135.
135.
A sudden thought crossed my mind.
When that priest, who had bowed his head alongside the people of Alt Clut down there, later wrote down the record of this event.
Would he not depict me as a horseman of the apocalypse? Such a thought.
My appearance crossing the Seongmun with pitch-black hair and beard, mounted on a pitch-black horse... could be somewhat threatening to these people, after all.
But I was not such a thing.
I would not slaughter every man taller than a wagon wheel, nor would I forcibly take and sell the women.
Partly because the 21st-century conscience and common sense still remaining within me caused a severe revulsion toward such acts, and more than anything, because it brought me no great profit.
If the people of Alt Clut and the River Clyde remained quiet, I intended to govern them quietly as well.
'I will let you go at any time if you desire independence. Once Mercia, East Anglia, and Northumbria are stabilized... the approximate timeframe is five years.'
Once Mercia and East Anglia, which were practically the Alpha and Omega of this expedition, were stabilized, lands like this... honestly, holding them was a burden.
I would prefer if we just maintained appropriate cooperative and trade relations. It didn't matter even if they decided not to cooperate.
'In a similar sense, aren't Novgorod, Polotsk, and Kiev practically semi-independent powers? I'm not sure how long this ambiguous relationship will last... but on the day they eventually become independent, I can gladly send them off.'
No matter how I thought about it, they were lands I could not keep forever.
To use the waterways, a stable system had to be maintained, so a position akin to a hidden mastermind subtly manipulating things from behind seemed best, but.
For now, since everything revolved around me somehow, I had no choice but to watch and wait a little longer.
'With this, have I completely conquered central Britain...?'
After the duel at Alt Clut, Paereogeos refused all food and sleep for a time.
Because I could understand that heart to some extent, I simply left him be and watched over him.
Arthgal's body, under the guidance of the priests, headed for the graveyard where the ancient bloodlines of Alt Clut slumbered.
It was a small hill converted into a tomb, and I spoke with Rhun ap Arthgal in that space that felt a chill.
"It was an honorable duel. Arthgal of Alt Clut shall live forever in the memories of the people as an honorable lord and warrior."
"...Thank you."
It was, in truth, a death Arthgal had brought upon himself, but from the son's perspective, it was difficult to think that way. I had also experienced something similar, so I could understand that heart a little better.
Finding it difficult both to entrust Alt Clut to Rhun and to leave it vacant, I made a single proposal to Rhun.
It was likely an offer that Rhun, who was still my captive, could not refuse.
"Rhun ap Arthgal. Believe my words or not, that is your freedom, but I truly have no interest in this fortress."
A fortress that was finished the moment it was besieged. I had no need for the title of King of the Swamps. Rather, the value of Glasgow, which controlled the middle and upper reaches of the River Clyde, was far greater to me.
"If you give me one promise, after some time has passed, I will leave the ancient throne of Alt Clut empty so that you may return to this place."
"...I shall listen intently. Ríheu."
Rhun, who showed emotions more complex than simple sorrow at his father's death, accepted my words with difficulty.
"Set aside your grudge against Paereogeos. Let the enmity between your bloodline and Paereogeos, between Alt Clut and Dull Blann, be buried alongside your father. Then I shall properly refrain from coveting the seat that should return to you."
"..."
Perhaps because my proposal came too out of the blue.
Rhun could not continue his words for a while.
Just as Arthgal had said before he died. A throne was a position that constantly forced a person to make decisions that could be called irrational, and at times, cruel.
If my proposal was refused, I had no intention of touching whatever choice Rhun made from now on. Whether he dreamed another revenge against Paereogeos, or nurtured a dream of fighting against me...
But if he made such a choice, I would have no choice but to seize Alt Clut.
"...Why do you go so far as this? Helgi Ríheu- no, Konungr. Why do you intend to stop my revenge and even yield this place to me? The strong seize from the weak- kill- and rule. Is that not the law we have followed until now and must follow in the future?"
Rhun, his gaze fixed on his father's coffin, asked me. His voice was hoarse, but held the stifling heat of a tormented man's volcano.
"That the strong take from the weak is the law-. Who established that?"
To my question answering a question, Rhun could not find a word to say. Since I had not expected an answer in the first place, I continued.
"It is laughable for a conqueror like me to say such things, but I will rather give. I will protect- feed- and let them close their eyes in peace, so that such wicked, old laws will not even be remembered."
"...Will that truly be possible?"
In Rhun's eyes, as he finally turned his head from the sarcophagus to look at me, was an indescribable emotion, fully brimming.
If the light in his father Arthgal's eyes at the final moment was something transcendent, close to remorse.
Rhun's eyes were something closer to will, desire, and hope than that.
My reflection in Rhun's bright blue retinas seemed like only the brilliant green eyes shining in a shadowed face.
"I am the one who has even denied the old gods. What trivial ancient tradition like this cannot be broken? When all beneath me are the weak, what meaning is there in dividing the strong and the weak among yourselves? I am 'the Strongest.' Rhun ap Arthgal. I never lose."
At my declaration, which was also a vow, it felt as if the symbol of Hel hanging at my neck faintly trembled. It was subtle, but it felt as if something definitely shook.
'Having already smashed rock, a necklace trembling a little is no big deal... are you watching, by any chance? I ask of you earnestly, Goddess. My family, myself, my people. Please look after them well. I will zealously spread the faith and ensure all can die comfortably.'
