Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 188: Guildmaster

After being pinned to the floor by Ragnar’s iron boot, Eadwig was forced to return to his guest quarters, where the heavy oak door was locked from the outside for the remainder of the night.

Eventually, he fell asleep, but by the time the factory whistles blew in the morning and he was released for breakfast, he was still fuming with market-defying anger over the hostile restructuring that had occurred during the previous night.

Eadwig had no voting rights in how his Guild was being run.

Ragnar did not copy him on the memos of importance that the Directorate was constantly issuing, and as such, Eadwig had a surplus of free time.

However, he was confined to the Governor’s Mansion in City Titan without any clearance to leave the perimeter.

After all, the Iron Father did not want the boy leaking trade secrets or causing a panic among the shareholders.

Thus with no authority and no way to review the ledgers, the boy became increasingly bitter.

As the fiscal quarters passed, he eventually found himself bored out of his mind and had begun to engage in petty workplace sabotage.

Yet, those childish antics were always met with a swift, calculated audit by Gyda. Eventually, those childish antics turned to thoughts of corporate sabotage.

At the moment, Eadwig was walking through the smog-filtered courtyard, trying to calculate a way to bankrupt Gyda’s reputation for how she had always managed him.

Eventually, he came across a peculiar sight.

Gyda was currently putting out multiple iron bowls filled with premium cuts of fish, and there were a total of three massive, scarred wolfhounds who came rushing over to greet her.

The sharp-eyed CFO had a rare, genuine smile as she firmly patted the hounds before allowing them to consume their high-protein rations.

Gyda was exceptionally fond of these beasts, having recently imported them from the Norse homelands to act as perimeter security.

She made sure that they were given the best cuts from the company butcher every day.

Ragnar had approved this expenditure for three reasons. Firstly, it boosted Gyda’s morale, and a happy CFO meant an efficient supply chain.

Secondly, he appreciated the loyalty and ferocity of the hounds, finding them more reliable than most human contractors.

Thirdly, the hounds were excellent at deterring industrial espionage, and the industrial sector had more than enough spies lurking around that needed to be liquidated.

After feeding the hounds, Gyda checked her pocket watch, nodded to the beasts, and quickly returned to her work managing the Intelligence Department; she would be back later that evening to review their perimeter logs and feed them more meat.

Seeing the rare, uncalculated smile on Gyda’s face as she interacted with her assets brought a highly volatile idea to Eadwig’s mind.

He may not be able to physically liquidate Gyda; after all, the Iron Guard protected the Board of Directors around the clock. But he could destroy the assets she valued.

Thus the devious little figurehead vowed that later in the day, when the factory shifts were rotating and the noise was at its peak, he would sneak into the courtyard and terminate the three hounds.

Such a loss of property would surely crash the morale of the woman who had so thoroughly audited his life.

After drafting such a vicious scheme, Eadwig returned to his room, where he began to procure the necessary tools.

First, he needed a heavy blade, and as such, he headed towards the Mansion’s main kitchen where he planned to requisition one.

Thus as Eadwig entered the kitchen, he immediately began to behave like a man with embezzled funds; the kitchen staff all began to stare at him until finally, the boy demanded access to the inventory.

"I need a meat cleaver!"

The kitchen staff looked at one another for a few moments, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables halting, before the Head Cook inquired about the requisition.

"Why do you need a cleaver, boy?"

The kitchen staff asking questions immediately caused Eadwig’s temper to spike; seeing how he never had a serf question his orders back in Nottingham, he instantly became outraged and began to invoke his hollow title.

"Because I am the Guildmaster, and I ordered you to issue me one! Now hand it over before I dock your pay!"

The Head Cook had a look of cynical amusement in his remaining eye as he weighed the liability.

On the one hand, he knew the kid was up to no good, and if Eadwig damaged company property with a tool he provided, then the Cook would be facing an HR tribunal.

On the other hand, the boy was right. He was technically a VIP guest of the Director, and though he had no real authority, as a mere contractor, the Cook could not very well deny a direct order without filling out triplicate forms explaining why he defied the Director’s ’ward’.

Considering the two options, the Cook thought it was unlikely that the scrawny Eadwig could do anything too damaging to the heavy machinery, and thus he handed him a freshly sharpened iron cleaver before offering a standard safety warning.

"Mind the edge, sir. That’s company property; I expect it back without any unauthorized modifications."

Eadwig instantly ignored the Cook’s safety brief and did not even bother signing a receipt. Instead, he immediately returned to his quarters, where he tested the weight of the cleaver; he could already project the plunge in Gyda’s efficiency metrics after he butchered her perimeter security.

