Before the hidden archers could even realize they had been tricked, 300 musketeers on the left side of the path stepped out from their cover.

The enemy archers were standing right in the open, holding empty bows and looking completely confused.

A deafening wall of thunder erupted from the left side of the forest. 300 iron barrels flashed with bright orange fire, spitting deadly lead balls across the snowy clearing at incredible speeds.

The effect was devastating. Screams of agony replaced the sounds of the whistling arrows.

The lead bullets tore through the white wolf furs, shattering bones and throwing the hidden archers backward into the snow.

The thick smoke from the black powder quickly filled the clearing, stinging Erik’s eyes, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

"Reload!" Erik shouted, stepping out from behind his boulder and drawing his mace. "Right side, keep your eyes open! If anything moves in that smoke, shoot it!"

But nothing moved... The enemy’s ambush line was completely broken in a single volley.

"That was brilliant!" Halig cheered, slapping the King on the back so hard it nearly knocked him over.

"Good work, men!" Torstein praised his soldiers, though his face remained serious as he scanned the tree line. "Keep your weapons loaded. We don’t know how many more of them are out there."

The soldiers slowly advanced, their maces drawn, keeping their muskets ready to fire. They walked past the trees where the enemy archers had been hiding.

Erik stopped next to a thick bush. Lying in the bloody snow was one of the archers they had just shot.

The man had a massive hole in his chest from a musket ball. He was wearing dirty furs, his face covered by a heavy wool scarf.

"Check his weapons," Torstein ordered a nearby soldier. "I want to see what kind of bows they are using."

The young soldier leaned down, grabbing the wooden bow from the dead man’s hands. He then pulled an arrow from the quiver strapped to the man’s back.

He stared at the arrow in his hand, his eyes widening.

"My King..." the soldier whispered, holding the arrow up so Erik could see it.

Erik narrowed his eyes, stepping closer.

Traditional Viking arrows used for hunting are usually tipped with carved bone or cheap, roughly hammered iron. But the arrow in the soldier’s hand was straight.

The fletching was made from expensive black raven feathers. And the arrowhead was forged from steel.

"Wait..." Erik muttered.

"What is it, Erik?" Halig asked, stepping closer.

Erik let out a loud sigh. "Look at him! This man is Norwegian. He is from the western fjords of my own kingdom."

Torstein frowned, "But... the arrow! That is steel. How did a wild Norwegian rebel get his hands on our weapons?"

"He didn’t steal it..." Erik grumbled, crossing his arms over his bear-fur cloak. "That arrow was made in Norway."

When Erik first bent the knee and became a loyal vassal to the Iron Kingdom, Ragnar did not just leave him with empty promises.

Ragnar handed Erik a set of highly detailed blueprints.

The bows themselves were completely redesigned, reinforced with animal bone and strong glue to shoot twice as far as a normal hunting bow.

"So, you are telling me that these people hiding in the trees are your own citizens?" Halig muttered, scratching his beard.

"They are exiles." Erik corrected him, "When I made the pact with Ragnar, some of the old, stubborn clan leaders refused. So, they packed their ships and sailed away to this frozen rock to live like traditional Vikings. But it seems they weren’t too proud to steal the new weapon blueprints before they left."

As such, the puzzle was solved. The exiles had used the superior Norwegian bows to silently ambush the 200 scouts in the dead of night. They killed Ragnar’s men, stole their warm coats and supplies, and set up traps in the forest to protect their new island.

"Well, this changes things." Torstein said, "They might be your former people, King Erik, but they spilled the blood of the Iron Empire."

"I know," Erik said quietly, drawing his mace once again. "They made their choice when they ran away. Reform the lines! Keep your eyes on the trees, but we don’t stop moving until we are completely out of this fucking forest!"

The musketeers quickly fell back into formation.

Thus, the army marched forward. For the next hour, they moved through the dark pine trees.

Whenever a shadow moved in the thick branches, a dozen muskets would instantly aim at it. But the forest remained completely silent.

"Don’t feel too bad about killing them..." Halig teased lightly, trying to lift his friend’s spirits as they dodged a large snowbank. "We all have annoying family members we want to hit with a steel mace every now and then."

Erik let out a short chuckle, his shoulders finally relaxing a bit.

The dense, dark pine trees slowly began to thin out. The gray mist that had choked the forest started to lift, blown away by a stronger, colder wind. The snowy path began to slope downward, the trees giving way to exposed, icy rocks.

"I can see the sky ahead!" a soldier from the front line shouted, pointing his mace forward.

"Keep your weapons ready!" Torstein barked, matching Erik’s quickened pace. "We don’t know what is waiting for us on the other side."

Erik pushed past a snow-covered bush and finally stepped completely out of the dense forest. He walked onto a wide, snowy ridge.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Halig and Torstein stepped up beside him. Both men instantly fell completely silent, their eyes wide.

Though Erik had expected to find a small camp of starving exiles huddling in the snow, the reality before him was something entirely different.

Spread out below the ridge was a massive, sweeping valley. At the very center of the valley sat a huge frozen lake.

Looming directly behind the lake was a towering, jagged mountain, dark volcanic smoke drifting from its snowy peak.

There were houses. Not just a few temporary tents or crude wooden lean-tos.

There were hundreds and hundreds of solid, well-built wooden longhouses lining the shores of the frozen lake.

And there were campfires. Thousands of bright orange campfires burned throughout the massive settlement, sending thick columns of gray smoke up into the sky.

The valley was alive with movement. Tiny figures could be seen chopping wood, hauling heavy carts, and rushing between the longhouses.

"By the gods..." Halig whispered.

"There must be more than 5,000 people down there..." Torstein whispered, "Maybe more. If even half of them are trained warriors... we are heavily outnumbered."

"We have the muskets." Erik replied.

"But they have a massive wooden wall," Halig pointed out, gesturing toward the timber palisades protecting the main cluster of longhouses near the mountain’s base.

Erik stared down at the sprawling city. He could see groups of armed men already rushing toward the timber walls, alerted by the surviving archers who had fled the forest.

"King Erik," Torstein asked quietly, "What are your orders? Do we set up camp here on the ridge, or do we march down and demand their surrender?"

A loud horn blew from the center of the rebel city. It was a booming sound that echoed off the mountain, shaking the very snow beneath their boots.

And then, the massive timber gates of the rebel fortress slowly began to creak open.

Erik narrowed his eyes, straining to see who was coming out.

A huge figure emerged from the gates on a heavy warhorse, holding a black flag high in the wind.

"Erik..." Halig whispered, "Tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me..."