Imperial headquarters had already prepared procedures for precisely this situation.
Company clerks immediately began registering the population and livestock.
"Four thousand people..."
"Fifty-three thousand sheep."
"Two thousand six hundred cattle."
"You've been living quite comfortably."
"Looted from the Balkans?"
Havrun laughed before sending messengers to notify the main army.
The surrendered tribe would soon be escorted to the rear.
On September 10, a thousand mounted scouts galloped in carrying the Crown Prince's orders.
The chief and four hundred able-bodied men would accompany the main army.
The rest would return west of the Visegrád Mountains and temporarily occupy one of the prepared wooden forts.
"As you command."
On the steppe, survival meant obeying the stronger power.
Luntu readily selected four hundred young men.
As a gift to his new master, he also brought five thousand sheep.
Escorted by Viking cavalry, the remainder of the tribe turned northwest.
After several days of travel, they reached one of the new settlements still under construction.
The camp was a perfect square.
Laborers dug trenches roughly two meters deep.
Excavated earth formed an embankment behind them.
Beyond stood an unfinished wooden wall nearly five meters tall.
Packed earth filled the center while timber reinforced both sides.
Archers would eventually fight from its parapets.
Inside the camp, wells, warehouses, and barracks were under construction.
The entire layout followed permanent military specifications.
After the war, abandoned forts could easily become permanent towns.
The tribal shaman quietly asked,
"Will this become our home?"
If surrender meant receiving such a settlement...
Perhaps it wasn't such a bad bargain.
The lieutenant colonel of the garrison regiment handed him a bottle of sugarcane liquor.
"No."
"Your temporary settlement is west of the mountains."
"It'll be built to the same standard."
He continued,
"But after the war..."
"You'll probably return east."
"If you're willing to abandon nomadic life and settle permanently..."
"You may eventually receive one of these forts as your own."
After accepting Luntu's allegiance, the Crown Prince rewarded him generously with silver, liquor, and dyed cloth.
More importantly...
Luntu revealed the locations of neighboring tribes.
The various Viking detachments immediately set off in pursuit.
Within little more than a week, Luntu successfully persuaded four neighboring tribes to surrender as well.
Each numbered between 2,000 and 5,000 people.
These were not Magyars.
They were Pechenegs or Khazars, peripheral peoples subordinate to the Jute Khanate.
They felt little guilt betraying their overlords.
The Crown Prince personally questioned each chief.
Armed with their intelligence, he ordered the garrison regiments to continue constructing settlements while the field army advanced deeper into the plains.
News eventually reached the Khan's royal camp.
Borsho grew increasingly furious.
Half drunk, he vented his anger by whipping slaves.
Over the previous six months, the Jute Khanate had absorbed numerous smaller tribes.
Its total population now exceeded 160,000.
The three Magyar tribes occupied the eastern basin.
Subject tribes had been settled in the west.
If nothing changed...
Every one of those outsiders would eventually defect to the Viking Empire.
Borsho had no choice.
As Khagan, he summoned the warriors of all three Magyar tribes.
A vast host rode westward.
Late September.
Gray clouds covered the sky.
The endless prairie rippled with yellow grass.
Havrun's 2,600-man detachment marched as usual.
He even yawned lazily atop his saddle.
As though waiting for something.
Suddenly...
Mounted scouts came racing back.
Their horses frothed at the mouth.
"Cavalry!"
"Massive cavalry force!"
The scout sergeant's voice had gone hoarse.
He pointed desperately behind him.
"Southeast!"
"Five miles away!"
"At least ten thousand Magyar horsemen are approaching!"
Havrun remained perfectly calm.
He dispatched two scout companies to summon the main army before ordering the rest of his force into defensive formation.
In truth...
The immense steppe held few secrets.
The Vikings had already learned that the Khanate's main army was assembling.
Three days earlier, Frode had convened a war council.
One detachment would deliberately serve as bait.
Its mission:
Lure...
Fix...
And hold the Magyar army in place until the decisive battle could be fought.
Because Havrun had already survived one encirclement, his force had been selected for this extraordinarily dangerous assignment.
Soon the wagon fort stood complete.
Food, tin water containers, and weapons were piled in the center.
The horses were tethered to wooden stakes, snorting nervously.
Then...
The ground began to tremble.
A thin black line appeared on the distant horizon.
Moments later it burst outward like a flood.
Tens of thousands of steppe cavalry swept across the plains, raising an enormous wall of dust.
Several hundred meters from the wagon fort...
The cavalry stream split apart as though striking an invisible dam.
Within moments...
The entire Viking force of 2,600 men had been surrounded.
Silence returned.
Only cold wind fluttered the banners while horses breathed heavily.
Standing behind the wagon barricades, Havrun gazed across the endless ring of cavalry.
The pressure was almost suffocating.
Raising his voice, he shouted to his soldiers,
"Don't worry!"
"His Highness will arrive tomorrow!"
"Once we win this battle..."
"There'll be no shortage of rewards or glory!"
Following their previous defeats, the terrifying reputation of Viking artillery had spread across the entire steppe.
Borsho first sent forward two thousand slave spearmen.
They advanced cautiously toward the wagon fort.
BOOM!
At one hundred meters, the cannons opened fire.
The slave shield wall seemed struck by an invisible hammer.
Bloody gaps instantly appeared throughout the formation.
As the line faltered, Viking archers and crossbowmen unleashed volleys.
Another hundred slaves fell.
Their morale collapsed.
Borsho stroked his frightened horse.
His face darkened.
To break this wagon fort...
Slaves and ordinary tribesmen would accomplish nothing.
He would have to commit the royal household troops and the elite warriors of every tribe.
Was it worth the cost?
He hesitated.
Then a commander of a thousand rode over.
"Khagan."
"We've located the main Viking army."
"They're expected to arrive..."
"...around noon tomorrow."
—------------------------------
Pat reon Advance Chapters: patreon.com/YonkoSlayer