The Crisis Of Fjorland (2)

“With this, Shomhorn Province has completely fallen into our hands.”

The advance was almost bloodless. After Shomhorn Province, the next region was the heart of the Fjorland Duchy’s stronghold.

They had left 15 Knights and 150 Guards each in the captured castles of Omsden, Sevel, and Tjodalv to ensure stability and defense. If the same number were left in Shomhorn’s castle, over a quarter of the total force would be reduced.

“Now, the Fjorland stronghold is finally within reach.”

Christoph nodded. It was a miraculous pace of advance, a miraculous achievement.

Regaining the Omsden region alone had fully restored the territories lost long ago. With Sevel and Tjodalv added, no conqueror in the history of the Duchy of Nastrand had seized such vast lands.

‘Mother is truly remarkable. How did she devise such a plan and create this situation?’

As Christoph nodded with deep emotion, Morten called his lord’s attention, intoxicated by the shining victory.

“It won’t be easy from now on. There will surely be a counterattack from the Fjorland Duchy’s army, which we haven’t faced yet, on the way to their stronghold. They won’t let us reach it so easily.”

Morten was right. A captured soldier from the castle revealed that young and middle-aged men had been summoned to the stronghold one or two days before the Nastrand army arrived.

Fynel nodded and added to the conversation.

“The regular army is likely deployed south against the Norger tribe or preparing for a defensive battle at the stronghold, but a sizable defense force, including summoned civilians and some soldiers, will be present. After all, they need to buy time.”

“Then what should we do?”

“We’ve already sent scouts. The faster we leave Shomhorn, the less prepared they’ll be. However, the troops are exhausted, so resting here for a day would boost morale.”

“Then do so. I, too, have been tense for days and thought rest would be good. While we reorganize, select a knight to report the capture of Shomhorn to the castle.”

“We will do so.”

Morten and Fynel nodded.

It was a small but sturdy castle. The soldiers guarding it numbered only a few dozen, but all were prepared to die rather than surrender.

“You will be punished! You will surely face divine retribution for this cowardly act!”

“Hm?”

The surroundings grew noisy.

An elderly priest pushed past the soldiers, pointing at Morten, Fynel, and Christoph.

“Why do you invade this duchy and commit reckless slaughter! Do you not fear the Lord? We are all brothers in the Lord—how can you commit such cruel invasion and conquest!”

At this, the soldiers murmured.

Morten frowned. After all, the Nastrand Duchy’s army was the aggressor, and it was true that they were “brothers of faith” sharing the same religion.

The priest’s words, stirring the soldiers’ faith and guilt, were dangerous.

At that moment, Christoph stood up fiercely.

“What about when the Fjorland Duchy waged war on the Bjoern Duchy twenty years ago and seized much of its territory? Were we not all brothers in the Lord then? Is the Lord of then different from the Lord of now? Or does each have their own Lord?”

“What, what sophistry!”

“What’s sophistry? Moreover, I clearly guaranteed no deaths if you surrendered before battle. You refused and fought gloriously to the end. Did that not suffice? You chose death.”

“How can we surrender to a horde of evil wielding unjust swords!”

“Now, listen well, priest!”

Christoph grabbed him by the collar.

“Those are the words our ancestors who died in Omsden and the Bjoern Duchy’s soldiers would have said. No matter how this duchy’s name changes, doesn’t the Lord’s world, collecting tithes based on territory size, remain unchanged? The church and clergy should stick to their own duties.”

“Insolent fools! You’re no different from heathens!”

Clang!

Christoph drew his sword and held the blade to the priest’s throat.

Morten and Fynel were startled.

“You, too, threw stones and brandished a spear until the end. Be thankful you weren’t stabbed to death like the others.”

“Tch, that!”

Christoph twisted his lips.

“Your priestly robes saved you. If you want to die bravely as a warrior, say so clearly. I’ll kill you myself.”

“……”

As the cold blade touched his neck, the priest’s body froze.

“Speak. Will you die here as a warrior or remain faithful as a priest? If you choose the priest’s duty, I will let you go unharmed.”

“……”

Unable to speak from fear, the priest froze as Christoph slowly drew the blade lightly across his neck. A trickle of blood ran down from the cut skin.

Christoph smiled coldly.

“What will it be?”

“…I will remain faithful as a priest.”

“Then return to the cathedral.”

At Christoph’s gesture, two guards approached and dragged the priest away.

Morten and Fynel were astounded by his resolute response.

That night, a Norger tribe warrior arrived at the gates of Shomhorn Castle, filled with resting troops.

With guards aiming bows and surrounding him, the hulking figure, reeking of stench, bluntly said he came to meet his friend Fynel to deliver an important message.

As the soldiers hesitated, Fynel, hearing the commotion, appeared on the ramparts.

“Oh, we meet again, Fynel.”

‘That’s definitely the man I saw at the Windsorg checkpoint! Norheim Sigurdsson, was it?’

Fynel, startled, ordered the gate opened.

Descending the ramparts, Fynel was enveloped in a bear hug by Norheim, who strode forward. Amid the overpowering stench, Fynel reluctantly embraced his thick waist.

“You’re alive, my friend Fynel.”

“Have you been well, Sir Norheim?”

“‘Sir’ to a Viking? Freeze to death! You’ve already come this far? Impressive march.”

“Thanks to the Norger tribe holding the front. By the way, what’s the matter?”

“I bring a message from King Oden. And a few things to mention. Is your king here with you?”

“Not a king, a duke. Duke Christoph is with us in this castle, likely resting now.”

“Resting in the middle of a warzone? Bold man. Call him here at once; I’ll deliver King Oden’s message.”

