Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 115: To London

...

Weeks passed, and while Ragnar was acclimating to the relative peace of City Titan the deposed Saxon leadership was being dragged north.

Inside a wagon designed to hold construction materials, Bishop Heahmund sat in the corner, his back resting against cold iron bars as he struggled for dignity.

The icy wind of the Northumbrian winter permeated the gaps and sucked the warmth from his once-fine robes, now stained with coal dust from his forced labor in the locomotive’s tender. Beside him were the few stubborn Ealdormen who had refused to sign the "Consultant Agreement."

Heahmund’s face had not changed since his capture; he had been scowling ever since, muttering prayers and curses, thinking over what he could have done to stop the "Iron Demon."

As he stared into space, watching the grey, industrial landscape roll by, he overheard the "Iron Gear" guards tasked with escorting the wagon mocking him.

"The mighty Bishop of Winchester. Look at him now. Defeated by a kettle on wheels. Even his own King signed the trade deal. Pathetic..."

These words stirred Heahmund from his stupor; he had not been fully aware of the political fallout as he was busy scrubbing soot from the boiler during the journey.

He quickly rose from his seated position and climbed over to the area where the guards were talking, peering at them through the grate. However, the flat of a halberd quickly smacked his hands, forcing him back.

"Sit down, intern!" a guard laughed. "Or we dock your rations!"

This action provoked laughter from the Vikings. However, Heahmund did not care about the mockery; he needed to know the state of the Church. As such, he quickly asked the guards about the information.

"What you said... Is it true? Did Aethelred submit?"

The guards nodded and grinned as they chastised Heahmund for his failure.

"Some people are calling Ragnar the ’Director of England.’ The man led a construction crew and conquered the South in a month. Without fighting a single pitched battle! King Aethelred didn’t just submit; he’s currently in Titan, negotiating the price of wool. Even the Pope’s envoys are buying our steel! Your own flock thinks of you as a thief who tried to steal the treasury!"

Naturally, the rumors had inflated Ragnar’s market dominance; if not for the threat of Frankish intervention and the sheer cost of coal, he would not have been so secure.

However, it was still quite the feat.. one achieved through superior logistics and a complete disregard for tradition.

Heahmund was shocked by this news and struggled to come to terms with it. The incessant mocking which followed went unnoticed. Instead, he sunk back into the corner and began to piece together what had led to his downfall.

In a masterful move, Ragnar hadn’t fought the Church; he had outspent it. He lured the starving Saxon army with hot food.

He terrified the defenders with noise. And then, he simply bought the King. By being over-eager to start a crusade, Heahmund had left himself isolated, looking like a madman screaming at a train while everyone else was boarding it.

The Bishop sighed heavily. He realized his fault: he underestimated the power of comfort. The people didn’t want a holy war; they wanted warm houses and full bellies. Ragnar offered them that.

After reflecting on his life choices in silence for some time, the wagon finally pulled into the Titan Central Station. A platform was constructed in the middle of the area. Soldiers and civilians alike had gathered to witness the event.

Upon seeing the platform, Heahmund instantly feared the worst. He assumed he would be beheaded. The moment the wagon stopped, the other Ealdormen began to panic, yet they were all pulled out one at a time and brought up to the stage.

But there was no headsman. There was no block.

Instead, there was a desk. And behind the desk sat Prime Minister Gyda.

Over an hour passed, and finally, Heahmund was all that remained.

When the guards came to escort him, he walked onto the platform with a defeated expression, gazing upon the crowd who jeered him.

Standing in the crowd was Ragnar, holding his baby son Magnus. A chilling, corporate smile was on his face as he stared into Heahmund’s eyes.

Finally, Gyda began reading the "Performance Review," announcing his crimes to the realm.

"You and your titles are hereby forfeit," Gyda continued, her voice amplified by the acoustics of the station. "Your diocese is now under the administration of the Department of Cultural Affairs. As for you..."

She paused, looking at Ragnar. Ragnar nodded.

"...you are sentenced to Community Service. You will be assigned to the Sanitation Department. Specifically, the sewer maintenance division. You wanted to cleanse the souls of men? Now you can cleanse their waste."

Hearing that, a bitter smile formed on Heahmund’s face. The young Director, who started as a raider, had turned the Bishop into a janitor.

"May the Market have mercy on you," Gyda finished, slamming a stamp onto the paper.

The crowd roared with laughter. Heahmund was dragged away, not to a block, but to a tool shed where a mop awaited him.

Ragnar walked up to the edge of the platform, looking at the assembled crowd.

He raised a hand, and silence fell.

"The audit is complete!" Ragnar announced. "The South is open for business! And to celebrate... the Victory Dividend is issued immediately! Double rations of salt pork for everyone!"

The cheers were deafening.

As the noise settled, Ragnar turned to King Aethelred, who was standing awkwardly on the VIP balcony.

"Your Majesty," Ragnar said, "I believe we have a railway to extend."

Aethelred looked at the cheering crowd, then at the defeated Bishop being handed a bucket. He realized that this was the new world.

"Yes, Director," Aethelred said softly. "To London."

...

News quickly spread of the "Grand Merger" - the polite term Ragnar used for the total annexation of Wessex and Mercia into the Directorate’s portfolio.

In the two years since Ragnar had been reincarnated into this world, he had gone from a mid-level project manager in Ohio to the "Iron Director" of England.