"...Know what?" King Burgred asked, leaning so far forward he almost fell out of his chair.

"Emperor Basil and I are perfectly fine with each other," Ragnar smiled, taking another sip of his spiced wine. "We have a pact now. In fact, we signed it more than five months ago."

The Great Hall around them was still echoing with loud laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. But at the high table, it felt as though someone had just dropped a massive block of solid ice onto the wood.

"You... you signed a pact with the Byzantine Emperor?" Alfred whispered, his voice trembling. "How is that even possible? He considers all Norsemen to be dirty barbarians... He doesn’t negotiate with raiders."

"He doesn’t negotiate with raiders." Gyda corrected smoothly, "But he negotiates with the only man in the world who can sell him explosive black powder..."

As such, Ragnar leaned forward, dropping the playful tone entirely. His eyes were cold.

"Basil needed a massive advantage to hold his naval lines. Six months ago, I sent a secret envoy to Constantinople. I offered him fifty of our finest iron cannons, and a continuous supply of black powder." Ragnar explained, lowering his voice so only the men at the table could hear.

"You armed the Romans?!" Ecgberht gasped.

"I armed a desperate man." Ragnar corrected him, a smirk playing on his lips. "And in exchange for the weapons to save his empire from the Arabs, he promised to recognize Louis as the true, rightful King of the West, and he promised not to march a single Roman legion past the Alps."

"So we wait," Ragnar finished, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on his stomach. "And when Basil sends me the letter confirming the Aghlabid fleet is destroyed... that is our sign."

Prince Alfred slowly shook his head, staring at the map on the table.

"And what happens when the sign arrives?" Alfred asked.

Ragnar picked up his cup, raising it slightly toward Louis the Stammerer.

"When the sign arrives..." Ragnar whispered, his smile turning completely deadly. "I am going to unleash Supreme Commander Bjorn from his cage, and we are going to burn every single lord in Francia who ever dared to call my friend a weakling."

But just as Ragnar took a sip of his wine, a loud commotion erupted near the doors at the far end of the Great Hall.

Ragnar frowned, lowering his cup. "What is going on down there?"

The double doors were violently shoved open. Two young guards, their faces flushed and their gray wool coats dusted with fresh snow, sprinted into the room.

They were breathing heavily, completely ignoring the festive music and the dozens of shocked kings and nobles staring at them. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Lord Commander Leofric!" one of the guards shouted, "King Ragnar! We have a massive security breach in the lower districts!"

"Lower your voice, soldier, and report," Leofric commanded, "What kind of breach?"

"Thieves, Lord Commander!" the young guard gasped, catching his breath. "There are people stealing from the main weapons warehouses right now! They stole gray coats and walked right past the checkpoints!"

"What?!" Leofric roared.

Ragnar stood up from his high chair, resting his hand on the belt that held his steel pistol. "Wait a minute. If they were wearing your uniforms, Leofric, how the fucking hell did your men figure out they were thieves?"

"It wasn’t our men, King Ragnar!" the second guard quickly explained, looking up at the high table. "The thieves tried to slip out through the main square during the coronation festival. But the people saw them sweating and struggling to carry massive, heavy canvas bags... When a local blacksmith asked them what they were carrying, the thieves panicked and started running."

"Gyda, stay here with the guests," Ragnar ordered, "Leofric. We are going for a walk."

"I am coming too!" King Ecgberht suddenly cheered, jumping up from his seat and grabbing his cloak. "I want to see how the Iron Kingdom deals with a bunch of rats!"

Prince Alfred stood up as well, "If you do not mind, King Ragnar, I would also like to witness your city’s justice."

"Suit yourselves," Ragnar grunted, pushing past the tables. "But try to keep up."

Ragnar, Leofric, and the two royals marched quickly out of the Great Hall.

"Move! Get out of the way!" a harsh voice yelled from the center of the square.

Ragnar looked down the street. Four men, wearing poorly fitted gray wool coats, were sprinting through the packed crowd.

They were carrying massive, bulging canvas bags over their shoulders. The heavy bags clanked loudly with every step, clearly filled with stolen muskets and steel blades.

