Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 88: Shadow

It was a cold, damp night in the Midlands, and the moon was choked by the thick smog of the industrial revolution or at least, the early warning signs of it spreading from the North.

The darkness allowed the "Auditors" of the Directorate’s Loss Prevention department to engage in market destabilization against the Kingdom of Mercia.

At the moment, an operative shrouded in a cloak of matte-black wool maneuvered through the streets of Tamworth, the capital of Mercia, under the cover of the curfew.

His goal was to liquidate the Royal Granary; as such, he began to approach the massive timber structure with a ceramic canister in hand.

This wasn’t magic, and it wasn’t a dragon. It was the "delayed-reaction thermal paste" Helga had cooked up in the lab.

The Auditor, a man named Sighvat, slipped past the sleeping guards who were suffering from the "Blueberry Mix" dysentery Gyda had introduced to the water supply days prior.

He pried open a ventilation slat. He placed the canister inside, which contained a glass vial of acid set to eat through a cork stopper, eventually dropping into a mixture of potassium chlorate and sugar.

As soon as the device was planted, Sighvat vanished into the alleyways, his rubber-soled boots making no sound on the cobblestones.

...

Ten minutes later, the city of Tamworth was awakened not by a bell, but by a sound like a giant inhaling.

The chemical fire ignited with a violet intensity, instantly consuming the dry grain.

The local bucket brigade quickly reacted to the scene, only to find that their water buckets were useless against the sticky, resin-based accelerant.

"It’s the Viking Curse!" a guard screamed, dropping his bucket as the fire turned green. "The fire is haunted!"

Surely, the Master of the Watch would be fired for this disaster.

The next day, King Burgred.. if he survived the siege at Nottingham.. would open an investigation.

But unfortunately for the people of Tamworth, they would never find the culprit.

This scene was just one of many appearing across the supply lines of Mercia; under Gyda’s remote management, the hostile takeover had begun from the inside out.

...

In the fortified town of Derby, another one of the Directorate’s "Human Assets" was currently active.

She had been operating in this trade hub for weeks, tracking the movement of silver shipments to pay the Mercian mercenaries. Recently, she acquired a work order to terminate the Quartermaster General of the Mercian reserves.

All this time, she had been working as a scribe’s assistant, helping the illiterate local Thanes tally their taxes.

She was currently pouring wine for the target of her objective, a fat, paranoid Thane named Aelfric.

The man had frequented the counting house regularly, not just for business, but to boast about how he was skimming off the top of the King’s war chest.

After all, she was quite the efficient listener and had been the object of his suspicion and desire for some time now. As such, when she was about to leave the solar with a stack of ledgers, he began to press her for an answer to his lingering doubts.

"Girl, you count numbers faster than a priest. And you listen too closely when the captains talk of troop movements."

It was a sharp accusation. Finally, the woman, an operative named Elara, relented; after all, she planned to close his account today, and what better way than to accept his "invitation" to a private audit.

There would be plenty of opportunities to quietly end the man’s contract. As such, she put on a facade of a frightened servant and curtsied.

"I only wish to serve the Kingdom, my Lord. If you wish to inspect my work, I can bring the books to your private chambers."

The Quartermaster smiled greedily both for the girl and the chance to find a scapegoat for his own embezzlement.

"Midnight. Bring the ledgers. And leave the door unlocked."

After finishing his wine, the Quartermaster went back to shouting at his subordinates. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Throughout the hours, Elara maintained her position until finally, midnight arrived. She adjusted the mechanism hidden beneath the sleeve of her dress.

After exiting the scribe’s quarters, she entered the Quartermaster’s private solar. He was waiting for her, dressed in a silk robe purchased with stolen funds.

Seeing the girl arrive, the Quartermaster smiled, thinking he had caught a spy he could leverage.

"So, who pays you?" Aelfric asked, stepping out of the shadows. "Is it Wessex? Or is it that heathen in the North?"

Elara smiled, dropping the act. "I work for the Directorate. And you have failed your audit."

The Quartermaster’s smile turned into a sinister grin. He snapped his fingers.

From behind the tapestries, four armored guards emerged. They were King Burgred’s personal housecarls. A trap.

"We knew you were a spy the moment you corrected my math," Aelfric sneered, advancing on her. "You think you can dismantle my operation? We are going to extract every secret you have, and then we will sell you to the Welsh."

Realizing that the negotiation phase was over, Elara raised her right arm.

The Spring-Loaded Wrist Caster fired a short, thick steel bolt directly into the Quartermaster’s throat.

The bolt severed his vocal cords and spine instantly.

He collapsed without a scream, gurgling on his own corruption.

The guards were shocked to see their paymaster drop. Before they could react, Elara spun around.

She didn’t have time to reload the caster with the specialized crank.

Instead, she reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a glass sphere.

"Flash out!" she whispered.

She threw the sphere at the feet of the guards.

A blinding flash of magnesium powder and a deafening crack filled the small room. The guards, blinded and deafened, flailed wildly with their swords.

Elara moved with practiced efficiency. She drew a pair of stiletto daggers standard issue for the Loss Prevention team. While the guards rubbed their eyes, screaming about "sorcery," she slipped between them.

She targeted the gaps in their armor the armpits, the groins, the necks.

Within ten seconds, three of the guards were bleeding out on the expensive rug.

The fourth guard, blinking tears from his eyes, swung his sword blindly.

Elara slid under the swing, hooked his ankle, and drove her dagger into the base of his skull as he fell.

The spy moved quickly. The sound of the struggle was sure to attract the rest of the garrison.

She ran to the window, threw it open, and looked down. It was a twenty-foot drop into the moat.

She grabbed a grapple-hook from her belt, secured it to the window frame, and rappelled down the stone wall with the speed of a spider.

By the time the door burst open and more guards rushed in, she was already submerged in the moat, breathing through a hollow reed.

After packing up her gear in a waterproof bag hidden on the riverbank, the woman rapidly disappeared from the town of Derby, where she had stolen a fast horse and absconded into the night.

Ultimately she would return to the Titan HQ, where she would be debriefed by Gyda. Nevertheless, she had dealt a significant blow to the Mercian logistics.

With the Quartermaster dead and the granary in the capital burning, the Mercian army at Nottingham would soon find themselves starving and unpaid.

Such was the life of a Corporate Auditor; at one moment, you were a humble servant. The next, you were the instrument of a hostile takeover.

Elara rode hard through the rain, the lights of the confused town fading behind her. She checked her wrist caster. It needed oiling.

"One down," she muttered to the wind.

The war for England had shifted gears. It wasn’t just about armies clashing in the mud anymore. It was about supply chains, information control, and the ruthless application of industrial force in the dark.