Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 112: The Age of the Iron Empire

A couple of days had passed since the "Grand Opening" of the Winchester Branch, and Ragnar was growing anxious; not because of the resistance, but because the paperwork was piling up.

He did not yet know where Bishop Heahmund had fled with the liquid assets, and he was trying to rush the auditing process as quickly as possible.

Eventually, the initial shock of the steam engine wore off, and when it did, Ragnar ordered a full "inventory check" of the city.

Covered by the intimidating hiss of the locomotive and continuous patrols of the "Iron Gear" security forces, the city was being processed.

Line infantry and Saxon "Interns" alike rushed into the narrow alleyways, using whatever methods available to them to secure the real estate.

Despite the fierce thermodynamic display at the gates, the fanatical defenders of the Cathedral District were undeterred.

Though Bishop Heahmund had successfully fled to the coast, it was the duty of his remaining monks and temple guards to defend the holy sites with their lives. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Hopefully, if they did so, they could stop the "Iron Demon" from turning the altar into a coal bunker.

After all, in the eyes of the city’s defenders, they were fighting against a horde of soulless accountants who sought to bring down the feudal system. Tradition was a powerful tool, and the weak-minded were easily compelled to die by the propaganda of the Luddites.

Yet, despite the zealotry of the forces who gave up their lives to defend against the hostile takeover, they quickly realized that they were vastly out-engineered.

Saxon levies crashed with Viking "Can-Openers," and the "Typewriter" crossbows fired in concentrated rhythms onto the enemy positions.

Blood and broken pikes spilled across the cobblestone streets as the defending garrison was pushed further and further back into the crypts.

Those more cowardly hostiles would hide in the homes of civilians, using the dense urban sprawl to launch guerilla attacks on the construction crews.

Ragnar, not willing to risk the lives of his "Vested Employees," would immediately order their eviction.

A ceramic pot of "Tear-Inducer" (a delightful mix of ground pepper and sulfur) was lobbed into the room before busting down the door, usually resulting in the weeping surrender of the defender.

As the "Urban Renewal" raged on, the dignitaries who had submitted to Ragnar’s authority saw the tactics Ragnar was using and were quite confused.

They knew Ragnar had an order not to damage potential tax-payers. Yet, here, his troops were using chemical warfare to flush out entire city blocks.

As such, Count Odo, swirling a glass of wine he had "liberated" from the King’s cellar, inquired to Ragnar why he was breaking the conventions of honorable warfare.

"Director," Odo said, watching a squad of Grenadiers blast a hole in a bakery wall to flank a sniper. "Is this not... excessive? You are destroying the infrastructure you claim to value."

Ragnar stood stoically on the balcony of the Royal Palace, overlooking the smoking city. He held a clipboard in one hand and a compass in the other.

Violence, smoke, and the sound of breaking wood spread to the lower districts.

As Ragnar gazed upon the sight, he adjusted his grey sash and began his lecture on the Corporate Philosophy of Conflict for the foreign investors to hear.

"Count Odo, my Rules of Engagement can be summed up in a single phrase: Efficiency at any cost."

Ragnar pointed his compass at a burning tenement building that was blocking the main road to the cathedral.

"If unauthorized tenants are caught in the crossfire between the shareholders and the obstructionists, then so be it. If civilians were to take up arms and rise against the zoning laws, I would garnish the wages of ten men for every rebel to prove a point. Sign the contract, or be liquidated. Those are the two choices."

With those words spoken, King Aethelred felt chills down his spine. He clutched his robe, realizing he had sold his kingdom to a man who viewed people as numbers in a ledger.

However, before he could protest, Ragnar began to continue his speech, his voice calm and terrifyingly rational.

"For example, take that block of houses near the river," Ragnar said, gesturing to a slum where his men were currently dragging screaming zealots out by their hair. "There is a garrison of fanatics hiding there. But also, there are dozens of weavers and tanners. A traditional King would besiege them for months, starving them slowly. That is a waste of time. I have no qualms ordering a ’Controlled Demolition’ to raze the block to the ground. Why?"

Ragnar looked at Odo with piercing blue eyes.

"Because that block is where the Train Station is going to be built. We needed to clear the lot anyway. The rebels just gave me a reason to expedite the permit."

Ragnar’s concept of warfare stemmed from the fact that he was well educated on the history of urban planning and logistics, as well as the fact that in his previous life, he had witnessed many construction projects stalled by endless committees and heritage site protections.

As long as a region resisted the integration into the Common Market, in Ragnar’s eyes, it was considered a "High-Risk Investment Zone," and whatever cruelty was needed to bring the market to stability was completely justified.

The battle continued to wage on in the streets below, but this time Ragnar was not at the front lines with his sword. Instead, he lectured the nobles about his vision of the future.

"As long as there is resistance in a sector, it is a liability," Ragnar explained, tapping his clipboard.

