Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 93: The clients are ready to sign

By the time the sun rose over the smoking ruins of the Nottingham gatehouse, the castle was fully under the jurisdiction of the Directorate.

The only "Asset" that had yet to be fully processed was the surviving upper management of the Mercian court.. specifically, the Ealdormen who had barricaded themselves in the solar tower after King Burgred’s liquidation.

Ragnar intended to offer them a choice: seamless integration into the Jernheim supply chain, or immediate termination.

Inside the solar tower, Ealdorman Aelfgar.. the ranking noble now that the King was dead.. paced the stone floor. He was an older man, dressed in fine wool that smelled of fear and stale smoke.

When he looked out the narrow arrow slit and saw the "Industrial Corps" cleaning the courtyard with brooms and shovels instead of looting, he could not believe his eyes.

In a fit of confusion, Aelfgar lashed out at the terrified Thanes trapped with him.

"How is this possible? The Vikings are... sweeping? They are organizing the debris into piles!"

Aelfgar had expected rape and pillage. He expected fire. He did not expect to see a grey-clad officer with a clipboard cataloging the castle’s silverware.

One of the younger Thanes, a man whose arm was in a sling from the battle, nervously spoke his thoughts.

"My Lord, they call it ’Inventory Management.’ I heard them shouting about it when they breached the wall. They said the grain stores are now ’Company Property’."

Aelfgar scoffed at the man’s reasoning.

"It is madness! They killed the King with a bolt of lightning from a woman’s wrist! And now they are counting spoons? What do you think they will do to us when they breach this door? Calculate our worth in silver and melt us down?"

Aelfgar was not a fool; he quickly realized the market position he was in. The King was dead. The army was liquidated.

The castle had a hole in it the size of a longship.

If he wanted to spare himself and the remaining nobility from the "Can-Openers," he would have to negotiate a surrender.

Because Ragnar was known as the "Iron Director," Aelfgar could not expect him to follow the Code of Chivalry. Thus, he turned to his Thanes and informed them of his monumental decision.

"I will meet with this ’Director’ and discuss the terms of our severance. I don’t care what it takes, but I will ensure we retain our estates!"

The Thanes looked at Aelfgar with shocked expressions.

"The Bishop would never allow it! We should fight to the death!"

Aelfgar was in no mood to argue with fanatics. He walked up to the young Thane and grabbed him by his tunic.

"The Bishop is hiding in the cellar with the wine! And if King Burgred had paid for better armor instead of hoarding gold, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I am going to negotiate!"

...

Ragnar was currently sitting at a makeshift desk in the center of the castle courtyard.

The desk was actually a door ripped from its hinges, balanced on two beer barrels. He was reviewing the "Acquisition Report" with General Bjorn.

Right before Bjorn could order the engineers to blow the tower door, a white flag—actually a tablecloth—was waved from the solar window.

"Hold fire," Ragnar ordered, not looking up from his ledger. "The clients are ready to sign."

Ragnar grabbed a grey flag with the Iron Gear sigil to symbolize that the merger was open for discussion.

After the signals were exchanged, the heavy oak door of the tower creaked open.

Ealdorman Aelfgar walked out, hands raised, followed by a retinue of unarmed nobles.

They looked blinking into the morning light, terrified of the silent, uniformed soldiers standing in perfect rows.

Ragnar wore a bored expression behind his raised visor.

He didn’t stand up. He simply tapped his quill against the inkwell.

"Are you going to waste my billable hours," Ragnar asked, his voice metallic, "or do you have a counter-offer?"

Aelfgar wanted to make a speech about divine right and Saxon honor, but he looked at the "Range Department" soldiers on the walls, their repeating crossbows trained on his chest. He chose to shut his mouth and focus on survival.

"I surrender Nottingham Castle to the Directorate," Aelfgar announced, his voice trembling slightly. "On the condition that the noble families are spared, and our private lands remain... un-liquidated."

Ragnar gazed upon Aelfgar’s figure, his blue eyes analyzing the man’s utility. Aelfgar was soft, but he knew the tax codes. He was middle management material.

"Anything else?" Ragnar asked dryly.

Aelfgar swallowed hard.

"The Queen and the Princesses... they must be treated with honor. Not as... assets."

Ragnar smiled and stuck out his armored hand.

"Very well. Under these terms, I accept your resignation from the Kingdom of Mercia. You will be re-hired as ’Regional Managers’ under the Jernheim umbrella. The Queen and her daughters will be escorted to York to live in the ’Executive Suites’ strictly for their own protection, of course. As for your lands... you keep them, provided you pay the new ’Infrastructure Subscription Fee’ of 30%." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Aelfgar frowned. 30% was high, but it was better than death. He sighed in defeat and shook Ragnar’s cold, steel gauntlet.