Right behind them, a dozen guards were trying to chase them down.

"Stop them! Drop the bags!" the guards yelled.

But the guards couldn’t run at full speed because there were simply too many innocent people in the way. They didn’t want to accidentally trample a laughing child or push an elderly woman into the snow.

The thieves were running in zig-zags through the thickest parts of the crowd, using Ragnar’s own celebrating citizens as a shield.

"Damn," Ragnar cursed, narrowing his eyes as he watched from the top of the steps. "If they make it to the narrow alleyways near the slums, we will lose them in the dark."

Leofric gritted his teeth, "I will run them down myself, my King. Excuse me—"

"That won’t be necessary, Lord Commander..." a calm voice called out from the shadows near the royal doorway.

A young man stepped out into the falling snow. He was tall, lean, and had a mop of fiery red hair. He wore the dark uniform of an elite officer, and he was holding a long-barreled musket in his hands.

This was Richard, Leofric’s trusted right-hand man and the sharpest marksman in the entire Home Guard.

"Richard," Leofric said, stepping back slightly. "You have a clear shot?"

"Always, Commander." Richard smiled faintly.

Richard raised the iron musket, pressing the wooden stock firmly against his shoulder.

He closed his left eye, tracking the thieves as they pushed and shoved their way through the screaming crowd of flower-throwing citizens.

The leading thief pushed a flower cart out of his way, creating a tiny, three-foot gap of empty space between himself and the fleeing crowd.

Richard’s finger squeezed the iron trigger.

The explosive thunder of the black powder shattered the festive noise of the city.

A massive burst of bright orange fire and thick white sulfur smoke erupted from the barrel of Richard’s musket.

The lead ball completely bypassed the screaming civilians, flying straight through the narrow gap and slamming violently into the back of the leading thief’s knee.

"Aaaaaaargh!" the thief shrieked in agony.

His leg completely shattered, and he was thrown face-first into the muddy snow.

The heavy canvas bag he was carrying ripped open, sending dozens of freshly forged, highly expensive steel muskets clattering loudly.

The thunderous gunshot and the brutal takedown sent a shockwave of terror through the remaining three thieves.

They looked back at the stone steps, seeing Richard slowlyy blowing the white smoke away from the barrel of his gun.

"Well?" Richard called out, "Do the rest of you want to try out for a wooden leg, or are we done running for the day?"

The three thieves dropped their heavy canvas bags into the snow, threw their hands high into the air, and fell to their knees.

King Ecgberht let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. "By the gods, Ragnar... Your men are terrifying!"

"Good shot, Richard," Leofric nodded, "I told you to aim for the center of mass, though."

"He was moving too wildly, Commander." Richard chuckled, resting the musket over his shoulder. "The leg was a much more polite target for a holiday."

Ragnar slowly walked down the stone steps. The crowd of citizens respectfully parted for their King, giving him a wide path to the kneeling thieves.

Ragnar stopped right in front of the kneeling men. He looked down at the stolen gray coats they were wearing.

Then, he looked at the ripped canvas bag, staring at the muskets spilling out into the mud.

"You boys are incredibly brave," Ragnar said softly, "Or you are incredibly stupid. Do you have any idea what happens to rats who try to steal from the Iron Kingdom’s armory?"

One of the kneeling thieves, a young, dirty-faced man shivering in the cold, looked up at Ragnar with tears streaming down his face.

"P-please, King Ragnar!" the boy begged, "We... we didn’t want to steal them... We don’t even know how to shoot the thunder-tubes! We swear on our lives!"

Ragnar slowly crouched down, "If you don’t know how to shoot them... then why the are you carrying a hundred pounds of my expensive steel?"

"W-we were just hired to carry them!" the thief cried out, pointing a finger toward the alleyways leading to the northern docks. "We were paid silver to sneak in, grab the bags, and drop them off at the old fishing pier!"

Ragnar’s blue eyes narrowed.

A common thief stealing a sword to sell on the black market was one thing... But an organized crew, hired to smuggle highly advanced firearms out of the city?

That smelled entirely like a well-funded spy network...