:
First—while serving as chancellor, Vig secretly siphoned a vast sum from the treasury, deceiving Ragnar and the council alike.
Second—Vig's talent for managing his lands surpassed even his military skill.
Third—the rumors were true: he was chosen by the gods, and those black armors were divine gifts.
"No… that's not right," Gunnar sneered. "The North is cold and rugged—there's no way to squeeze that much profit from it. He must have embezzled the treasury and fooled everyone. Well played. I need to stabilize Londinium quickly and deal with that cunning viper myself."
For more than a week afterward, fighting in southern Britannia fell into stalemate. Vig stared at the maps on his table, feeling eerily similar to the predicament Ivar had once faced.
Hard first, then easy—or easy first, then hard?
After long deliberation, Vig chose to hold his ground. Instead, he ordered the navy to strike Gunnar's supply fleets, deciding on the next move based on results.
At present, the ducal estate had requisitioned five two-masted square-rigged ships—two from merchants of Tyne Town, three originally ordered by Little Erik. Together with the estate's own two vessels, that made seven new square-rigged ships in total.
As the most advanced ships of the age, these two-masted vessels far outperformed knarrs and Viking longships. Paired with new weapons, they could utterly crush enemy transport fleets.
As for fleet command, Vig's first thought was Helgi, but the man had twisted his waist badly while playing ball and was temporarily unfit for action.
After careful consideration, Vig appointed Joren instead.
Upon receiving his commission, Joren rode back to Tyne Town to inspect the fleet assigned to him.
Boarding one of the square-rigged ships, he noticed massive, strange crossbow-like weapons mounted at both bow and stern. Vig had mentioned such weapons before, but Joren had never understood how they worked. Scratching his head, he asked the crew, "Are these things any good?"
The captain stepped forward. "Very good. The stone shot can punch straight through a Viking longship's hull. They can also fire jars of burning oil to set enemy ships ablaze."
The weapon was called a torsion ballista, invented in ancient Greece and widely used by Rome. The duchess had discovered its design in an old parchment and produced the first working model three months earlier.
Its mechanism was complex. Power came from torsion springs—bundles of horsehair twisted into cords, mounted vertically in a wooden frame. By twisting the cords, energy was stored and released to hurl stone shot or javelins forward.
After repeated testing, the ballista could launch a twenty-kilogram stone up to three hundred meters, using direct fire with a flat trajectory. By adjusting sights and elevation mechanisms, it achieved impressive accuracy.
By comparison, counterweight trebuchets followed a parabolic arc and were far less precise. Moreover, the ballista's mount allowed horizontal rotation and vertical adjustment, making it far more suitable for naval combat.
Once familiar with the shipboard weapons, Joren summoned the seven captains and announced that they would sail in two days.
One of them asked, "Admiral, where are we attacking?"
"You'll find out when the time comes."
For security, Joren kept strict secrecy. Only after the fleet left the mouth of the River Tyne did he gather the captains and reveal the full plan.
"Attack the Franks?"
Some men felt a surge of fear, resisting such a dangerous mission—but they had no choice. Each square-rigged ship was additionally assigned twenty-five soldiers wearing padded armor. Besides boarding actions, they also served to enforce discipline.
The fleet turned south, sails filling with wind, as a new front in the war quietly opened upon the sea.
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