April 21, 870 AD

City Titan, Iron Kingdom

The longship cut through the dark waters of the English coast. Erik stood at the prow, the wind whipping his braided blonde hair across his face.

He took a deep breath, expecting the crisp smell of the sea, but instead, his lungs filled with the sharp scent of burning coal.

"Look at this place..." one of Erik’s warriors muttered, gripping his axe tightly as he stared at the massive iron cranes lifting cargo on the docks.

"Put the axe away, you idiot." Erik laughed, slapping his warrior on the back.

The ship hit the docks. Before the ropes were even tied properly, Erik vaulted over the side, his boots hitting the sturdy planks of City Titan’s main harbor.

Standing there, surrounded by busy dockworkers and armed guards in neat uniforms, was a massive man with a thick beard and a heavy fur cloak. It was Leofric.

"Leofric!" Erik shouted cheerfully, throwing his arms open as he marched up to the giant man.

He reached out and grabbed Erik’s forearm in a strong, familiar warrior’s grip. "look who finally decided to come back from the mud of Francia. I thought the Knights might have chopped you to pieces by now."

Leofric stopped near a quiet guarded section of the docks. He pointed a finger toward a fleet of 10 large transport ships being loaded with wooden crates by hurrying soldiers.

"So why the hell does Ragnar care about Iceland?" Erik asked.

"Because that frozen rock sits right on top of massive volcanic activity." Leofric explained, "We need sulfur to make black powder. If we want to arm our allies in Ireland and keep the Franks pushed back, we need endless supply of sulfur. You are going to secure the island and build a colony for the miners."

"Fine..." Erik shrugged easily. "I’ll take my 50 men, sail over there, and tell the farmers they work for the Iron Kingdom now. If they argue, I’ll punch their leader in the teeth."

"You are not taking 50 men." Leofric said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "100 men?"

"Tomorrow at dawn, you sail with 1,500 musketeers." Leofric stated.

Erik stared at Leofric for a long moment, the noise of the docks seemingly fading into the background.

"1,500 musketeers?" Erik repeated, "Are you joking with me, Leofric? 1,500 men armed with gunpowder?"

Though Erik respected Ragnar’s mind, this felt like a massive overreaction. 1,500 musketeers was a force large enough to conquer a small country in this era. Sending them to a desolate island seemed like a complete waste of resources.

"Leofric, listen to me." Erik said, still chuckling. "If I show up with 100 men and a single cannon, they will piss their pants and surrender."

"The Iron Father wants total control of the sulfur deposits within one month. No long wars, no negotiations. Overwhelming force is the fastest way to peace." Leofric replied stubbornly.

Afterward, Erik shook his head, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. "You people in City Titan worry too much. Fine. If Ragnar wants me to bring an army of fire-spitters to a snowball fight, I will do it. We sail at dawn."

"Make sure your men are rested." Leofric advised, "The sea is unforgiving this time of year. And Erik... don’t get too cocky."

"Cocky?" Erik laughed again, walking over to the edge of the dock and looking down at the dark water. "I’ll be back here drinking your best ale before the end of the month."

As such, the plan was set. Erik felt a deep sense of relief. After the brutal warfare on the continent, this expedition to Iceland felt like a paid vacation.

"Just make sure the ships are fully loaded with enough food." Erik called out over his shoulder as he started to walk back toward his warriors. "And maybe pack some extra furs."

"Everything is already loaded on the transport ships." Leofric called back, watching Erik walk away.

Thus, Erik felt entirely at ease. But as Leofric watched Erik’s retreating back, the Lord Commander reached into his heavy fur cloak and pulled out a smalld piece of parchment.

It was a decoded message from the spy network, intercepted just 2 days ago from a merchant ship sailing from the north.

Leofric looked back up at the King of Norway.

"If they don’t have muskets... then what in the name of God wiped out our first three scouting ships in the ice?" Leofric whispered to himself, his grip tightening on the piece of parchment.

"Hold on a second." Erik called out. "You just said something that makes no sense."

"You said Ragnar wants me to take 1,500 musketeers to Iceland to secure the sulfur." Erik pointed out, "But if you just needed a colony built, why did you even send scouting ships first? If you wanted me to pull away from the glorious war in Francia, why not just wait for me?"

After hearing such words, Leofric let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead as if he had a terrible headache. "We were just seeing what was there, Erik. They were not supposed to conquer anything or fight anyone. They were just tasked with mapping the terrain, finding the best spots for the sulfur mines, and setting up a basic camp."

Before Ragnar sends a massive army with thousands of muskets and cannons, he always sends a small group of highly trained scouts.

200 men carrying basic supplies, measuring tools, and enough food to last them through the harsh winter. They were supposed to send a raven back with a map of the volcanic sulfur deposits.

"So you sent 200 men to a frozen rock, and they haven’t sent a raven back?" Erik laughed, "And that has you sweating like a pig?"

"The sea is dangerous, yes, but these were experienced sailors." Leofric said, "The last message we got from them was panicked. It didn’t make sense. And then... nothing. Complete silence for weeks."

"The sea probably swallowed your ships. The sea is a cruel mistress, Leofric. You sit in this warm city too much." Erik said, slapping Leofric hard on the shoulder.

Though Leofric still looked deeply troubled, Erik was unbothered.

"Relax your shoulders, Leofric." Erik teased, waving his hand. "I am going to get some sleep."

They walked through the bustling streets of City Titan, heading toward the barracks.

Inside the barracks Erik and his men sat down at a long table. A few serving girls immediately brought them massive plates of roasted pork, fresh bread, and large wooden tankards filled with dark, sweet ale.

"Eat up, boys!" Erik cheered, "Tomorrow we eat hard ship rations, so fill your bellies tonight."

"Are you sure about this, Erik?" Halig asked, wiping grease from his chin. "200 men don’t just vanish without a trace. Even if a storm hit them, at least one ship usually survives to tell the tale."

Erik took a long drink of his ale and slammed the tankard down on the table. "Damnit, Halig, are you getting soft?"