"Lord Bjorn!" the scout panted, quickly giving a sharp military salute. "A fast-clipper just arrived from City Titan. It bypassed the merchant lanes. The captain said this message is from the Iron King himself."

Bjorn sat up straight, the bored, annoyed administrator entirely vanishing. He snatched the leather tube from the scout’s hands, breaking the heavy wax seal with his thumb.

"Get the boy some hot stew and a dry tunic," Bjorn ordered Hakon, his eyes already scanning the rolled parchment.

Hakon nodded, leading the exhausted scout out of the room and closing the door securely behind them.

Bjorn was left entirely alone in the quiet office... he unrolled the parchment, holding it close to the oil lamp on his desk.

The handwriting was definitely Ragnar’s... sharp, highly efficient, and slightly rushed.

He read the first few lines, and a genuine smile broke across his scarred face.

’Brother. The family has safely arrived in City Titan. Mother and Father are entirely well. Helga, Astrid, Ivar, Sigurd, and little Arne are all sleeping under a warm roof. You should see them, Bjorn. The kids look completely mesmerized by the lights.’

Bjorn let out a shaky breath, feeling a sudden, deep ache in his chest.

Knowing they were finally safe behind Ragnar’s impenetrable walls lifted a crushing weight off Bjorn’s shoulders.

However, as Bjorn continued to read down the parchment, his warm smile instantly vanished.

The second half of the letter wasn’t written by a loving brother. It was written by the Iron King.

’But the peaceful days are over, Bjorn. Sven’s spies just confirmed our worst nightmare. They reverse-engineered the steel. Bjorn... Francia knows how to make gunpowder. They have successfully forged the first muskets.’

"...!" Bjorn His mind raced. If the Franks had explosive powder, a simple, untrained peasant could completely blow a hole through his best veterans from fifty paces away!

He quickly forced his eyes back to the parchment to finish the letter...

’They are mass-producing the weapons right now, and they just formed a massive alliance with the Magyars and Bohemia. The entire continent is about to march on us. Because of this, I am giving you two options, brother.’

’Option one: You have not seen our parents in years. You deserve to come home. If you want to see them, you can board a fast ship back to City Titan. But you must put an absolutely loyal follower in charge of Calais... someone you trust with your life to hold the gates.’

’Option two: You stay in Calais. But if you stay, you must put every single ounce of your effort into securing it. Fortify the walls. Rig the harbor. When march their new army north... you will be the very first city they hit.’

Bjorn slowly lowered the parchment... the small fire in the hearth crackled loudly, throwing long, dancing shadows across the walls of the office.

He looked at the empty chair across from his desk. He could almost imagine his mother sitting there, scolding him for being too skinny and working too hard.

He wanted to go back. He desperately wanted to hug his little brother Arne and drink sweet wine with his father.

Didn’t he deserve just one week of peace?

Even so, Bjorn stood up and walked slowly over to the window of his office.

He looked down at the sprawling city of Calais. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Thousands of innocent people were walking through the muddy streets.

His loyal soldiers were patrolling the docks, entirely trusting him to keep them alive.

If he left now, he would have to put Hakon in charge. Hakon was an incredible warrior, yes. He was brave, brutal, and completely loyal.

But Hakon didn’t understand siege tactics... he didn’t know how to angle the shore cannons or properly ration the explosive powder for a massive, prolonged defense against firearms.

If a million Frankish soldiers armed with muskets marched on Calais while Bjorn was gone... the city would fall in less than three days. Hakon would die. His men would be slaughtered.

And the Franks would have a perfect deep-water port to launch their massive invasion directly toward City Titan.

"I cannot leave..." Bjorn whispered to the glass.

The wooden door opened again, and Hakon stepped back into the office, wiping some spilled stew from his tunic.

"The boy is eating, Lord Bjorn," Hakon reported cheerfully. "So... what did the Iron King say? Did he send us more gold? Or maybe some of those beautiful new repeating rifles?"

Bjorn didn’t turn around. He just stared out at the dark ocean, his fierce Viking blood boiling with a dark, entirely lethal resolve.

He had to prepare the city for absolute hell...

"Hakon," Bjorn said.

"Yes?" Hakon asked, his smile vanishing.

"I want you to lock down the city," Bjorn commanded, finally turning away from the window. "Nobody gets in, and nobody gets out. I want every single Frankish merchant currently inside our walls arrested and thrown into the holding cells."

After hearing such words, Hakon’s jaw dropped. "A-arrested? But Bjorn, the trade agreements... King Ragnar said—"

"I don’t give a fucking damn about the trade agreements right now!" Bjorn roared, slamming his fist against the desk.

He took a deep breath, pointing a finger at his loyal lieutenant. "I want triple shifts on the walls. I want the explosive sea-mines completely deployed across the entire harbor by midnight... and I want the heavy cannons loaded with grapeshot."

Hakon swallowed hard, "Bjorn... what is happening?"

"What is happening..." Bjorn muttered, "Ragnar is saying that the Frankish military now has rifles, Hakon. They are mass-producing primitive muskets as we speak, and they will spread those weapons to their new allies for sure."

"The Magyars and the Bohemians are joining," Bjorn declared. "Millions of men are about to march on our borders. So... we must prepare this city for the worst."

After hearing such words, Hakon stumbled backward.

"R-rifles?" Hakon stammered, waving his hands in the air as if trying to push the words away. "How the fucking hell did a bunch of southern farmers steal the Iron King’s fire?!"

"It doesn’t matter how they did it," Bjorn sighed heavily, "What matters is that a peasant who has never swung an axe in his miserable life can now point a metal tube and blow a hole entirely through my best men from fifty yards away."

Hakon began to pace nervously around the small office.

"No... no, this is entirely too much for us, Bjorn!" Hakon argued, "A million men with guns? We cannot hold them off here. King Ragnar will find a way, of course! He is a genius!"

Hakon suddenly smiled, "Yes, that is it!" Hakon cheered nervously. "Ragnar will just invent a new, massive cannon, or some terrifying machine to win this war! We just have to wait for his orders.

We will not live against them all just in this city... we just need to survive until the Iron King brings the real thunder!"

Though Hakon’s words were meant to be comforting, they suddenly rubbed Bjorn entirely the wrong way.

For the last years, everyone in the entire Iron Kingdom... including Bjorn himself had relied on Ragnar’s brilliant modern mind to save them.

If a Frankish shield wall was too thick, Ragnar built a bomb.

If an enemy fleet was too large, Ragnar built an ironclad.

The Viking warriors had entirely stopped thinking for themselves because the "magic" of the Iron King was always there to bail them out...

However, standing in the office, staring at the vulnerability of Calais, Bjorn suddenly realized an incredibly dangerous truth.