Fynel tilted his head at the rude request and asked,

“If I walked into your camp like this and called for King Oden, could you bring him out?”

“Our king would already be out just knowing someone from the Nastrand Duchy arrived.”

Norheim grinned as if it were obvious.

“And so, I am here.”

“D-Duke Christoph!”

Fynel turned and was startled. Christoph, now in casual attire, stood with Morten.

Seeing Fynel’s surprise, Christoph smiled.

“I’ve rested enough. I was walking the castle, comforting the soldiers.”

Norheim’s eyes scanned Christoph.

Barely an adult, with reddish-blond curls cascading to his shoulders, passionate eyes, and a chiseled jaw and nose that could charm even the holy and beautiful goddesses Freyja, Sif, or Idun.

“The new lord of the Nastrand Duchy, commanding this entire war, Duke Christoph Lisberget.”

Fynel subtly chided Norheim for staring so rudely.

Norheim nodded and knelt on one knee in respect.

Morten eyed Norheim’s bowed, massive frame—sturdy shoulders and waist, robust arms and calves, clad in crude armor draped with wolf pelts, wielding a sword and battle axe twice the size of a regular soldier’s.

‘This was the majesty of the man who fought me before the priestess long ago.’

Norheim slowly raised his head, his eyes now on Morten.

“As expected, the world still overflows with men worth crossing swords with! Haha.”

Morten met his gaze with a slight smile.

“I am Morten, Knight Commander of the Duchy of Nastrand. Thank you for coming. Duke, a messenger arriving at this hour must have urgent business. There are still many eyes here…”

They had not yet revealed to all soldiers that this strategy was formed through a secret meeting with the heathen Norger tribe. Most considered the Norger invasion a “golden opportunity.”

“You’re right. Come to my temporary quarters.”

Everyone moved to the new location.

Norheim gulped down the wine Fynel poured.

“It tastes poor.”

Christoph smiled, clasping his hands to signal he was ready to listen.

Wiping wine from his bearded lips, Norheim spoke with gleaming eyes.

“First, King Oden’s words: We’ve captured most of the south and are nearing Hedal and Modor, but most of Fjorland’s forces are gathering there. He asks you to decide the Nastrand army’s course.”

“Decide our course?”

“To be honest, with our 3,000 warriors, we cannot guarantee a great, glorious victory against the 5,000 Fjorland troops gathering in Hedal and Modor.”

Christoph tilted his head.

“A glorious, easy victory? Isn’t that a highly unfavorable situation?”

Fynel burst into laughter.

“As expected, the Norger tribe never utters the word ‘lose.’”

“I’ve never heard of such a word. For us, there’s only ‘win’ or ‘go to Valhalla.’”

Christoph and Morten nodded in admiration. Norheim continued.

“To fully conquer the Fjorland Duchy, we must crush their main force completely. Will the Nastrand army turn here to Hedal and Modor to flank their main force, or seize the Fjorland stronghold?”

Everyone fell into silence.

Having left knights and soldiers in each captured region, their total force was now about 1,500. Even combined with the Norger tribe, their numbers were merely equal to Fjorland’s army.

Could victory be assured?

Wouldn’t it be better to seize the Fjorland stronghold and secure firm control over the captured territories?

Morten, as if to clarify Christoph’s tangled thoughts, spoke quietly.

“You must look at the long term.”

“The long term?”

“If, by some chance, the Norger tribe goes to Valhalla at Hedal and Modor—though I hope it doesn’t come to that…”

Norheim let out a hearty laugh.

“It’s fine, Motem! Speak freely. If we go to Valhalla, we’ll embrace beauties and drink to our fill.”

“Morten. In any case, if the Norger tribe goes to Valhalla, won’t the victorious Fjorland army target the stronghold we’ve taken?”

“Can’t we defend with 1,500? By then, the Fjorland army will surely have suffered heavy losses.”

“Duke, if I were the Fjorland army, after crushing the Norger tribe, I’d retake Omsden, Sevel, Tjodalv, and Shomhorn, guarded by our small forces. Fifteen knights and 150 soldiers wouldn’t last half a day against 2,000 to 3,000 troops.”

Christoph’s eyes widened in shock. Fynel and Norheim nodded, as Morten’s concern was entirely reasonable.

Morten added a decisive remark.

“If that happens, we’ll be holed up in a castle in the heart of enemy territory, completely isolated, with no hope of reinforcements. We’d simply wither away.”

Christoph looked at the men.

“So, we should seize this chance to completely destroy the enemy’s main force?”

“The longer this war drags on, the worse it will get. Our army’s size and victories will eventually reach the Bjoern and Grandelvald Duchies. If they learn that only a minimal force remains in the Nastrand Duchy, a similar all-out assault could hit us.”

“So, we must crush and conquer as quickly as possible…”

“After all, such wars are sometimes decided by a single great battle.”

Christoph nodded.

Yet, with the Fjorland stronghold so close, changing course was tempting. Capturing it would have a profound impact on Fjorland’s people and the other duchies, a factor hard to ignore.

Moreover, the Norger tribe had overrun most of the southern regions.

Even this was a tremendous achievement for them. With the lands already gained, they could defend them and establish their own nation.

‘Must we aim for more? Is such a decisive battle necessary? If so, our losses would be immense.’

Christoph’s worry deepened.

“For now, everyone rest. I’ll think it over tonight.”

Morten and Fynel could guess why Christoph was troubled. As it wasn’t a matter of right or wrong, they quietly rose from their seats.

Norheim, clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction, followed Fynel and stood.