"Damnit..." Erik muttered, a harsh, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. "It is who you think it is, Halig. The gods must have a really twisted sense of humor."

Torstein gripped his musket tighter,"Who is it, King Erik? Who commands this rebel city?"

"That stubborn old bastard riding the horse down there..." Erik said, "That is my uncle, Halfdan."

Years ago, when Erik first became the King of Norway, not everyone was happy.

Halfdan caused a massive uproar in the great hall, screaming that the old Viking ways were dying.

Soon after that argument, Halfdan packed his longships with his most loyal warriors and vanished into the night.

"I was entirely sure he went East," Erik said, shaking his head. "He told everyone he was sailing toward the lands of the Rus and the Byzantine borders to raid for gold the old-fashioned way. I thought he was either getting fat in a palace or rotting in a foreign prison by now."

"But looks like he is the one making all that noise right here," Halig grunted, "The sneaky bastard sailed North instead! He gathered all the exiles, stole our weapon blueprints, and built his own little kingdom in the ice."

Torstein’s face hardened. "He has to die."

"Oh, I know." Erik smirked, "Halfdan thinks he is a mighty wolf leading a pack of true warriors. But apparently... he is just a frog in a well."

"A frog?" Torstein raised an eyebrow.

"He sits in his little icy hole and thinks the sky is only as big as the mouth of the well." Erik laughed, "He has no idea how big the world has gotten outside of this island."

Down in the valley, the massive timber gates of the fortress were fully open. Uncle Halfdan was riding his warhorse back and forth along the edge of the frozen lake, screaming orders to his men.

Thousands of rebel warriors were pouring out of the city, carrying round wooden shields, heavy axes, and the stolen steel bows.

They were forming a massive, traditional Viking shield wall on the ice.

Though the enemy army looked massive, Erik felt no fear.

"Torstein! Halig! Listen to me! We are going to hold the high ground on this ridge and let them exhaust themselves climbing up to us." Erik said, his voice dropping into a loud, commanding tone.

As such, Erik quickly laid out his plan. The rebel army heavily outnumbered them, meaning a traditional clash of lines would be suicide.

"Torstein, I want the first three ranks of your battalions to put their guns away!" Erik ordered, pointing toward the edge of the snowy slope. "Tell the maces men to step up! They will draw their new steel maces and form a solid shield wall right at the edge of the drop. Halig, you will take the center of that defensive line."

The front line slings their heavy muskets over their backs. They draw their maces and stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

Even without large wooden shields, their thick leather armor and heavy maces create a brutal defensive blockade.

Behind this wall of muscle, the rest of the musketeers loosen their formation.

They spread out in a wide line, leaving gaps so they have clear lines of sight.

When the enemy charges close, they hit the crushing steel of the mace men, while the shooters behind keep pouring continuous fire and thunder right over their heads.

"And the musketeers?" Torstein asked.

"The musketeers loose in a line behind the maces!" Erik commanded. "I want them spread out across the ridge. Stagger their firing! Do not shoot all at once! I want a continuous rain of lead pouring down on that frozen lake!"

"You heard the King!" Torstein roared, his voice carrying over the whistling wind. "Maces to the front! Shooters, loosen the line! Check your powder!"

Within moments, the edge of the snowy ridge was lined with hundreds of soldiers holding the spiked steel maces.

Behind them, the rest of the army spread out loosely, raising their muskets and taking careful aim down into the valley.

Afterward, Erik drew his own mace and stepped right into the center of the mace wall next to Halig. He looked down at the massive army gathering on the ice.

Down below, Halfdan finally stopped his horse. He looked up at the ridge, squinting against the pale sunlight.

Even from this distance, Erik could see the confusion on the old man’s face. Halfdan saw a small line of men holding short iron sticks, and a scattered group of men behind them pointing strange metal tubes.

"Look at him..." Halig chuckled, resting his battle axe on his shoulder. "He probably thinks we forgot to bring our shields and spears."

"He is going to learn a very loud lesson today." Erik grinned fiercely.

Suddenly, the deep, booming sound of war drums echoed from the rebel city.

Uncle Halfdan raised a massive, double-bitted axe high into the air and let out a roaring battle cry.

"FOR THE OLD GODS! KILL THE TRAITORS!" Halfdan’s voice echoed faintly up the mountain.

The massive rebel army responded with a deafening roar.

Thousands of men beat their axes against their wooden shields, creating a terrifying rhythm.

Then, they charged. Like a massive, uncontrollable wave of dark water, the army of exiles sprinted across the frozen lake, heading straight for the snowy slope leading up to Erik’s position.

"Hold your fire!" Erik shouted, pacing slightly behind the mace wall. "Wait until they are halfway up the slope! I want every single bullet to rip through at least two men!"

The ground began to shake under the weight of thousands of charging men.

The rebels hit the edge of the frozen lake and started climbing the snowy hill. They held their wooden shields up, expecting a rain of arrows to fall on them at any moment.

But no arrows came. The Iron Empire soldiers just stood there in silence.

"Hold..." Torstein whispered, his hand raised high in the air as he watched the enemy get closer.

He could see the wild, angry faces of the charging rebels. He could hear their heavy breathing.

The distance closed rapidly. Two hundred paces. One hundred paces. Fifty paces.

"They are getting awfully close, Erik." Halig muttered, tightening his grip on his mace.

"Wait for it..." Erik said calmly, a smile playing on his lips.

When the first wave of screaming rebels was just thirty paces away, entirely exposed on the steep snowy slope, Erik finally dropped his mace downward.

"FIRE!" Erik roared.

"FIRE!" Torstein echoed, dropping his hand.

The entire ridge instantly erupted into blinding orange flame.

Hundreds of muskets discharged at the exact same second.

A massive wall of smelly, white sulfur smoke instantly covered the top of the ridge.

The devastating power of the gunpowder completely shattered the rebel charge. The heavy lead bullets easily punched right through the thick wooden shields as if they were made of dry leaves.

Men screamed in horror as the unseen projectiles tore through their armor, shattering bones and tearing flesh.

The front line of Halfdan’s army was literally swept off their feet, tumbling backward down the snowy slope and crashing into the men running behind them.

"Reload! Second rank, fire!" Torstein ordered.

More lead poured down the hill, cutting bloody paths through the crowded attackers.

"Keep shooting!" Erik laughed, "Don’t let them breathe! Turn the snow red!"

Down in the valley, the charging army completely stalled.

The traditional Viking shield wall, a tactic that had won countless wars for hundreds of years, was rendered utterly useless in less than a minute.

Men were dropping dead before they could even swing their axes. Panic began to spread like wildfire.

Halfdan was sitting on his horse near the back of the charge, his mouth hanging wide open.

He stared at the ridge, watching the constant flashes of fire and the unnatural white smoke billowing into the sky.

Erik stepped to the very edge of the ridge, ignoring the smoke stinging his eyes.

He raised his bloody mace, a wild grin spreading across his face.