219. The Snake That Climbs the Tree.
219. The Snake That Climbs the Tree.
[Ihihih-hihihing-!]
Horses were truly mysterious creatures.
Plump bodies with spindly legs, from a distance they looked exactly like chubby sausages with four toothpicks stuck in them. Those weren't my words—someone had told me that in one of the few remaining strands of memory from my past life.
Convincing, wasn't it? These adorable creatures were born to run, and looking at their sleek backs, they were born to carry humans.
An utterly human-centric view, but that was what livestock was. Used and eaten for human purposes, and the sentimental side would only come calling after the solemn decrees of missiles and nuclear bombs finally descended upon this earth.
Until then—and likely after as well—they would continue to live and die for humans.
[Dagak-dagak-dagak-]
"Hold them back—!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
Perhaps the earliest humans had been somewhat smaller in build, and horses too had been smaller.
Now, by around 868 Anno Domini, both humans and horses had grown somewhat taller and larger in frame, and as time flowed onward still, truly monstrous humans and horses would eventually appear.
But the point was, at this point in time, it was difficult for cavalry to break through a firmly entrenched infantry shield wall.
[Puru-reuk! Puru-reuk!]
A horse was undeniably a creature of intelligence, and some foul-tempered ones were proud beasts who beat down fierce wolves with techniques like biting, kicking with their hind legs, and body-slamming.
But if the bond with its rider was truly intense—or if the name of the human riding on its back was Helgi Ragnarsson—then the horse could perform feats of skill that few humans, in this era and even in ages far beyond, would ever be capable of.
[Dugu-dugu-dugu-!]
'Now! Fall!'
[Kkuuuk-! Pu-reuk! Chwahaaak!]
A tremendous force I had never felt in my life squeezed both sides of my waist, and as I felt a pull on the reins as if tied to a great boulder, only the signals I sent occupied the mind of the horse I rode.
This simple beast, denying all reality before its eyes in the face of absolute power, galloped at full speed solely on my command, then immediately accepted my strength without any doubt, slammed on the brakes, and slid across the dirt ground—
If Camembert or my cavalry troops had been with me, they would have crashed right in, but this brown horse with round eyes and rough, spittle-laced breath was one I was seeing for the first time today, and that East Frankish shield wall was quite elite even as it scrambled to reform its ranks.
So I loosened my feet from the stirrups, lightly stepped onto the saddle, and with the forward momentum, gently launched my body upward.
[Tak-]
Viewed in slow motion, it looked as if a horse running with all its might had suddenly twisted its waist and flung the person on its back.
[Shhhiik-!]
"Uuh-"
My body, shot into the air like an arrow, felt a freedom as if underwater, and through the wind brushing my face passed a sense of liberation that seemed not of this world.
Feeling no discomfort at all in speeds and altitudes a human should never experience, I moved my body smoothly and kept my balance as if walking through the sky.
Above the heads of the East Frankish so-and-sos—every single one staring up at me with dumbfounded expressions—I felt myself gradually descending and slowly drew my sword across.
[Fuuuuuung-! Seogeok! Kuuung- - -!]
A massive downward slash that likely drew the greatest parabola of any sword strike swung by a human in this world.
Like a lightning bolt cleaving the sky and crashing down. The fortunate Frank standing in its path was instantly split in two, becoming a witness to history without any pain.
But before the colossal impact caused by the weight and speed of my body striking the earth after the sword had passed, the other wretchedly unlucky warriors of East Frankia sharing that space with me fell into a collective state of panic.
[Ssssss-]
"What, the, what is that—"
"The Norseman... flew through the sky."
"It's an angel of death. That man is an apostle of death!"
I had once saved Michael, the Emperor of the Eastern Romans, by using a running long jump to leap over the cavalry. As I had felt back then, my body's physical abilities—strength, agility, and sense of balance—enabled a landing like a cat's.
Even if not quite the human cannonball I had idly joked about in my head, I had flown a fairly long distance, yet my ankles, knees, waist, and the surrounding muscles showed no abnormalities whatsoever.