He longed to see the cold CFO lose her composure and scream like a bankrupt merchant.

These toxic projections are what kept him entertained until the market window opened.

After he noticed the steam whistles blowing for the shift change and that the noise level was deafening, Eadwig quietly snuck out of his room and rushed through the iron-paneled hallways as he tried to act like he belonged there.

Though the more he did so, the more he looked like an industrial spy.

While speed-walking through the corridors, Eadwig hid the cleaver under his velvet cloak as he carefully pressed forward.

Eventually, he collided with a cleaning contractor, knocking her bucket of lye water over. Rather than offer compensation, he glared at her menacingly, and the woman quickly backed away, muttering curses about ’entitled management’.

Unfortunately for him, this occurred right outside the service door to the Courtyard, where the hounds were stationed.

However, the boy was not analytical enough to realize he had just created a hostile witness who could log his presence in the vicinity, and thus he proceeded towards the reinforced kennels that were constructed to house the beasts.

When he approached, the massive hounds instantly stood up, their chains rattling, and sniffed the air.

They were used to Gyda’s crisp scent of ink and perfume; Eadwig smelled of fear and sweat.

The hounds, highly trained security assets, recognized Eadwig as a resident of the Mansion, though not a welcome one.

They did not immediately attack, assuming he was merely passing through the sector.

Thus, when Eadwig approached the largest of the three the dog merely issued a low, warning growl.

Eadwig, fueled by petty vengeance and a profound misunderstanding of risk assessment, unleashed the heavy cleaver and swung wildly at the hound’s tethered neck.

The blade bit deep, severing the heavy leather collar and biting into the muscle. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones and onto Eadwig’s velvet cloak. However, the strike was not fatal.

In his wicked mind, he expected the beast to drop like a slaughtered pig. Instead, Fenrir roared and lunged.

The other two hounds, sensing a hostile breach, threw themselves against their chains, barking furiously. Eadwig panicked.

He managed one more frantic swing, catching another hound on the shoulder, before dropping the cleaver and sprinting back toward the service door in sheer terror.

He had failed to liquidate the assets and had merely damaged company property.

After he had concluded this botched act of sabotage, the boy fled back to his room, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Utterly unaware that he left a trail of bloody footprints and a dropped weapon in his wake.

Eadwig was by no means a master of corporate espionage, and despite believing he had escaped the immediate consequences, he had left a massive audit trail, with a witness logging his location right before the incident.

Luckily for him, the shift change meant the hallways were chaotic, and nobody stopped the panicked boy as he locked himself in his room.

Not long after Eadwig fled, a furious, chilling shout echoed across the courtyard; it was so sharp that even Ragnar heard it over the hiss of his steam engines in the study.

He instantly recognized the tone of absolute, unadulterated fury belonged to Gyda, so Ragnar quickly grabbed his heavy cane and rushed to the scene.

However, before he arrived, the Iron Guard had already locked down the perimeter and established a cordon around the kennels.

By the time Ragnar had limped into the Courtyard to assess the depreciation of assets, the Guards were holding the line, and Gyda was kneeling in the mud.

She was not sobbing but her face was a mask of cold, terrifying rage as she applied a makeshift tourniquet to Fenrir’s neck with her own silk scarf.

Nobody dared to approach the CFO when her metrics were this volatile. Well, nobody other than the CEO.

The moment he saw his partner covered in blood, trying to stabilize her security asset, he bypassed the guards and knelt heavily beside her, his braced leg clanking against the stone.

"Status report," Ragnar demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Gazing at the bloody cleaver on the ground, Ragnar did not believe this to be an attack on the hounds, but a direct strike against the Board of Directors.

To him, it was clear that this was a breach of security from an internal threat.

Thus, as Ragnar placed a hand on Gyda’s shoulder, he began issuing executive orders to the Shift Supervisor of the Guard.

"Lock down the Mansion. Nobody clocks out until we audit every soul in this building! I want the security logs reviewed, the inventory checked, and the perpetrator brought to the boardroom. Now!"

The Supervisor immediately responded to Ragnar’s orders by striking his breastplate in salute and shouting over the noise of the hounds.

"Efficiency is Victory, Director!"

With that said, the guards quickly got to task and began to lock down the exits, secure the crime scene, and initiate a full internal audit.

All while Ragnar knelt beside his furious partner, observing the damaged asset, and making a binding corporate resolution.

"When I find whoever authorized this... I will personally see to their permanent liquidation."