A week later, inside the Great Palace in Constantinople.

Today, the Great Palace looked like a cheap, overcrowded fish market.

"I tell you, we’re in trouble!" cried Demetrius, the chief minister of commerce. He slammed his ring-studded fist on the table. "The Western Silk Roads are dead. Every merchant ship’s captain is afraid to sail through Italy. We’re losing gold every hour!"

"Enough with your whining about your lost money, Demetrius!" scoffed General Christophoros, crossing his arms. "Who cares about silk merchants when there’s a huge, aggressive Frankish army preparing to attack in the west, and you’re crying over silk!"

The royal council chamber was packed.

Dozens of highly educated scholars, wealthy merchants, nervous military advisors, senior ironworkers, and high-ranking ministers were all speaking at once, in perfect unison.

It was utter chaos, unbearable tension, shouting, finger-pointing, and panic.

Though the entire hall was in an uproar, the most powerful man among them seemed completely unconcerned.

Emperor Basil I, ruler of the Byzantine Empire, sat motionless on his throne.

Instead of issuing orders, Basil calmly dipped a quill into a small glass jar of black ink.

He was clearly writing a letter.

"My Emperor," pleaded Demetrius, leaving the arguing ministers and heading towards the throne steps. "I beg you to intervene immediately. The scholars are demanding more gold to study black powder, but the treasury is already stretched thin trying to fortify the western borders. What are we to do?"

Emperor Basil, however, did not look up from his paper.

"Give the scholars the gold, Demetrius," Basil ordered calmly, running the quill across the paper, writing in perfect script.

"But, Your Majesty..." cried Demetrius, his face flushed crimson. "If we give them the gold, we won’t be able to send another fifty thousand men to reinforce the southern border near Italy."

Basil finally stopped writing.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes fixed on the Minister of Commerce.

Basil was a man who had risen to the top of the empire through assassination. He hadn’t survived Constantinople’s brutal, bloody politics by panicking at the first sign of danger.

"We won’t send another fifty thousand men to the southern border, Demetrius," Basil said, resting his chin on his other hand.

At these words, silence fell over the imperial council.

"I... I don’t understand at all, Emperor," Demetrius frowned, taking a few steps toward him with a bewildered expression. "The Franks have gunpowder. They have a huge army. Why don’t we fully fortify the South in preparation for their invasion?"

"Because," Basil laughed, "Louis will never invade us."

Basil rose slowly and picked up the piece of parchment he had just been writing on.

"If you all look at a map of the world, you will see nothing but chaos," Basil said calmly, stepping slowly in front of his assembly. "You see the Franks’ guns, the Vikings’ iron ships, the shifting alliances of Brittany and Burgundy. You panic because you think the world is about to end our golden age."

Basil shook his head. "But you don’t see the actual troop movements," he announced, holding up a small, highly encrypted intelligence report he had received that morning.

"After all..." Basil whispered, "who would have thought that the Frankish emperor would place such scattered and utterly weak armies on his southern borders?"

The ministers exchanged bewildered glances.

Weak armies? Who in the world would dare call the Frankish armies weak?

"Weak armies?" asked General Demetrius, perplexed. "My spies tell me the emperor has mustered a hundred thousand men."

Basil nodded. "Indeed. But he hasn’t sent them south. Louis is a foolish, greedy, and megalomaniacal man. He’s left the bare minimum of his forces to guard his southern borders. He’s relying entirely on the Pope and the Kingdom of Naples as a shield against our armies."

Basil turned slowly. "Louis took his entire mighty army... his best cavalry, his new rifles, his heavy bronze cannons..." Basil smiled. "And sent them all to the far north."

"......."

"The north?" Demetrius exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Crawling toward the Iron Kingdom?"

"As we spoke," Basil whispered.

"Damn it, that man is mad," muttered the scholar Andreas, rubbing his forehead. "He’s sending his entire military force against Ragnar Ulfsson? Leaving his southern back gate wide open?"

"Yes," Basil laughed, folding and sealing the letter he had just written. "He’s so terrified of Ragnar’s industry that he’s willing to risk his empire just to crush Ragnar’s capital before the Vikings can build more artillery."

Even so, the council was still incredibly nervous. After all, what would happen if the emperor won the war and then came down to crush them all?

"But Your Majesty," warned General Christopher, stepping forward. "If he actually manages to defeat the Iron Kingdom... if he kills Ragnar and takes the northern factories... then the Franks will be invincible."

"I understand that," Basil nodded, acknowledging the grave danger. "If the Iron Kingdom falls, the Dark Ages will return under Frankish rule, and that’s why we can’t allow it to happen."

Basil held up the sealed parchment. "That’s precisely why I’m sending this urgent message to the North," he announced. "Send a royal envoy to Ragnar Ulfsson."

"A message?" Demetrius blinked.

"We’re doing what the Byzantine Empire always does, Demetrius," Basil smiled, tossing the sealed letter to his commander. "We’ll stab our enemies in the back while they’re busy fighting someone else."

Basil ordered calmly, "General, send this message to the Iron Kingdom. Tell Ragnar that while the North bravely holds back the Frankish army... the Byzantine Empire will continue its advance, but this time towards the Pope."

The entire hall erupted in excited and angry murmurs.

The plan was clear and unambiguous...

If the Vikings besieged the emperor in a muddy war in the north, the Byzantines could easily overrun the undefended southern Frankish lands and conquer half the continent in a month.

"That’s a brilliant plan, my lord." Christopher beamed, bowing as he clutched the sealed letter to his chest. "I’ll sail our fastest ships north tonight. We’ll utterly crush the Franks."

"Very well," Basil smiled.

But with the hall completely empty, and Emperor Basil alone with his commander-in-chief, his smile faded somewhat.

Looking out the windows, Basil whispered, "Christophoros..." which made the general stop abruptly.

"Yes, my emperor?" Christopher asked, turning around.

"I’ve had my fill of eating these borders, Christopher." Basil groaned suddenly.