Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 198: Chains, Vikings and Sails

Coughing up a mixture of bile and blood, the broken berserker slowly lifted his heavy head, his voice reduced to a hoarse, trembling whisper that barely carried over the thrum of the engines.

"The Fang... he calls his stronghold The Fang," Kjell rasped, his eyes darting frantically around the dark hold as if expecting his master’s ghost to strike him dead for the betrayal. "It sits high atop the frozen peaks of the Black Ridge, surrounded by sheer drops of jagged ice on three sides. It is a fortress carved from the living stone, impenetrable by any mortal army."

"How many men currently garrison this mountain redoubt, and how do they feed such a massive host in the dead of winter?"

"Three thousand... maybe more," Kjell wheezed, shivering violently as Silas stepped slightly closer.

"They survive because of the Serpent’s Pass. It is a hidden goat trail, barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, winding through the eastern ravines. It connects the fortress directly to the coastal raiding camps, allowing the King to funnel stolen grain, salted fish, and thralls up the mountain without ever exposing his supply lines to the main valleys."

Ragnar paused his writing, his sharp mind instantly calculating the logistical implications of this newly revealed route. If the Gore-King commanded an army of three thousand hardened killers and possessed a concealed avenue to bypass the main roads, the current defensive palisade blockading Kattegat’s valley entrance would be completely flanked and rendered utterly useless.

"With this said, I believe we have extracted the necessary variables to complete our strategic assessment," Ragnar declared, snapping the ledger shut with a decisive, echoing thud.

"Though I despise the foulness of his master’s reign, this brute has provided us with the exact blueprints required to dismantle it entirely."

Turning away from the shivering captive, Ragnar ascended the spiraling metal staircase and emerged onto the freezing, wind-swept deck of the ironclad, taking a deep, cleansing breath of the icy coastal air.

Striding down the wooden gangplank toward the fortified village of Kattegat, he found Gyda and Bjorn standing over a large oak table inside the Great Hall, reviewing a series of rough parchment maps illuminated by flickering candlelight.

"The audit of the prisoner is complete, my dear," Ragnar announced, tossing his ledger onto the table so that the Keeper of the Ledgers could review the freshly gathered intelligence. "However, the numbers are vastly more troubling than our initial projections indicated. King Erik does not merely command a raiding party; he sits upon a mountain fortress garrisoned by three thousand men, and he utilizes a hidden gorge known as the Serpent’s Pass to move his forces unseen."

Gyda’s piercing eyes scanned the handwritten notes with lightning speed. "Three thousand warriors constitute a massive horde, Ragnar," she murmured, tracing a slender finger along the estimated route of the hidden mountain pass.

"Our current earthworks are designed to funnel a frontal assault into the firing arcs of our field cannons, but if they utilize this Serpent’s Pass, they can bypass the valley choke point entirely and strike our foundries from the eastern ridge. We are heavily exposed..."

"Thus, we must immediately restructure our defensive portfolio," Ragnar commanded, pointing his silver-tipped cane directly at the eastern flank of the map.

"I want the laborers redirected from the main palisade to the eastern ridge before the sun rises. We will drag the Repeater Cannons up the slope and position them to overlook the mouth of that hidden gorge. Furthermore, instruct Master Leif to empty the ship’s magazines; I want the entirety of the Serpent’s Pass seeded with buried explosive charges, wired to a central detonator." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"A beautiful trap," Bjorn grunted approvingly, crossing his massive arms over his steel breastplate as a savage grin spread across his scarred face. "We let the vanguard of their army march deep into the narrow gorge, thinking they have outsmarted us. Then, we ignite the black powder, bringing the entire mountain crashing down upon their heads. It will bury half their host in a tomb of ice and stone before they even draw their blades!"

"Ultimately, raw numbers mean nothing against the disciplined application of industrial power," Gyda agreed, her tension easing slightly as the new tactical framework began to solidify in her brilliant mind.

"I will personally oversee the deployment of the Grenadiers to the upper ridges, ensuring they have overlapping fields of crossfire to eliminate any survivors who manage to crawl out of the rubble. The Gore-King’s hidden asset will become his greatest liability."

As Ragnar and Gyda seamlessly coordinated the massive logistical shift, discussing powder reserves and supply lines, Bjorn remained uncharacteristically silent, his mind drifting back to the dark, oppressive hold of the ironclad.

Yet, a strange, creeping unease had settled deep within the giant warrior’s gut, a primal instinct born from decades of surviving the blood-soaked battlefields of the North.

Excusing himself from the war council, Bjorn quietly slipped out of the Great Hall and made his way back down to the frozen docks, his heavy boots crunching softly in the freshly fallen snow.

Descending back into the sweltering dungeon of the Gyda, he found Silas meticulously cleaning his surgical instruments, while Kjell hung limply from his chains in the center of the room.

Stepping into the dim light of the lantern, Bjorn grabbed the captive chieftain by his matted hair, hauling his heavy head upward so that they were entirely face to face.

Despite this brutal treatment, and the extensive, agonizing torment he had endured for days, Kjell did not flinch, nor did he beg for mercy.

Instead, the broken berserker stared directly into Bjorn’s eyes, a slow, horrifying smile spreading across his cracked and bleeding lips.

A cold shiver raced down Bjorn’s spine, entirely unrelated to the freezing Norwegian wind outside the ship’s hull.

"You told the Iron Father everything he wanted to hear without a single lie," Bjorn whispered, his grip tightening on the berserker’s hair as the terrifying realization finally washed over him.

"You gave us the fortress, the numbers, and the hidden pass. But you did it too willingly at the end. Why are you smiling, you rotten bastard?"

Kjell’s smile widened into a bloody, terrifying grin, his voice barely a rasping breath in the suffocating heat of the boiler room.

"Because, giant... the Gore-King already knew you were here," Kjell whispered, his eyes gleaming with mad, fanatical devotion.

"He knew you would interrogate me, and he knew you would move your mighty iron weapons to the Serpent’s Pass to block the horde. You have shifted your shield to the east, iron-man... leaving the sea completely undefended."

Bjorn’s heart plummeted into his stomach, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated horror as the true scope of the Gore-King’s strategy finally clicked into place.

Throwing the captive aside, the massive general sprinted up the spiraling metal staircase as fast as his legs could carry him, bursting out onto the top deck of the ironclad and looking frantically out toward the darkened horizon of the North Sea.

Through the thick, rolling fog of the ocean, the terrifying, unmistakable silhouettes of fifty massive Viking longships were silently gliding into the bay.