Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 113: Peace

...

It had been over a week since the Hostile Takeover of Winchester began, and the entire capital region had fallen into Ragnar’s portfolio.

But to Bishop Heahmund, who was currently trapped in the crypts of the St. Swithun’s Cathedral with no way out, he had no way of knowing that the market had completely crashed.

At this point, the Bishop was desperate to escape the city and flee towards Southampton, where he planned to board a smuggler’s cog, sail to Rome, and file a formal complaint with the Pope regarding the "Iron Demon."

He would do whatever was necessary to ensure his own survival for as long as possible.

Ragnar’s "Loss Prevention Team" (General Bjorn’s heavy infantry) had broken through the barricades of the Cathedral District, and the holy ground was once more thrust into chaos.

The "Can-Openers" began fighting their way through the battle-worn Templars of Heahmund’s personal guard.

Bishop Heahmund, at the moment, was battling with a Viking Sergeant clad in standardized, matte-grey munitions plate.

The two men were vastly differently equipped. Heahmund held a jeweled mace and a gold-rimmed shield. The Viking Sergeant held a mass-produced steel halberd and a belt full of "Compliance Cuffs."

Heahmund wielded his mace with the desperate fury of a man about to lose his tax-exempt status, swinging wildly at the Viking.

However, the Sergeant was a professional. He didn’t swing back; he simply checked the time on his pocket watch, parried the mace with the shaft of his halberd, and waited for the Bishop to tire himself out.

"Yield!" the Sergeant barked, his voice muffled by his visor. "You are in violation of the curfew!"

Before Heahmund knew it, he found himself being pushed back by the relentless, rhythmic advance of the shield wall.

Luckily for him, some of his fanatical monks rushed forward with torches to aid him.

However, when they arrived to help their Shepherd, they soon realized that the Shepherd had sheared the sheep; the moment the monks began to distract the Vikings, Heahmund ran off in the opposite direction in a desperate attempt to flee through the catacombs.

Heahmund did not have time to disguise himself. He was wearing his full ceremonial vestments, weighted down by a heavy sack of gold chalices he had stuffed under his chasuble.

"The Lord provides," Heahmund panted, dragging the heavy sack through the damp tunnels. "And the Lord helps those who help themselves to the treasury."

Heahmund took advantage of the chaos and fled to the Southampton Gate, which, as far as he knew, was still under the control of the brave Saxon resistance.

However, the man did not get far. As he was sprinting towards the gatehouse, the ground began to tremble. It wasn’t an earthquake. It was the rhythmic galloping of the Mobile Strike Wing.

These riders belonged to General Bjorn; riding at the front of the group was the Chief Operations Officer himself, wielding his signature Lucerne Hammer. They noticed a man in purple silk dragging a suspicious sack towards the exit.

Though it could not be seen beneath his sallet helm, Bjorn was grinning with the satisfaction of an auditor finding a missing receipt. He had finally found the embezzler, and if he could be captured alive with the assets intact, the restructuring would be under budget.

"Secure the perimeter!" Bjorn shouted. "Do not let the assets leave the jurisdiction!"

Bjorn and his riders quickly rode down the few remaining Templars in the way and rapidly caught up to Heahmund. Before the traitorous Bishop could reach the postern door, he was surrounded by steel-clad horses and men holding repeating crossbows.

Bjorn did not allow for a single gap for the defaulter to escape. He trotted his massive horse forward and called out to him.

"Running away, Your Grace? In the face of a corporate merger, you do not have the courage to sign the severance papers? For a man of God, you are quite attached to material wealth."

Heahmund was resigned to his fate; he was surrounded by the "Iron Gear." There was no path to victory nor escape. He looked at the sack of gold, then at the crossbows. He realized that martyrdom was painful, but poverty was worse.

He dropped the sack.

"I... I was merely moving the church funds to a safer location," Heahmund lied, wiping sweat from his tonsure. "To protect them from your heathens!"

Beneath his visor, General Bjorn sneered in disgust. He despised theft. In the Directorate, theft was inefficient.

"You should have been content with your tithes!" Bjorn announced. "Officers, arrest this embezzler!"

With his mace no longer in his hands, and the heavy infantry cautiously approaching Heahmund, they quickly restrained the man and cuffed him into the iron shackles manufactured in City Titan.

They then removed his mitre hat to stare at the man so bold as to hoard capital during a liquidity crisis.

What revealed itself was a haggard man, driven to exhaustion by the weight of his own greed. Heahmund was merely a shadow of his former pompous self, his silk robes stained with sewer mud.

Bjorn then tied the Bishop to the back of his horse and rode back to the main square of Winchester.

Bjorn brought him before the fighting armies in the Cathedral Square.

Bjorn blew a steam whistle attached to his saddle, which gathered everyone’s attention.

Heahmund’s remaining fanatics quickly saw that their spiritual leader had been captured.

"I have captured the CEO of the resistance!" Bjorn boldly declared for all the men to hear, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the square. "Surrender now! The Bishop was trying to leave the country with your wages!"

