Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 70: For the silver

A few days had passed since Ragnar had finalized the "Scarborough Strategy" against the Franks. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

The Boardroom formerly known as the Great Hall of York was buzzing.

Ragnar had summoned every Jarl, Chieftain, and minor Lord from Northumbria and the newly acquired East Anglian territories. They had arrived expecting a feast. They expected roasted boar, flowing ale, and perhaps a speech about how much loot they would plunder from the Franks. They did not expect a Powerpoint presentation.

Well, the 9th-century equivalent: a large slate board covered in chalk diagrams.

Ragnar sat on the High Seat. He was wearing his executive armor polished steel over a tailored wool tunic.

He looked at the assembly. These were proud men. Men who defined their worth by the number of warriors in their personal "Hird."

Ragnar stood up. He simply tapped the slate board with a pointer stick.

"Gentlemen," Ragnar began, his voice projecting clearly. "Thank you for attending this mandatory quarterly review."

The Jarls muttered. They hated it when he used words like "mandatory."

"We face a hostile takeover attempt by the Frankish Empire," Ragnar continued. "Their market cap I mean, their army size is substantial. To counter this, we need to optimize our workflow."

Ragnar paused for effect.

"As of today, I am abolishing the right of any Jarl to raise a private warband."

...

"WHAT?!"

Jarl Sigurd, a scarred veteran from the borderlands, leaped to his feet. He kicked his chair over.

"You want to strip us?" Sigurd roared, his hand going to the axe at his belt. "My father raised his Hird! I raised my Hird! These men swore oaths to me, not to a machine!"

"Yeah!" another chieftain shouted. "We are free men! Not thralls!"

The room erupted into chaos. Dozens of Vikings were shouting, spitting, and threatening to burn the palace down. It was a PR nightmare. But Ragnar didn’t flinch.

He stood perfectly still. Behind him, General Bjorn stepped out from the shadows. Bjorn wasn’t alone. He was flanked by twenty members of the "Heavy Assets" Division.

They were clad in the new, standardized munitions-grade plate armor. They held heavy halberds. They looked like statues made of iron. They just stared.

The shouting died down. The Jarls looked at the armored giants. Then they looked at their own chainmail and axes. The math was simple.

Ragnar tapped the board again. "If you are quite finished with the feedback session," Ragnar said coolly, "I will explain the benefits package."

He walked down the steps of the dais, approaching the furious Jarl Sigurd.

"Sigurd," Ragnar said. "How much do you pay your men?"

Sigurd blinked, caught off guard. "I... I feed them. I give them rings when we raid."

"Unreliable income," Ragnar noted. "And their equipment?"

"They bring their own," Sigurd grunted.

"Inefficient," Ragnar sighed. "Half your men have rusted swords. The other half have wooden shields that rot. If you fight the Franks like that, you will be liquidated in ten minutes."

Ragnar turned to face the room.

"I am not stripping you of your command," Ragnar lied smoothly. "I am promoting you."

He pointed to the diagram on the slate. It showed a pyramid.

"You are now Commissioned Officers in the Imperial Army. You will not pay your men. I will pay your men. You will not buy their armor. I will buy their armor." Ragnar explained.

He gestured to the armored guards.

"Standardized plate. Uniform weapons. Medical insurance provided by the Ministry of Health. And a pension plan."

A murmur went through the crowd. A pension plan?

Sigurd frowned, his hand leaving his axe handle. "And me? What do I become?"

"You become a Colonel," Ragnar said. "You keep your men, but they answer to the Central Command. You lead them, but you follow my doctrine."

Sigurd chewed on his mustache. "And if I want to raid?"

"You file a request form," Ragnar said. "If the target is approved, you raid. If it’s not, you drill."

Sigurd looked at the armored guards. He looked at Ragnar. He realized that the era of the wild chieftain was over. The era of the soldier had begun.

"I... I will consider the offer," Sigurd grumbled, sitting back down.

"Good," Ragnar smiled.

But the meeting wasn’t over. A minor Lord from East Anglia stood up. He looked nervous.

"Director," the Saxon Lord said. "If I cannot raise my own levies... who protects my farm? Who protects my borders from bandits?"

Ragnar smiled gently. This was the selling point.

"You don’t need to protect your borders," Ragnar said. "The System protects them."

He walked over to a map of the region. "We are constructing Star Fortresses at key logistical hubs," Ragnar explained, pointing to the star-shaped icons. "These will be manned by professional garrisons on a rotating shift. They will patrol the roads. They will police the villages."

"Garrisons?" the Lord asked. "Loyal to whom?"

"Loyal to the Paycheck," Ragnar said. "And since I sign the checks, loyal to York."

The Lord paled. He realized what this meant. Ragnar was putting his own troops in every lord’s backyard. It was a military occupation disguised as a security service.

"This... this is unprecedented," the Lord stammered.

"It is Modernization," Ragnar corrected. "Do you want to worry about bandits? Or do you want to focus on maximizing your grain yield?"

The room fell silent again. The Jarls and Lords exchanged looks. They knew they were being trapped. They knew Ragnar was slowly tightening a noose of bureaucracy around their necks. But they also remembered Thetford. They remembered the screaming stones. They remembered the fire that floated on water.

"We have a Crusade coming," Ragnar reminded them, his voice dropping an octave. "The Franks are bringing heavy cavalry. They are bringing the full weight of the Continent."

He looked at each man in the eye.

"You can fight them as a mob of heroes and die. Or you can fight them as a Machine and get rich."

He walked back to the table and picked up a stack of documents.

"These are your Commission Papers," Ragnar said. "Sign them, and receive your first month’s salary in advance. In silver."

The sound of silver clinking was the final argument.

One by one, the Jarls stood up. Jarl Sigurd was the first. He walked to the table, grabbed a quill, and scrawled his rune.

"For the silver," Sigurd muttered.

"For the Company," Ragnar corrected.

One by one, the Lords of East Anglia followed suit. They signed away their feudal rights. They signed away their independence.

By the time the sun set, the Military Reform Act was law. Ragnar stood on the dais, watching them line up. Gyda stood beside him, organizing the signed contracts into a neat pile.

"They think they are just changing titles," Gyda whispered. "They think they can still rule their lands like little kings."

"Let them think that," Ragnar whispered back.

He watched a Saxon Lord sign the paper.

"They don’t know about Phase Two," Ragnar murmured.

"Phase Two?" Gyda asked.

"Zoning Laws," Ragnar grinned, a predator’s smile. "Once the army is centralized, I’m going to nationalize the land. I’ll turn these Lords into ’landlords’ Their political power will be zero."

Gyda looked at him. "You are evil."

He clapped his hands.

"Bjorn!"

The General stepped forward. "Director?"

"The contracts are signed," Ragnar said. "Take these men to the training yard. They are officers now."

"And if they refuse to drill?" Bjorn asked.

"Then dock their pay," Ragnar said ruthlessly. "Hit them in the wallet. It hurts more than a sword."

Bjorn grinned. "Yes, Director."

Ragnar stretched his arms. Now, he just needed to test it.

"Leif," Ragnar called out to the shadows.

"Yes, Director?"

"Send the signal to Scarborough," Ragnar ordered. "Tell the garrison to prepare the ’Welcome Mat’."

"The Franks are coming?"

"The Franks are coming," Ragnar nodded, looking at the map. "And thanks to today... we are ready to process them."