Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry

Chapter 368: Sacrifice

In the center of the muddy market square, Inspector Finn was entirely frozen.

He was on his hands and knees in the slush. Standing in front of him was Captain Torstein, his broadsword drawn.

Behind them, shivering near a broken carriage, was the old vassal King Cerball of Osraige.

They were completely cornered...

Marching slowly out of the gray winter fog was a phalanx of elite Norse warriors.

...And riding at the very front, strapped tightly to his black warhorse, was Ivar the Boneless.

"You will not touch him, you crippled bastard!" Torstein roared, gripping his sword with both hands. He knew he was going to die today, but he was fully prepared to take as many of these Northern invaders with him as possible.

Ivar raised a hand, pointing a finger at the old King Cerball.

"Take the old King alive. He is a valuable," Ivar commanded his elite guards, "Kill the noisy captain and the fat tax collector."

After hearing such words, a dozen heavily armored Norse spearmen broke from the formation, charging silently.

Torstein let out a fierce battle cry and sprinted at them to buy Cerball and Finn time to run.

The disgraced guard captain fought like a true demon. He swung his broadsword in a sweeping arc, severing the spear of the first raider and slicing deeply into the man’s chest.

Torstein spun, kicking a second Norseman in the knee and driving the pommel of his sword into another’s helmet.

However, Torstein was just one man against Ivar’s best killers... A tall Norseman stepped to the side, thrusting his spear. The sharp blade slipped under Torstein’s arm, burying itself deep into his ribs.

Torstein gasped, stumbling backward into the mud. Before he could raise his sword again, two more spears pierced his chest and stomach.

"Torstein!!" King Cerball cried out in horror.

Torstein fell heavily to his knees. He looked back at Finn, a defiant smile spreading across his lips. "For Ireland, you northern bitches..." Torstein whispered, before collapsing face-first into the slush.

Finn stared at Torstein’s lifeless body. The cowardly tax collector, the man who ran from every fight in his entire life, felt something completely snap inside his brain.

"Damnit..!" Finn shrieked.

Finn let out a hysterical scream, and charged at the Norse spearmen.

"I will kill you!" Finn sobbed, splashing wildly through the freezing mud.

He wound up his arm and hurled the ten-pound sack of solid silver directly into the face of the nearest raider.

The weight of the flying silver shattered the Norseman’s nose, dropping him to the mud in pain.

The pouch burst open, sending hundreds of shiny silver coins spilling all over the bloody battlefield.

Finn drew his tiny dagger and lunged forward.

But a spearman simply stepped forward, raising his weapon.

Finn ran into the sharp blade... The spear pierced through his expensive wool coat, bursting out of his back.

Finn gasped, dropping his tiny dagger. He fell to his knees in the mud, right next to the shining silver coins he had stolen. He looked at the silver, a sad little smile crossing his lips.

Ivar sighed. He turned his attention back to King Cerball, who had dropped to his knees in surrender.

"Bind the old man," Ivar ordered, pulling on his horse’s reins and turning toward the mountain of black smoke rising from the royal fortress. "I need to go to the keep. Ubba is having all the fun without me."

Meanwhile, in the royal courtyard, the Irish wall of armor was collapsing.

High King Aedh MacNeill was on his knees. The poison in his veins had finally reached his failing heart.

He couldn’t breathe... His lungs felt like they were entirely filled with crushed glass.

All around him, the roar of clashing steel echoed through the smoke.

Dozens of Norse raiders had climbed the walls, surrounding the royal family.

And leading the slaughter was Ubba... The Viking warlord was covered in mud and blood.

He swung his battleaxe with bone-crushing power, shattering the shields of the elite Irish guards as if they were made of dry twigs.

"...get those damn royal bastards!" Ubba roared at the top of his lungs, laughing wildly as he severed an Irish guard’s arm. "Kill the princes! Bring me the King’s head!"

Conor, Declan, and Ronan fought like demons, but the size and ferocity of Ubba was overwhelming them... The defensive circle had shrunk completely inward.

"Hold them back!" Maeve shrieked, hugging three crying children beneath her cloak as a raider fell dead just two feet away from her.

Ubba kicked a fallen guard out of the way, his eyes locking onto Maeve and the royal children huddled in the center of the ring.

"There is the royal bloodline..." Ubba grinned, raising his battleaxe high above his head and charging at the Princess.

Though his body was entirely paralyzed and his heart was failing, the sight of his beautiful daughter in danger triggered a final, surge of adrenaline in Aedh’s dying body.

"No..!" Aedh roared. Using the last ounce of strength he possessed, Aedh threw himself forward. He tackled his daughter, shielding her small body with his own back just a fraction of a second before the massive axe fell.

Ubba’s axe drove entirely through Aedh’s back, cleanly piercing his failing heart.

"FATHER!!" Maeve screamed.

Aedh collapsed into the mud, his head resting in Maeve’s lap. The freezing rain washed the soot from his dying face.

"My beautiful... wildcat..." Aedh whispered. He managed to lift a single finger to wipe a tear from her cheek. "Protect... our blood..."

Aedh MacNeill’s eyes slowly lost their light, staring blankly up at the winter sky.

The High King of Ireland was dead.

Conor spun around, his eyes going entirely wide. Seeing his father murdered in the mud entirely broke the eldest prince’s sanity.

"NO!" Conor let out a roar. He completely ignored the Norse raiders around him, charging at the giant Viking who had just killed his father.

Ubba laughed, yanking his axe out of the dead King’s back. He swung the bloody weapon in a horizontal arc, aiming to take Conor’s head off his shoulders.

However, Conor didn’t raise his sword to block. The grieving prince stepped into the path of the blow.

The axe bit into Conor’s left shoulder, shattering his collarbone and bringing the prince to his knees.

"Got you, you fucking dog!" Ubba roared.

But by taking the lethal blow intentionally, Conor had closed the distance between them. The dying prince looked up at the Viking, a defiant smile spreading across his lips.

With his remaining good arm, Conor thrust his broadsword straight upward.

The steel blade slipped under the gap in Ubba’s heavy chainmail shirt, burying itself entirely deep into the giant’s stomach, angling sharply upward into his lungs.

Ubba gasped, his dark eyes widening.

Conor collapsed backward, dead before his body even hit the ground.

With a wet, sickening sound, Ubba yanked the blade out, tossing it into the mud.

"Lucky strike... you fucking rat..." Ubba grunted, pressing a hand against his bleeding stomach.

Ubba fell to his knees. His battleaxe slipped from his fingers.

Both of his hands were clamped tightly over his stomach, but dark red blood was pouring through his fingers, spilling onto the ground.

Just as the giant Viking collapsed onto his side, a black warhorse stepped through the smoking rubble of the main gatehouse.

Ivar stopped his horse, his blue eyes taking in the carnage.

His eyes locked onto the bleeding body lying in the mud.

"Ubba?" Ivar whispered, his voice losing all its smooth arrogance.

Ubba looked up at his brother. "Ivar..." Ubba coughed, "I... it is cold out here..."

Ivar unstrapped his legs with shaking hands. He threw himself out of his saddle, crashing into the mud and dragging his useless legs across the ground toward his bleeding brother.

"...? Ubba... don’t die... Ubba!" Ivar screamed, his voice cracking.