After spending a week, Niels ordered the carpenters traveling with the army to build battering rams, additional ladders, and shielded carts. Borrowing tactics once used by the Varangian Guard, they launched a full assault and finally captured Antwerp.
When the fighting ended, Niels inventoried the spoils and found that his earlier fears had come true.
After months of conflict, Antwerp's trade had been severely disrupted. The population had fallen to fewer than two thousand, and its wealth was far below expectations. The plunderers were deeply disappointed.
After consulting with Halfdan, the fleet moved on to Ghent. But the locals had reinforced their defenses as early as March. The raiders besieged the city for days, until the Count of Flanders arrived with cavalry and lifted the siege.
Calculating the gains, Halfdan estimated his share at roughly fifty pounds' worth of silver. He now considered such a sum beneath him. Roaring in frustration, he startled flocks of waterfowl from the reeds along the riverbanks.
"Damn it! We launch a grand raid and come away with this? No. This time we plunder until we're satisfied."
"This may be too risky," Niels instinctively objected. But he could not resist the collective will of the raiders. Even his own men clamored to continue.
Halfdan ordered ten heavy cogs to transport the captured goods and prisoners to the nearest British port. The main force remained along the Flemish coast.
Soon, guided by a local merchant, the fleet sailed upstream along the Weser River. Dense oak and birch forests lined the banks, forming what looked like a vast green sea.
After a full day of travel, they reached their first major target—Bremen, a key Saxon stronghold protected by wooden palisades and earthen ramparts.
Along the way, they had encountered no resistance, nor any beacon towers for warning. Taking advantage of the lax defenses, Niels selected an elite detachment to disguise themselves as merchant vessels and approach first, with the main fleet following close behind.
After a brief but bloody fight, they captured the town—and even took the lord's wife and daughter prisoner.
"Now this is more like it," Halfdan said with satisfaction. He ordered wine brought up from the cellars and livestock slaughtered for celebration.
After a night of revelry, they continued upriver, storming more than twenty settlements of varying sizes. Spoils piled high. Captured goods were continuously shipped back down to the river mouth—some returned to Scandinavia, others sold in Britain.
By mid-August, the raiding fleet reached a royal estate called Kassel. There, over a thousand defenders had hastily gathered, including three hundred cavalry.
Niels urged caution.
"It's time to withdraw. Poorly organized light infantry cannot withstand a cavalry charge. If you insist on attacking, I cannot join you."
Over the past month, each of them had gained goods worth eight hundred pounds. Their men, too, were richly rewarded—like wolves who had eaten their fill. It was time to retreat and digest their gains.
That night, ignoring Niels's warnings, Halfdan led his berserkers in one final assault. They stormed and burned the estate, escaping before dawn.
Ultimately, the fleet exited the Weser unopposed. After dividing the loot, the alliance dissolved.
Niels did not immediately return to Schleswig. Instead, he sailed to Londinium to sell part of his plunder.
Throughout the chaos caused by Halfdan and Niels, Vig remained uninvolved. He merely ordered the fleet to patrol the southern straits, ensuring the raiders did not accidentally prey on British shipping.
Overall, the large-scale raid had weakened Flanders and indirectly benefited him.
When Niels arrived, Vig welcomed him warmly at the palace.
During the banquet, Vig posed a pointed question:
"Niels, you're one of the more thoughtful Nordic nobles. Why raid East Francia? Their northern border touches Denmark. If war breaks out, your lands in southern Denmark will be the first struck."
Niels's face tightened.
"My original plan was to raid Flanders. But there was little to take. Then someone suggested following a guide up the Weser. The majority supported it. I couldn't restrain the army's appetite…"
As he spoke, unease crept into his heart.
He changed his purchasing strategy. Instead of buying woolens or strong liquor for resale, he used all his funds to purchase arms—two hundred sets of old armor and over ten thousand arrows.
In September, Niels returned to Schleswig and was met with alarming news:
Hamburg was assembling a large force and stockpiling supplies.
Hamburg lay seventy miles south of Schleswig, a frontier outpost of East Francia with roughly two hundred households.
"This is clearly aimed at me."
Alarmed, Niels sent scouts southward. They confirmed the presence of King Louis the German's banner, along with the standards of the Duke of Saxony and other lords.
Northern Germany was thick with forests and marshes. The enemy was clearing roads and building bridges—giving Niels precious time.
War was inevitable.
He summoned his vassals and ordered them to assemble at the Dannevirke.
The Dannevirke was a roughly thirty-kilometer-long earthen rampart and palisade system marking the boundary between Danish and German lands. Built piecemeal over centuries by various rulers, it had fallen into disrepair under Niels's rule.
"Don't waste time. Mobilize every militiaman. Repair the walls. If the Franks break through, nobles and peasants alike will suffer."
At the same time, Niels sent letters to Ubbe, Halfdan, and young Erik, begging for aid—for the sake of Viking kinship.
Northern Denmark, Aalborg
Before a gathered crowd, Ubbe was overseeing the execution of a noble.
"...Lord, you have committed the unforgivable crime of treason. I, King of Denmark, strip you and your family of your lands and sentence you to death by hanging. Do you have any final words?"
"You are not my king!"
Ubbe signaled. Soldiers placed a black hood over the condemned man's head and tightened the noose around his neck. A wooden support was kicked away. The noble thrashed wildly, legs kicking in empty air.
Soon, the struggle weakened—then ceased.
Ubbe swept his gaze over the spectators and spoke coldly:
"This is the fate of traitors."
In the early days of his reign, Ubbe had ruled with relative softness—some even called it weakness. Everything changed after the assassination attempt. Officers bribed by Aslaug had severed half his left hand and left a permanent scar across his face.
During recovery, Ubbe reflected deeply. He emerged transformed, ruling with harsh severity. So far, he had executed eleven nobles and redistributed their lands to loyal guards, forging a new order.
Only the dead never betray.
Ubbe inhaled slowly.
At that moment, an attendant handed him a letter sealed with wax.
"Your Majesty, news from southern Denmark."
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