"A cup I drank, a second I drank,

In the high halls of the host!

The heron of forgetfulness hovers above,

And steals the minds of men.

Fire is best for the sons of men,

And the sight of the shining sun,

But better still is the brimming horn,

When the bloody work is done!"

The voices of thousands of men echoed throughout the night, rattling against the glass windows of the great hall.

Hundreds of glasses shattered on the tables. Soldiers, peasants, and miners sang under the snow, drunk on beer.

Inside the great hall, there was a profound silence despite the sounds outside. Everyone remained silent, waiting for Ragnar to speak. But the first to speak was Ecgberht.

Ecgberht nearly choked on a piece of turkey. "What? You couldn’t care less? They are taking the whole continent!"

"Let them take it, Ecgberht." Ragnar laughed, slamming his cup down on the table. "Let them march through the muddy fields! Let them bleed thousands of men trying to capture a few dirty farming villages in Italy! You think I want to rule a thousand miles of French dirt?"

Prince Alfred frowned, "But King Ragnar, land is power. The more land an empire holds, the more crops they can grow, and the more taxes they can collect."

"Alfred, my brilliant, over-thinking friend!" Ragnar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the map. He tapped his finger on the coastal city of Calais. "That is the old way of thinking. The Romans tried to hold all that land, and look what happened to them. They stretched themselves completely thin, and the barbarians tore them to pieces."

"Look at this map..." Ragnar commanded, drawing an imaginary circle around the English Channel. "With our massive fortresses and our coastal cannons, no ship can pass through the narrow sea without my permission. We control the ocean trade route between the North Sea and the rest of Europe."

Gyda smiled gracefully, taking a sip from her own cup. "My husband doesn’t need to conquer Paris, Prince Alfred. Paris needs iron. Paris needs coal. If the Frankish kings want to survive the Arabs and the Byzantines, they have to buy our weapons. And they have to buy them at whatever price we set."

"See? That’s thinking!" Ragnar cheered, pointing at his wife. "Bjorn’s job is to hold the door, tax every single merchant that walks through it, and let the rest of the continent tear each other apart."

Afterward, a stunned silence fell over the vassal kings.

"Damnit..." Ecgberht whispered, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his beard. "You are letting them do all the fighting, while you just sit here and sell them the shovels to dig their own graves."

Prince Alfred let out a long breath, shaking his head. "I have never met a man who thinks the way you do..."

"You will learn, Alfred." Ragnar said, offering a smile to the young prince. "That is why you are all sitting at my table. Stick with me, follow the laws, and your kingdoms will be richer than the Roman Emperors ever dreamed of."

"Well then!" King Burgred cheered, raising his cup high into the air. "To the Commander Bjorn! May he sit comfortably behind his walls and collect all our gold!"

"To Bjorn!" Ecgberht and Alfred echoed, clinking their glasses together.

Ragnar let out a booming laugh, picking up his cup and taking a long gulp of spiced wine.

He kicked his boots off the edge of the table and leaned in closely, resting his thick forearms on the wood.

"...I said I couldn’t care less about ruling the muddy fields of Francia. I never said I wasn’t going to completely control it." Ragnar grinned, wiping a drop of wine from his beard.

King Burgred of Mercia frowned, "I don’t understand... how do you plan to control it?"

As such, Ragnar turned his head and looked down the long, crowded table.

Sitting near the end, awkwardly picking at a bowl of mashed peas and ignoring the beautiful roasted meats, was a man wearing glass spectacles.

"Hey! Louis!" Ragnar yelled over the loud chatter of the feast.

Louis the Stammerer pushed his spectacles up his nose and looked at the Ragnar with wide eyes. "Ragnar?"

"Get over here! Bring your chair!" Ragnar laughed warmly.

Louis grabbed his chair and dragged it across the floor, squeezing himself into a space right between Queen Gyda and King Burgred.

The foreign kings looked at the Frankish prince with clear confusion.

They all knew who Louis was. He was the son of the King of the West, Charles the Bald. He was supposed to be their enemy. But instead, he was Ragnar’s chief engineer and the country’s foremost genius, overseeing the manufacture of all the tools and weapons whose power was beyond question.

Ragnar placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder.

"Look at this man..." Ragnar said, "He is the most brilliant mind I have ever met. He is the true architect of City Titan. Ecgberht asked why I am not marching my army to take the Frankish throne for myself. The answer is simple. I don’t want it. But I am absolutely going to conquer Francia... for my friend."

After hearing such words, a collective gasp rippled across the high table.

Ecgberht’s eyes widened to the size of gold coins. "You..."

"You are going to put Louis on the throne of West Francia?"

"Undoubtedly." Ragnar grinned, "Louis is a Carolingian. He has the royal blood. The Frankish peasants already know his name. When the time is right, my army will march out of Calais, smash whatever weak lords are left standing, and I will place the crown directly onto his head. Francia will be a loyal vassal state of the Iron Kingdom."

King Ecgberht rubbed his face, "But you are ignoring the massive problem right in front of us... If you try to claim Francia now, you will be fighting a massive war on two entirely different fronts."

"We aren’t claiming Francia right now... We need to wait for the sign from Emperor Basil the First." Ragnar said calmly, taking a bite.

Prince Alfred frowned, he stared at Ragnar in confusion. "A sign from Emperor Basil? What do you mean?"

Ragnar chewed his food slowly, swallowing before wiping his mouth with a linen cloth. "Oh, don’t you know?" Ragnar laughed.

"Know what?" King Burgred asked.