204. The Gallican Hymn (2).
204. The Gallican Hymn (2).
It was an overpowering stench and a deafening noise.
A wretchedness so intense that a tender soul would suffer physical and mental wounds just by looking.
An environment where the foul odors and screams from human bodies flooded nostrils and ear canals alike.
A place where the sound of arrows tearing through the wind occasionally grazed the air.
Yet the Frankish warriors who stood in the very heart of that uproar, as if they were men who could feel no stimulus to their hearing or smell, all together hid their bloodshot, wide-open eyes behind ragged breaths.
"Huh-! Huh-!"
[Shwae-aek- Shwae-a-aek- Hududuk! Pabak!]
"We must advance! Move the ladder!"
"For God and His ImperaThor!"
[Yaaaa-! Hududuk! Hududuk!]
Naturally, even in the army of West Frankia, there were bowmen, and their skill was quite excellent, but drawing a bowstring upward from below was something hard to expect when it was already a struggle to even raise one's head.
Instead, to a man, they kept their heads bowed low and diligently stepped over the fallen, never halting their steps as they carried the thick, long ladders.
[Hududuk! Hwiiing- Peok! Peopeok!]
"Kuk!"
"Don't stop! Don't stop!"
"Keep running!"
Past the helmets pulled low and the shields raised overhead, beyond the narrowed field of view, even as comrades to the front, back, and sides fell, the warriors carrying the ladders never stopped.
And at last, the first ladder of the West Frankian army—whose number of fallen I did not even want to know—touched the sturdy wooden palisade.
[Tak-!]
Of course, climbing up this ladder was a different matter from bringing it this far. The future was truly dark, but the proud elite troops of Carolus ImperaThor had no other choice.
"Climb! Climb up!"
"God wills it! God wills it!"
"Kill the heathens! Let's kill the Northmen!"
A wave of our own soldiers, who had slowly been letting go of reason ever since being struck by the catapults, pressed on from behind, and right before our noses, rows of wooden pillars as thick as a man's waist stretched out.
When we tested them with an axe, we found that beyond these timbers there was surely packed earth of the very same material we now stood upon.
At the very least, earth that could not be dug out with an axe.
"Go!"
"Climb without fear! Climb with faith!"
"For the ImperaThor! For Francia!"
[Hududuk! Hududuk!]
By pressing tight beneath the sturdy palisade because of the angle of fire, the enemy's arrows actually decreased.
Besides, on both sides, the ladders that had finally arrived had begun to go up one by one, so now was the time to truly see what faces those Northmen had.
With hearts driven by rage, West Frankian soldiers grasped shields and swords, axes and the like, and climbed the ladders one by one.
[Shwae-aek- Shwae-aek! Peok! Pak!]
"Uk!"
"Kuk!"
[Tang-! Taeng-!]
Of course, climbing a ladder was not so easy against a well-prepared foe. Unlike on the ground, where one only had to mind one's head, in the empty air, with nowhere to hide one's body, the flank was left completely exposed.
These mad Northmen had, in a short time, raised the existing low hill even higher, and the palisade they had built atop it was higher still.
A target that looked far more distant than it appeared. Arrows far more threatening than those from the ground.
Using the screams of comrades falling one after another as fuel, a nameless warrior of West Frankia climbed step by step, and at last, laid his rough and wounded hands upon the solid enemy wall.
"I, yaaaaa-!"
Fear was a thing born from the unknown.
Beyond this final step, beyond the high wall, the West Frankian warrior, unable to know what threat lay in wait, lifted his upper body with a full-throated roar.
And soon, though it was hard to see clearly through his face-guard, he came face to face with a Northman warrior whose mouth was clearly parted in a bright grin.
"Welcome, Frank! I have been waiting for you!"
"Ah-"
[Huuung-!]
[Peok!]
"Kuk-"
With no time to react, an axe blade fell from above down and struck precisely the center of the Frankish warrior's forehead; of course, the Frankish warrior, his consciousness blown away, fell backward and dropped below.
"Farewell, Frank! Oh! Come on, come, Frank!"
[Huuung-!]
[Kok!]
"Aak!"
[Pyung! Pyupyung! Shwae-aek-! Shwae-aek!]