Not even the slightest discomfort.
'This being the case, even if people call me a demigod, there hardly seems to be any room left to argue.'
I had already felt it when I smashed a giant boulder with my bare fists at Uppsala, but there was much about this body that was hard to understand, difficult to explain away as merely having received the benefits of the system.
But since it was a problem that yielded no answers no matter how much I pondered it, I simply had to grow ever more shameless.
Fortunately, the greatsword I wielded had no eyes, nor any mercy.
[Chalgeurak- chalgeurak- seogeok! Chwahak- peoseok! Peoseok!]
Without evening my breath, I strode forward and swung my sword at once, and five warriors collapsed before me in an instant.
"Must hold, must hold them back. Hold that back! Must hold..."
"Shield! Spear! Shield! Spear! Shield!"
[Peoseok!]
"Kha-!"
[Teolsseok!]
As if his mind had finally broken at the sight of me advancing in silence and bringing down my greatsword, I ended the suffering of a warrior who madly muttered about shield and spear while raising and lowering both arms, all in a single stroke.
My swordsmanship, by now so silent that not even the sound of swinging could be heard, could take a life without the victim even knowing it—so long as it struck only the vitals.
Was it, so to speak, something like crocodile tears. The self-consolation of a predator who, if he was going to kill anyway, wished at the very least to send the prey off without pain.
[Buuuuuuung-! Buuuuuuuuuuung-!]
"Fall back!"
"Run!"
"Save your lives—! Flee!!"
When it was already difficult to confirm any more will to fight in the eyes of the East Frankish warriors retreating in backsteps. From the vicinity of the enemy commander, now much closer, the blaring sound of a horn rang out two or three times.
At that, seeing them turn their backs without a second glance, even hurling away their shields and spears as they wailed and fled—this was apparently the signal for retreat, signaling the end of this battle.
From Bremen Castle, the warriors of the North Sea and Frisia who had been defending desperately all rushed out at once, and through the path I had carved open with my airborne(?) assault operation, the North Sea's finest elite guard seized the horses of the enemy cavalry and mounted them, riding furiously to pursue the defenseless enemies.
[Ihihihing!]
"Fylkir!"
Stórolf, who had been quietly watching the flow of the battlefield where offense and defense had changed places, diligently spurred his horse on and approached my side.
He, too, sat upon a sturdy-looking brown horse, and his strong hands naturally gripped the reins of another horse, keeping it firmly in check.
"Hup- cha."
I lightly kicked off the ground, leaped up, and settled smoothly into the saddle.
[Purrrr!]
I calmed the horse's anxiety as it tossed its head at the sudden weight by tightening my legs on its flanks and smoothing its mane, then slowly moved forward, following behind my warriors who were relentlessly driving the fleeing enemy.
[Dugu-dugu-dugu-]
"Throw down your weapons and surrender!"
"If you refuse, die!"
"Run! Do not stop, run!"
"Save your lives!"
Once an army collapsed, the advantage of numbers, great or small, became meaningless.
The Northmen of Bremen had fought valiantly, and East Frankia simply could not withstand my charge when it struck at the perfect moment.
They were now retreating en masse, infantry and cavalry alike, leaving behind countless dead, wounded, and prisoners.
For my first battle on East Frankish soil, this was a result to be well satisfied with.
"Stórolf. It is good to be zealous in the pursuit, but you must not push too deep. You will need to ride ahead with the banner and stop our warriors who have grown too excited."
"Yes! Fylkir! Understood! Yah!"
[Dagak-dagak-dagak-]
I had been quietly watching Stórolf dash off with a gallant bearing when Ivar's plan suddenly came to mind. I looked around, but my second eldest brother was already nowhere to be seen.
He was likely at the very front of the pursuit, weighing the right moment to turn back.
I had sent Stórolf, so by invoking my name, he would be able to halt the warriors who were briefly intoxicated by blood.
Amid the scattered corpses of the dead and the dying. After patting the rump of the brown horse that now seemed accustomed to my weight, placidly swishing its tail, I brought my own light steps to a halt.
