After some time, the armorless lord was escorted back to Kalmar by five shieldguards, where he immediately rallied the townspeople for defense.
Fortunately, the berserkers were down to only thirty men—far from enough to storm the palisade. After shouting insults outside the walls for a while, they retreated in frustration.
"At last… it's over."
Still shaken, Lord Leksa ordered his men to search for the envoy from Tyne Town.
"Milord, that fellow named Sebert ran the fastest. He's already boarded the ship and looks ready to flee at any moment."
Runs faster than a rabbit—this kind of man is worthy to serve the Serpent of the North?
Leksa looked down on him, but jogged to the harbor anyway and forced a smile as he resumed the trade negotiations.
"My lord envoy, we are tormented by the Swords of the North. The situation is collapsing. We must purchase a large amount of iron ingots and military equipment…"
Sebert did not respond immediately.
After witnessing the disastrous defeat earlier, he suspected Leksa's control over Kalmar would only continue to weaken. Such a man likely could not afford this purchase.
After a long internal struggle, Sebert chose a different approach:
If they couldn't pay in silver or goods, perhaps they could contribute in another way—immigrants.
"If your ships sail to Tyne Town for trade, and you have spare space aboard, you may bring along willing immigrants. According to their number, the Duke will pay you an appropriate reward."
The two reached an agreement.
Sebert then traveled north along the coast to visit four more settlements.
The problem was the same everywhere—from Stockholm to the smaller villages—each region suffered under the Swords of the North. Their strength had diminished, and trade goods were scarce.
In the end, Sebert secured similar immigration agreements with four local nobles.
Even so, they still couldn't purchase much.
Too little. Barely acceptable. Not enough to raise my standing with the Duke.
Determined to go further, Sebert made the risky decision to travel east into the lands of the Finns.
For centuries, the Finnic peoples had spoken Uralic languages related to Hungarian—not Norse.
The Norse of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark belonged to the North Germanic branch.
Culturally and linguistically distinct, the Finns were not susceptible to recruitment by Halfdan's Swords of the North, and their agriculture remained intact.
Thus, the Finnish tribes still had ample pelts and amber to trade for pig iron and ale.
When Sebert's ship landed, he introduced himself—only to discover the tribes already knew the name of the Serpent of the North, and of his annihilation of the Frankish main force by the Seine.
Out of respect, the chief of the Suomi tribe enthusiastically welcomed him—and even invited him to enjoy a sauna.
"…What?"
Inside a hut covered in birch bark, two attendants proficiently undressed him before he could object.
The interior was blackened with soot.
In the center lay a fire-pit filled with rocks; an attendant poked the flames occasionally, adding logs.
In a corner sat a large wooden bucket filled with water—its purpose unclear.
At the chief's gesture, Sebert sat on a wooden bench.
As time passed, the stones glowed red-hot.
Then the attendants sealed the door with moss, scooped water from the bucket, and poured it over the stones.
At once, the flames died and the hut dimmed.
A cloud of white steam exploded upward, transforming the room into a surreal vapor-filled cavern.
Amid the blistering heat, the chief whipped his back lightly with a bundle of birch twigs while having the translator speak:
"Tyne Town's pig iron is excellent. Your ale is good. We are willing to buy."
Declining the birch twigs offered to him, Sebert endured the heat-induced dizziness and discussed prices.
Given the tribe's size—over two hundred households—Sebert suggested buying extra goods to resell inland.
The more they purchased, the greater the discount.
"Good. I accept the Serpent of the North's terms."
Having successfully opened the Finnish market, Sebert felt he had exceeded all expectations.
He returned to Tyne Town in mid-May.
But one part of his agreements troubled Vig:
"The nobles of Kalmar and elsewhere intend to purchase weapons to fight Halfdan. I don't yet know where Ragnar stands on this. It's risky to sell arms directly."
Pacing across the hall, Vig refused to cross that line.
"Civilian goods are fine. Pig iron ingots will be sold only to Little Erik. He may forge weapons and resell them to Kalmar or Stockholm.
If Halfdan complains to Ragnar, at least there's room to maneuver."
So far, Ragnar had taken no public stance on the Swords of the North—neither support nor condemnation—allowing Halfdan to run wild in Sweden.
A few berserkers had even wandered into Britain, frustrating many Norse nobles.
Connections really matter… If an ordinary lord pulled these tricks, every faction would unite to crush him. But Halfdan? Someone always shields him.
Complaints said, Vig turned back to his own domain.
Chaos was coming.
He needed to eliminate every internal threat—especially the remaining rebels hiding in the Scottish Highlands.
Modern measurements put Scotland at 78,000 square kilometers, with the northern Highlands covering 30,000—a labyrinth of glacial terrain, lakes, and jagged mountains.
In late 849, Vig had taken the populous Central Lowlands, then pacified the southern hills—manageable terrain of valleys and ridges.
Only the vast, rugged northern Highlands remained.
There, rebels hid in remote valleys, raiding occasionally and retreating before pursuit—exasperating local officials.
County chiefs repeatedly requested permission to penetrate the Highlands, but Vig always refused.
As of now, Connor, the sheriff of Stirling, had dispatched seven undercover agents, all former freed slaves.
Three successfully infiltrated the rebel camps.
Their reports:
The rebels numbered about one thousand, including four hundred family members.
They lived scattered across three valleys—farming and herding—and raided during idle seasons.
Clearly prepared for a long resistance.
Five days earlier, Vig received precise coordinates for the valleys.
He did not hesitate—he hastily summoned militia from around Tyne Town and set out with a force of one thousand before anything could change.
"Armored guards, a thousand levies, and two mountain infantry battalions.
That should be enough."
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