The warriors of West Frankia pushed on along a path literally paved with blood, and they kept climbing the ladders, and they kept falling back down.
*****
Should I call it tenacity?
Their assault was dogged and chilling.
Ballistas and Skolfio, even plenty of bows and arrows. In truth, we had not been negligent in our defensive preparations, yet somehow they still managed to raise their ladders.
"Hold them—!"
"Don't let them set foot on the wall!"
"You idle bastards, don't rest—keep drawing your strings!"
"Give me more arrows here!"
The sight of them climbing with sheer desperate will, heedless of how many arrows they had in their bodies, concerned only with crossing this wall—it was something to be seen less as discipline and far more as madness, as men driven forth by fear.
In any case, they were pushing men into our space one by one, and for those of us holding them back, that was nothing but bad news.
It seemed the catapults had been more shocking than expected; the fear that retreat meant death had instead acted as a catalyst.
"Let's go, Thorbjörn."
"Yes, Fylkir!"
I, who had been observing this from the highest watchtower of the garrison, moved my steps, and Thorbjörn and my guards followed behind me.
After passing Refil, who was preparing the reserves below the wall, with his salute left behind, my senses of smell and hearing, climbing step by step up the wall, drew a map of the battlefield in my mind.
'Let's go to the place that is loudest and full of the smells of blood, sweat, and filth.'
[Seureureung-!]
[Seureung-!]
[Seuk-!]
I rotated the long scabbard slung on my back and caught it in my left hand, and the moment I drew my greatsword in one motion, my guards likewise gripped their respective weapons in their Örn hands.
For a shield wall formation, even a man born left-handed was required by absolute rule to hold his shield in his left hand and his weapon in his Örn hand.
I intended to teach those battle-mad Frankish warriors that unspoken rule of the battlefield.
"Yaaaa-!"
The moment I stepped up the last stair, the sound of a beast howling reached me at once.
[Hwik! Puk! Pupuk!]
"Keu- eu- kolluk!"
Frankish warriors, who even as many a blade-tipped spear that chain mail could not stop flew into their bodies and pierced deep, yet with eyes they could not close they clutched the shafts tight and breathed their last.
Upon the man who had certainly driven his name into the top line of the Valkyrie's list leading to Valhalla, several enemies scrambling up the ladder from behind him had fallen away.
"Ya, yaaaaa!"
"Yiaaa! Kill them all!"
"In God's name! I will not forgive you!"
[Tatat- kwang!]
"Gurk!"
"Huh?"
Before the Frankish warriors, enraged by the death of their comrade, could charge forward, I had already leapt out beyond my warriors preparing their shields.
And so, I had presented the condensed power of my thigh directly to that Frankish warrior who was rambling about forgiveness.
The Frankish warrior, kicked cleanly away, had soared through the sky vomiting blood from the kick of the great demon king Helgi, and soon plummeted below.
[Thud-]
"Uwaa-"
The blood scattered in the air had settled on the ground, and the Frankish warriors who had been staring with eyes unable to comprehend my sudden appearance soon had no choice but to lose their heads.
[Hwoong-! Seogeok! Degul-]
Beyond the faces rolling atop the rampart with dazed expressions, tense bodies had collapsed, and I saw another face rising over the ladder.
"Attack! Att-!"
"..."
"-tack...!?"
A battlefield filled with chaos and madness. Perhaps the strange stillness and order surrounding me had seemed alien. The Frankish warrior who met my eyes had frozen in place, and from below, voices crying out for attack, God, and Imperator Thor had urged him to move quickly.
"You worked hard climbing up."
[Jeobeok- Jeobeok-]
He seemed to finally come to his senses at the sight of me casually stepping forward and speaking to him.
"Die! Norseman!"
I caught the hand-axe thrown with a voice that was nearly a scream in my left hand.
[Hwirik hwirik hwirik tak!]
And returned it to its original owner.
[Hwirik hwirik hwirik-! Kwak!]
"Guh-"
I approached the West Frankia warrior whose eyeballs had rolled back at a strange angle as he fell backward, and gave him many companions for his final journey so it wouldn't be lonely.
"Hup-!"
[Grgrk- Kiiiik kiiiii-]
"Uh- Uwaaa! Uwaaaa!"
"No-!"