While I offered up a somewhat impious prayer in my heart, Rhun, who had turned his gaze back to his father's coffin, answered me.
"Alt Clut will help rebuild Dull Blann. We will also solemnly conduct funerals for the remains buried beneath it. The long-standing enmity with Paereogeos and the ancient throne sleeps with my father. And... I shall ensure it does not awaken again. This is witnessed by the old gods and the Lord, so should I dare to break this oath, a curse shall fall upon Alt Clut and its throne."
Rhun's appearance as he forced out his last words held both a sense of guilt and a simultaneous lightness.
"Good. The contract is established. Until you are ready, Alt Clut will be governed by your proxy. Choose the proxy at your will. We plan to leave for the Kingdom of Scotland soon, so you shall join as my escort."
"I shall do so. Konungr."
The time had now come to reunite with Ivar.
*****
The brave noble who had come to me as a messenger was appointed as the acting governor of Alt Clut.
He was perceptive and fairly courageous, and it seemed he had also left a significant impression on Rhun, who had been bound in ropes at the time.
Though he called it an honor, how he watched my mood more than Rhun's... I had a premonition that, however much time passed before Rhun returned to this place Alt Clut, something troublesome might occur when he did.
"So. Paereogeos. Once all matters on the island of Britain are over, what do you plan to do now?"
The time was the year 867, the fourth month of summer.
Time flowed like a shot arrow, and before I knew it, four months had passed since the expedition set out. Since we departed at the tail end of winter, was it five months?
Looking down at my army, which had finished preparations to depart, I climbed a high hill and faced the wind alongside Paereogeos, Thorbjörn, and Halfdan.
"What would this unlearned fellow do, Konungr? I plan to go see my father. I must raise the cornerstone again, and rebuild the house."
Paereogeos, who showed a hollow laugh, seemed to have been struck all at once by the years he had endured in just those five days, his wrinkles deepening and the frost in his hair thickening.
Yet only his strong eyes and solid flesh testified that this man was not yet dead, that he could still fight further.
"Paereogeos. As I said to you before, do you not intend to properly work under my command? If the front line displeases you, you may simply train my warriors by selecting them strictly. I shall rebuild Dull Blann so splendidly that the past will not come to mind, so do not worry too much. What do you say?"
"Haha-"
Letting out a laugh of dismay at my subtle sales pitch, Paereogeos bowed deeply to me.
"Konungr. I have received a grace that I could not fully repay even if I were born again. If I ever have a family again, I and my sons, my daughters, the sons of those sons, the daughters of those daughters shall live forever for the Konungr. For the Konungr's sons and daughters."
At Paereogeos's words, which held earnest emotion in a calm voice, I paradoxically realized that he was truly exhausted.
"However, I am now like ash that has all burned out. My body moves, but the soul within it does not. My life was already fully spent there, 17 years ago."
Surprisingly sentimental, Halfdan wrinkled his nose and turned his head, while the guards maintained silence.
Down below that hill, 12,000 warriors were arrayed under the command of Refil, Seutorolpeu, Oleg, and Djur.
On the river behind the hill, Boideu of Kilmarnock, newly appointed as the administrator of Glasgow and Govan and my proxy, bellowed at the top of his lungs, directing the ceaselessly arriving ships.
Looking down at the ordinary sight of an expedition's departure day, I spoke to Paereogeos, whose head was still bowed.
"Paereogeos of Dull Blann. If it has all burned out, clear it away quickly and start anew. Should you ever need help, do not hesitate to seek me. The gates of Árós will always be open to you."
[Thump-]
Placing my hand on Paereogeos's shoulder, I turned my body.
Halfdan and the guards followed behind me, and Paereogeos, still in his bowing posture, did not stir a bit.
As I wished good fortune to the warrior who had finally chosen to set down his sword.
I checked the greatsword and scabbard hanging on my back once again.
*****
The lands of the Kingdom of Scotland.
In truth, domestically, the northern coast of the Kingdom of Scotland, which was mostly populated by Picts, had long since been handed over to the Norse Jarls of the Kingdom of the Isles.
Causantín (Constantín mac Cináeda), who could not possibly overcome those sporadic engagements, ultimately retreated, setting his course for the eastern coastline instead of the southern highlands.
Anyone knew that entering the highlands made defense easier, but the problem Causantín had to face was not only that vicious Ivar or Olaf.
What made Causantín, who had been evenly matched and rather gaining the upper hand against those barbarians, suddenly decide to retreat was right after news arrived that his long-time rival, Arthgal of Alt Clut, had died.
Helgi Ragnarsson.
A name that now made names like Ivar, Olaf, or that Togeunbaldeu of Orkney, or Ketil of the Petty Kingdom of the Isles, not particularly frightening.
Because entering the highlands right now, when a terrifying army of 12,000 led by the Norse king was advancing north, meant being pincered from front and back.
Causantín had no choice but to head for his eastern base.
To buy even a little time.
'But time for what?'
The initial plan must have been for that apostate Uhtred to draw attention by harassing them in the north, while the boastful Mercia liberated East Anglia in the south.
The plan that went awry from the start, and the fact that he was too blinded by the fruit before his eyes to cut his losses in time, was surely the root of all this nightmare.
But he could not give up. Such a thing was unacceptable to the breast of a proud Pict.
'The fight is not over yet...!'
Now, for the sake of generous surrender terms rather than victory, Causantín's head spun endlessly.