The various Saxon levies who had followed Heahmund into battle were frightened at this news. They looked at the sack of gold Bjorn held up. Then they looked at their own empty pockets.

A skirmish quickly ensued. The Saxon levies turned on the remaining fanatical monks.

"You said we were fighting for God!" a peasant shouted, throwing down his spear. "But you were fighting for gold!"

Very quickly, the ringleaders of Heahmund’s resistance were subdued by their own flock.

The remainder of the Winchester garrison surrendered their arms willingly, lining up to receive the promised "Nutrient Bricks" and amnesty.

General Bjorn fully intended to bring these captives to the Royal Palace, where Ragnar was currently conducting a performance review with King Aethelred.

...

Inside the Great Hall of Winchester, Ragnar sat at the head of a long table covered in maps and ledgers. Count Odo of Paris sat to his right, looking impressed. King Aethelred sat to his left, looking defeated.

Bjorn marched in, dragging Heahmund and dropping the heavy sack of gold onto the table with a deafening thud.

"Asset recovery complete, Director," Bjorn reported, saluting. "We caught him trying to export capital without a permit."

Count Odo raised an eyebrow, looking at the gold. "A substantial sum. Enough to hire a mercenary army."

"Or enough to pave the road to Southampton," Ragnar corrected, picking up a gold chalice. "Excellent work, Bjorn. This will cover the overhead costs of the siege."

Ragnar looked at Bishop Heahmund, who was shivering in his chains.

"Heahmund," Ragnar said, his voice calm and terrifying. "You called me a demon. You said my train was the beast of the apocalypse. And yet... here you are, trying to steal from your own flock."

"I answer only to Rome!" Heahmund spat. "You cannot judge me, pagan!"

"I am not judging you," Ragnar smiled, opening a ledger. "I am auditing you. And you have failed."

Ragnar turned to King Aethelred.

"Your Majesty. This man plotted against the Crown’s new trade agreement. What is the penalty for high treason in Wessex?"

Aethelred looked at the Bishop who had forced him into a war he couldn’t win. The King’s eyes hardened.

"The penalty is death," Aethelred whispered.

"Inefficient," Ragnar shook his head. "Dead men don’t produce value."

Ragnar turned to Leif the Elder, who was standing by the door covered in coal dust.

"Leif," Ragnar said. "We need someone to scrub the inside of the locomotive’s boiler. It is a hot, dirty, claustrophobic job. And it requires small hands."

Ragnar looked at Heahmund.

"Congratulations, Bishop. You have been hired as a Sanitation Technician, Grade 1. You start immediately."

Heahmund’s eyes went wide. "You... you would make me a thrall?"

"A trainee," Ragnar corrected. "Take him away. The boiler won’t scrub itself."

The Conclusion of the Merger

As Heahmund was dragged away screaming about his dignity, Count Odo cleared his throat.

"Director Ragnar," the Frankish Count said, looking at the efficient brutality of the Vikings. "I must admit... your methods are effective. You have pacified the entire Kingdom in under a month."

"We call it ’Vertical Integration’," Ragnar said, pouring Odo a cup of coffee.

"The Emperor will be pleased," Odo nodded, accepting the drink. "If you can stabilize England... the Frankish markets are open to you. We will buy your wool. We will buy your steel."

"And the train?" Ragnar asked, eyes gleaming.

"We will... discuss the licensing fees," Odo conceded.

King Aethelred looked at the map. His kingdom was now covered in charcoal lines marking the railway expansion.

"So it is over?" the King asked. "The war?"

"The war is over," Ragnar agreed, standing up. "Now the real work begins."

Ragnar walked to the window, looking out at the city of Winchester. The flag of Wessex still flew, but right next to it, flapping in the wind, was the grey banner of the Iron Gear.

Smoke rose from the chimneys—not from burning houses, but from the new bakeries using Ragnar’s high-efficiency ovens. The sound of hammers rang out as the damage from the siege was already being repaired by the "Interns."

"We have to build the Southampton Line," Ragnar listed, counting on his fingers. "We have to standardize the currency. We have to set up the postal service. And I need to send Gyda a pickle jar."

By rapidly conquering the South, Ragnar had cut off any form of support the Luddites might receive. This was not his only noteworthy feat; the young Director had also managed to send significant material aid to Count Odo, ensuring Frankish neutrality.

If not for the railway, he would not have been able to so swiftly retake the capital. The impression of the "Iron Director" grew exponentially in Count Odo’s heart.

As the Hostile Takeover of Winchester ended and the traitors were processed into the workforce, so too did the War of the Iron Horse.

For now, England would find some semblance of peace.. or at least, highly organized productivity in the upcoming months.

With the entire world still stuck in the Dark Ages, it would only be a matter of time before they looked at the smoke rising from England with envy.

When that happened, Ragnar’s position would be in a far better state to confront any competitor who entered the market.

"Bjorn," Ragnar said, turning back to the room. "Order the men to stand down. Issue the double rations. And Bjorn?"

"Yes, Director?"

"Tell the engineers to start surveying the route to London. I hear the real estate market there is... undervalued."