"Jump off!"
"Aaaak!"
[Kiiii- Kwang!]
The ladder I had grabbed with both hands and pushed with all my strength could not withstand a force greater than the weight clinging to it and had slowly toppled backward, and except for a few warriors who attempted escape, they had been slammed straight into the ground.
[Pwing! Pyupyung! Swaeaeak- Swaeaeak-!]
A Frankish warrior who had narrowly avoided being crushed beneath it had unknowingly raised his head to look at the rampart, and an arrow that flew in at a maddening timing had planted itself in his face, blooming a single red flower.
[Thud! Thud!]
Beyond that sight, I looked upon the ranks of the West Frankia army that could not be seen from inside the rampart, and saw those climbing the rampart, those soon to climb, those in the center holding shields and dying, and those at the very rear shouting at them to go forward.
Even the figure of Imperator Thor, still mounted on a horse and staring this way, could not escape my sight.
'They are already wavering. I cannot bear the curiosity of what will become of them if I clear away all these ladders.'
Carolus had placed far too large a bet on the first engagement.
To inform him of that fact, I soon batted away a blind arrow with my left hand and then shifted my steps toward the next ladder.
"Twenty-two!"
[Hwoong! Kwajik!]
"Twenty-three!"
"Yaaaa-!"
[Hwoong! Chaeng! Kwak!]
"Kurk!"
[Hwoong-! Seogeok! Degul-]
"Twenty-four!"
As if his two-handed axe was already shattered, Stórolf, who wielded the Meteor Sword I had given him in one hand and his shield in the other with breathtaking skill, was counting numbers even as he utterly destroyed the enemies climbing the rampart.
I stepped into the gap among my warriors who were diligently working their spears and swords while supporting that Stórolf, and I kicked an enemy who had just jumped off the ladder with all my might.
"Yiaa!"
[Kwang-!]
"Gurk!"
[Thud]
A Frankish warrior once again spat out ruptured internal organs from his mouth, leaving a crimson trail. That nameless human projectile had fallen below, leaving only this ladder.
"Hup!"
[Grurrr-! Kiiiiii- Uwaaa-! Stop! Stop! Don't do that! No-!]
"My Fylkir! I shall help! Yaaa!"
[Kiiii- Kwang! Aaaak!]
Stórolf, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of me pushing the ladder alone, had rushed over and reached out his hand, but the ladder had already toppled over just before.
"Stórolf. Your swordsmanship has improved further. We must clean up the rest of these ladders as well. Follow me."
"Yes! My Fylkir! It feels just like when we returned to Jorvik!"
A smile unknowingly tugged at my lips at Stórolf's cheerful tone.
Had I helped Ubba first back then? Based on the center of the palisade Stórolf was holding, Ubba and Björn were on the left, and Ivar and Guthrum were on the right.
From the look of it, Ivar's side seemed to be in immediate danger.
"Thorbjörn! Tell Refil to support the left flank of the palisade!"
"Yes, Fylkir!"
Refil probably knew too, but it was better to confirm each other's paths of movement.
"Let's go! Brothers of the North Sea!"
"Yes, Fylkir!"
"Aooo-ooooo!"
My strength, which they could not possibly believe unless they saw it with their own two eyes. The warriors who had witnessed it answered by letting out a wolf's howl in unison.
I felt my own heart burn hot at that primal and instinctive sight.
Today, I intended to achieve victory here alongside my warriors.
*****
"Don't make a loud noise."
"Yes...! Jarl...!"
[Seureuk- Seureuk-]
The rampart of the North Sea army's garrison, where a fierce battle was underway.
There were ships gliding over the Seine River, which flowed majestically to its south, as if sliding across it.
"There is a limit to how much they can ignore us. Does this mean they have all forgotten who we are?"
Their identity was none other than Jarl Thorstein of the Kingdom of the Isles and the warriors under his command.
These forces of the North Sea, who had been waiting to scout and, if necessary, strike up from the lower Seine to scatter the enemy's attention, had seen the grand ranks of the West Frankia army being pushed back in an instant, and saw that they were receiving no check at all.
In that case, they would just have to make themselves noticed.
To Thorstein, who was licking his lips, the massive hulking backs of the West Frankia army looked just like the plump belly of a deer.