"However, if the enemy surrenders, they should be afforded proper dignity. Unless, of course, they are Luddites. Those who break machines cannot be tolerated. A brutal show of force is necessary to crush the spirit of those who believe tradition outweighs output."

Ragnar paused to watch a section of the city wall collapse under a controlled blast, opening a path for a new supply road.

"As for the civilians," Ragnar continued, "once the restructuring is complete, no harm should be brought to them. For at that point, they are Consumers. You do not damage your own customer base. There are exceptions, of course.. mainly regarding those who refuse to use the new currency.. but that revolves a series of fiscal policies, and I will not get into the complexity of macroeconomics at this moment."

As Ragnar brought his rant to a close, the sun began to set over Winchester, illuminating the smoke with a hellish orange glow.

When combined with the corpses of the fanatics being piled onto carts by the "Sanitation Department," it created an image of industrial apocalypse.

When witnessing such destruction and calculation, Count Odo turned to look at the "Iron Director." He realized this wasn’t just a Viking raid. This was a paradigm shift.

"Are there any questions regarding the new zoning laws?" Ragnar asked, flashing a winning, shark-like smile.

King Aethelred shook his head in silence, looking horrified. He realized his kingdom was gone. It hadn’t been conquered; it had been paved.

Count Odo, however, looked thoughtful. "And the Church? The Cathedral?"

"A sturdy building," Ragnar admitted. "Excellent acoustics. It will make a fine Town Hall. We will melt down the gold altar to mint the new coinage, of course. We can’t have dead capital sitting in a dark room."

Later that night, the fighting had concentrated on the Cathedral Crypts. Bishop Heahmund had fled, but his elite "Templars" - knights sworn to the defense of the relics - were holding the basement.

General Bjorn approached Ragnar, his hammer dripping with... red paint? No, it was blood. Bjorn looked tired.

"Director," Bjorn grunted. "The Templars are blocked in the lower levels. They have barricaded the stairs with the bones of saints. They refuse to come out."

"Have you tried the smoke?" Ragnar asked, checking his pocket watch.

"Yes. They have wet cloths. They are singing hymns."

Ragnar sighed. "Inefficient. I wanted to use the crypts for cold storage. Ideally, we wouldn’t damage the foundation."

He turned to Leif the Lesser, who was vibrating with excitement, holding a new contraption that looked like a brass pump connected to a tank of pressurized water.

"Leif," Ragnar said. "Is the ’Hydro-Blaster’ operational?"

"The pressure is low, Director," Leif admitted. "But if we hook it up to the locomotive’s boiler..."

Ragnar grinned. "Do it. Run a hose from the train into the cathedral. Let’s see how the Templars enjoy a high-pressure baptism."

An hour later, a thick, canvas hose was snaked from the "Screaming Kettle" in the square, through the great oak doors of the cathedral, and down the stairs to the crypt.

"Open the valve!" Ragnar commanded.

Steam and boiling water surged through the hose.

HISSSSSSS-SPLAT!

The screams from the crypt were immediate. The "Templars," prepared for swords and arrows, were not prepared to be boiled alive like lobsters in their armor. The barricade of saintly bones was blasted apart by the jet of scalding water.

Minutes later, the surviving Templars crawled up the stairs, surrendering, their skin red and blistered.

"Audit complete," Ragnar declared, marking the crypt as ’Cleared’ on his clipboard. "Bjorn, send in the interns. Scrub the walls. I want this place ready for storage by Monday."

***

By dawn, the last pockets of resistance had been liquidated. Winchester was quiet, save for the rhythmic chug-chug of the steam engine idling in the square.

Ragnar sat on the throne of Wessex.. a wooden seat he found uncomfortable and lacking lumbar support.

King Aethelred stood beside him, stripped of his crown, wearing the grey sash of a "Regional Governor."

Count Odo approached, looking at Ragnar with a mix of fear and greed.

"Director," Odo said, bowing slightly. "You have taken the city. You have broken the Church. What now? Do you march on France?"

Ragnar laughed, opening a ledger.

"France?" Ragnar shook his head. "France is a logistical nightmare, Odo. The roads are terrible. No, I will not invade France."

Odo breathed a sigh of relief.

"I will export to France," Ragnar finished, his eyes gleaming. "I will flood your markets with cheap wool, high-quality steel, and affordable tools. I will make your blacksmiths go bankrupt. I will make your peasants demand my goods. And you, Count Odo... you will be my distributor."

Odo froze. He realized that an invasion would have been kinder.

"We have a lot of work to do," Ragnar said, standing up. "The Grand Trunk Line must be extended to the coast. And I need to send a raven to Gyda."

"Gyda?" Aethelred asked weakly.

"My Prime Minister," Ragnar smiled, looking north. "She will want to know that we have acquired the Winchester Portfolio. And that I found some excellent pickles in the Bishop’s pantry."