Ragnar unlocked the door and marched down the spiral stairs.

The closer he got to the Great Hall, the louder the noise became.

It was the booming roar of hundreds of wealthy nobles, clan chiefs, and foreign kings celebrating the peak of Iron Kingdom wealth.

He pushed the double doors open, and a wave of heat and the rich smell of roasted venison washed over him.

Sitting near the high table, already drinking from glass cups, were the leaders of the old world.

Prince Alfred of Wessex was laughing with King Burgred of Mercia.

They were wearing their finest silk tunics and heavy gold chains, but they looked around the brightly lit hall with awe.

"King Ragnar!" Leofric announced loudly, "The Iron King arrives!"

The kings, the dukes, and the clan leaders all stood up, raising their cups of dark ale and spiced wine.

They were genuinely excited. Every single person in this room was a vassal to Ragnar’s empire, and they were all desperate to stay on his good side.

Ragnar walked down the center aisle, slapping his generals on the back and laughing loudly.

He made his way to the high table, where Gyda was already sitting, looking stunning with a silver crown resting on her head.

But just as Ragnar sat down and raised his own silver cup to start the feast, the double doors of the hall burst open once again.

Standing in the doorway, completely out of breath and covered in a light dusting of white snow, was the royal family of Northumbria.

King Ecgberht stood at the front, his cloak entirely crooked. Beside him was his wife, and holding onto his belt was his young son, Ricsige.

They looked exhausted, but their eyes were shining with a breathless excitement.

"Ragnar!" King Ecgberht gasped, leaning heavily on the doorframe to catch his breath. "Please tell me we didn’t miss the roasted boar... We rode so hard my horse nearly lost a lung in the snow!"

After hearing such words, the entire Great Hall burst into a massive fit of laughter. Ragnar stood up, spreading his arms wide with a huge grin.

"Ecgberht, you old dog!" Ragnar cheered. "You are late! I already gave away all the new steel swords! But I saved you the fattest piece of meat in the kitchen. Come in! Sit down!"

King Ecgberht laughed, leading his family quickly toward the high table.

The Northumbrian King threw himself into an empty wooden chair next to Prince Alfred of Wessex.

"We thought we were too late for the coronation ceremony," Ecgberht explained, wiping sweat from his forehead while a servant quickly poured him a tall cup of ale. "We were rushing with our horses down the mountain passes. I swear, I pushed the guards so fast they were cursing my name... But when we finally reached the gates of City Titan... gods above, Ragnar, your city is alive!"

"It is a holiday." Gyda smiled warmly from the high seat. "The people are happy."

Ragnar chuckled, slicing a massive piece of roasted venison with his knife. "Eat! All of you! The Iron Kingdom provides!"

As such, the feast exploded into motion.

"King Ragnar," King Burgred of Mercia said, wiping grease from his thick beard. "I must ask... the new steel plows your merchants brought to my borders last month... My farmers are begging for more. How much silver do you want for another hundred?"

"We can talk trade tomorrow, Burgred," Ragnar laughed, taking a long drink of spiced wine. "Today is about my son... Today is about family!"

"Of course, of course!" Burgred smiled quickly, not wanting to push his luck. "Long live Prince Floki!"

Afterward, the musicians in the corner of the hall began to play a fast, upbeat Norse tune on their wooden lutes and drums.

The younger nobles started banging their cups on the tables in rhythm. The laughter grew louder.

Ragnar raised his cup, drinking deeply.

Though the musicians in the corner were playing a wildly upbeat Norse tune, and the children were chasing each other around the stone pillars, the conversation at the high table was slowly shifting toward the messy business of the world.

Prince Alfred of Wessex wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. He leaned forward, looking past the towering pile of roasted pheasant sitting between them.

"King Ragnar..." Alfred spoke, "If I may speak freely on a matter of the mainland?"

"You are eating my best salted butter, Alfred." Ragnar chuckled, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the edge of the table. "You can speak about whatever you want. What is on your mind?"

King Ecgberht of Northumbria, who had been aggressively tearing the meat off a large turkey leg, suddenly stopped chewing.

"It is about Francia." Alfred said, unrolling a small map onto the table. "And the changing borders to the south. We have been getting incredibly worrying reports from our merchants. The Arab fleets are pushing brutally hard into the Mediterranean. They are taking massive territories and marching straight up into Italy. At the same time, the Byzantine Empire is expanding westward, swallowing up the weak Frankish borders."

"It’s a fucking mess out there." Ecgberht grunted, "The old empires are eating all the land... But what are we doing? The Iron Kingdom only holds the port city of Calais. Commander Bjorn has been sitting behind his walls for six months. He isn’t marching on Paris! He isn’t fighting the Arabs! He is just sitting there!"

Ragnar looked at the three royals sitting at his table.

They paid him taxes in exchange for the benefits of his industry - the steel plows, the coal, the medicines. But they were still kings of their own lands...

Ragnar didn’t strip them of their armies. He wrote a specific, unbreakable law. The Vassals do not bleed for the King.

Ecgberht, Alfred, and Burgred kept their spearmen, their archers, and their own defenses.

When Ragnar went to war, he didn’t force the farmers of Wessex to march with him. Ragnar fought entirely with his own army.

He built the cannons. He poured the explosive black powder. He supplied the weapons, just like he did for Erik’s northern Vanguard.

Because of this law, these foreign kings had no skin in the game. They weren’t losing men in Francia. They weren’t paying for Bjorn’s bullets.

By what right they question him about military strategy? They had no right to question his war. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"Ragnar..." Burgred asked nervously, "If the Arabs and the Byzantines keep taking land, they will eventually push north. Aren’t you worried they will surround Calais? Why isn’t Bjorn marching to take the rest of the Frankish lands before the others steal them?"

Ragnar stared at them for a long moment. He slowly picked up his cup, took a sip of his wine, and let out a sigh.

Then, Ragnar flashed a wide arrogant grin.

"I couldn’t care less..." Ragnar said plainly.