From the wide-open gates of Bremen, Northmen and Frisians, their faces and gear smeared into an unrecognizable mess of bloodstains and mud, came rushing out, and all of them were shouting my name at the top of their lungs.
'By a low estimate, the dead and wounded from this single battle number two thousand. Three thousand? It's practically an annihilation. The best their commander can do now is wait for reinforcements at Verden. West Frankia's emperor has taken the field himself—what about East Frankia?'
As I was calmly sorting my thoughts, men with filthy faces smeared here and there but beaming with joy came running toward me with all their might.
First, I had to celebrate the victory.
"Fylkir Helgi! Fylkir Helgi Ragnarsson!"
"The strongest one! The strong one!"
Like fans cheering at the sight of a rock star, the warriors kept shouting, raising their weapons, from which blood still dripped, high into the air.
Like people who kept shouting until they collapsed on the spot.
*****
Without my mythical breakthrough arriving just in the nick of time, the battle near Bremen would have ended in a result favoring East Frankia: the recapture of Bremen.
The fight surrounding this palisade hill was that fierce, and the final frenzied charge and retreat were its climax.
Naturally, the field was still littered with the bodies of the dead, their heads buried in the dirt wherever they fell. Our North Sea army and the Frisians, who had shouted victory chants and sung at the top of their lungs with sweet mead, were forced to begin clearing the battlefield after only a single day of rest.
I could not even guess how vast a pit we would have to dig to bury all of them. The situation along the Weser was not favorable enough to afford such a luxury, so we ultimately decided to burn the remains of both our comrades and the nameless enemy.
Neither burial nor cremation was an unfamiliar funeral rite in this Europe. Fortunately, we gathered the quality timber that lay scattered in abundance, and since most of our men were already followers of Hel, they had no trouble offering a line of prayer or a proverb to send the departed on their way.
Most of the fallen enemies were believers of the cross, but regrettably, every single bishop among our host had been released to the Emperor of West Frankia. Therefore, all who died in this battle were destined for Valhalla or Hel's hall.
I had not heard of heaven in any great detail, so I could not know which afterlife among Valhalla, Hel's domain, or heaven offered the best welfare. But at the very least, Hel would not deal shabbily with the dead. So, since we were conducting their funerals anyway, I hoped they would all convert to our faith in the process.
It was not as if the dead had much say in the matter.
In any case, the survivors were frantically busy for four days.
Ivar and Stórolf, who had spent two full days in pursuit, returned with satisfied expressions. More than five hundred East Frankish warriors, somehow having survived the chaos, became our prisoners and docilely cooperated in clearing the battlefield.
One side was filled with tears and grief, the other with laughter and songs of victory.
In sports, you could lose at any time, but in war, you absolutely must never be defeated. You could lose a battle, but you had to win the war.
I steeled that resolve once more.
As originally planned, in West Frankia, we had secured Rouen Castle on the Seine, Margrave Robert of Neustria was dead, and Salomon of Brittany would soon move again towards Le Mans.
The Emperor of West Frankia had sworn to cease hostilities and had withdrawn, but he still had another powerful margrave, Boudewijn, and his own son who was skulking in Aquitaine.
On the East Frankish front here, the great victory at Bremen had driven the enemy's main force back to Verden, and Hamburg was scheduled to continue its lonely fight without reinforcements.
What would the Emperor of East Frankia do? Was Árpád of the Magyars running rampant through the central and southern territories of East Frankia as he pleased?
Had Lothar finished his consultations with the Emperors of Italy and the Eastern Roman Empire by now?
'First, Verden.'
According to the prisoners' words, the commander leading the Saxon army around Verden was a renowned East Frankish general named Heinrich.
If I crushed him, Duke Louis of Saxony would come out. And if I crushed even Duke Louis of Saxony, the Emperor of East Frankia would have to show his face.
In the middle of a maturing spring, I vowed that before this year was out, I would secure Lothar his divorce.