"Agreed."

Ragnar gestured to General Bjorn.

"General, escort these gentlemen to the orientation center. Get them grey tabards. And find them some work. I want the granary audit finished by noon."

Aelfgar was being led away by two massive "Can-Openers" when he suddenly stopped. He turned around, looking at the strange Viking who treated war like a business transaction.

"Director Ragnar!" Aelfgar called out. "I wonder if you can humor my curiosity for a moment?"

Ragnar, who was already dipping his quill to sign the takeover documents, paused. He spun the quill in his fingers and looked at the Saxon.

"I charge for consultation, but... go ahead."

Aelfgar gestured helplessly at the smoking ruin of the main gate, where the "Master Key" (gunpowder keg) had vaporized the solid oak.

"We have fought the Danes for a hundred years..

They bring axes. They bring fury. But you... you brought thunder in a wooden barrel. And you let a woman manage your war chest. In Mercia, we say women are bad luck with gold. How exactly do you sleep at night letting a woman hold the purse strings of an empire?"

Ragnar laughed. It was a genuine, booming laugh that echoed off the stone walls.

Of all the questions—the chemistry, the tactics, the engineering—the Saxon was worried about gender roles in finance.

To Ragnar, this was hilariously inefficient.

After chuckling for a few moments, Ragnar stood up, spreading his arms to encompass the disciplined, well-fed, well-paid army around him.

"How do I sleep?" Ragnar grinned, his eyes gleaming. "I sleep soundly! Because I know that if I miss a penny in the ledger, she will catch it. And trust me, Ealdorman... you should fear my sword, but you should be absolutely terrified of her audit!"

The soldiers of the Imperial Corps immediately began to laugh. They knew Gyda. They knew that Prime Minister Gyda denied expense reports with more ruthlessness than a berserker denied mercy.

Aelfgar was left blushing, confused by the Viking’s respect for a female accountant. He was escorted to a temporary holding cell, where he would wait until the paperwork was finalized.

With the surrender complete, Ragnar now held the key to the Midlands. The "Hostile Takeover" of Nottingham was a success.

He spent the rest of the day overseeing the "Corporate Restructuring."

The banner of the White Dragon of Mercia was lowered, and the Iron Gear was raised.

Ragnar walked through the Great Hall. It was being scrubbed clean. The blood was gone. The broken furniture was being recycled for firewood.

"General Bjorn," Ragnar called out.

Bjorn appeared, holding a turkey leg. "Director?"

"The Queen and her daughters," Ragnar said, looking at the terrified royals huddled near the hearth. "Send them north immediately. Use the covered wagons. I don’t want them getting wet. They are valuable leverage against Wessex."

"It will be done," Bjorn nodded. "And the treasury?"

"Leif is counting it now," Ragnar said. "We use the silver to buy wool from the locals at 10% above market rate."

Bjorn choked on his turkey. "Above market rate? Why?"

"To buy their loyalty," Ragnar explained, tapping his temple. "If the peasants make more money under Jernheim management than they did under King Burgred, they won’t rebel. We are buying a workforce, Bjorn, not slaves."

Bjorn shook his head. "You are a wicked man, Ragnar. You kill them with kindness."

"Efficiency," Ragnar corrected. "Kindness is just good PR."

..

That evening, Ragnar retired to the solar tower. He sat by the window, looking south toward the dark horizon.

Somewhere out there lay Winchester, the capital of Wessex. And somewhere out there was Princess Judith, his former business partner, now the Regent.

He pulled out his notebook and charcoal pencil.

He wasn’t sketching a battle plan. He was sketching a cylinder. A piston. A wheel.

"The logistics are becoming a bottleneck," Ragnar muttered to himself. "Moving 4,000 men and supply wagons takes too long. Mud. Rain. Horse fatigue."

He looked at the sketch. The Steam Engine.

He had used steam to burn the Saxons at City Titan. But the energy transfer was crude. If he could harness that pressure...

"Leif!" Ragnar shouted down the stairs.

Leif the Smith (the Elder) ran up, wiping grease from his hands. "Director?"

"How much iron do we have in the captured armory?"

"Tons, Director. Thousands of mail shirts. Helmets. Swords."

"Melt it," Ragnar ordered. "I need rails."

"Rails, sir? For a fence?"

"No," Ragnar smiled, a dangerous glint in his eye. "For a road. A road of iron. We are going to build a Locomotive. If we can’t march to Winchester fast enough... we are going to drive there."

Leif looked at the drawing. It looked like a demon on wheels.

"Director... will it explode?"

"Probably," Ragnar shrugged. "That’s why we test it on the Saxon prisoners first."