"Good work, Torstein," Bjorn nodded firmly. "Have your crew start unloading the black powder first. I want it secured in the stone vaults before a stray spark blows this entire port to the heavens."

"You heard the man!" Torstein yelled over his shoulder at his crew. "Get the cranes moving! I want those heavy crates on the dirt right fucking now!"

However, Hakon wasn’t just focused on the weapons. He waved Odo over.

"Read the master manifest, Odo," Hakon ordered, rubbing his hands together greedily. "Tell me what we are working with. Don’t skip a single nail."

Odo swallowed hard, looking down at the crisp parchment pages handed to him by Torstein’s quartermaster.

He cleared his throat, "Right away," Odo said clearly, "According to the official manifest, we have exactly three hundred heavy steel cannons. They are fully cast and ready to be mounted on the wall carriages."

Bjorn nodded, "That covers the entire eastern and southern walls. What about the small arms?"

"We received two thousand and four hundred repeating rifles, Lord Bjorn," Odo continued, running his finger down the ink lines.

"Along with ten thousand standard replacement parts, cleaning kits, and fifty massive barrels of high-grade gun oil."

"For ammunition, we have over a million rounds of pressed lead bullets and enough explosive black powder to sustain a siege for six months."

"But... um, Lord Hakon," Odo blinked,"The military supplies only make up half of the cargo hold. The rest is... well, it is civilian goods."

"Of course it is." Hakon grinned widely. "Read it, boy. Let me hear the sound of pure profit!"

Odo adjusted his spectacles again. "We have five hundred wooden crates of refined white salt. Two hundred sacks of premium coffee beans imported directly from the southern Abbasid merchants. One hundred chests of dried tea leaves. And... by the heavens... three hundred heavy barrels of refined white sugar."

Bjorn frowned deeply, "Sugar and tea? Hakon, we are preparing for a bloody siege against sixty thousand angry Franks. Why the hell did you fill half the fleet with sweet leaves and sugar?"

"Because you know nothing about logistics, Bjorn," Hakon chuckled, walking over to one of the freshly unloaded barrels and popping the wooden lid off with his bare hands.

He scooped a finger into the white powder and tasted it. "Perfect... absolutely perfect..."

Hakon turned back to the confused commander. "Do you think the local militias are going to fight to the bitter end just because you yell at them? No. Morale wins long sieges, when the men are freezing on the walls in the middle of the night, a hot cup of coffee with a spoonful of real sugar will keep them awake and happy.

Furthermore, we are going to sell the excess salt and tea to the local Breton lords. We will drain their gold reserves, and we will use that gold to pay our mercenaries. It is a perfect circle of wealth."

After hearing such words, Bjorn slowly shook his head.

"Fine..." Bjorn grunted, turning his attention back to Captain Torstein. "You brought the guns and the sugar... what about the news? Did you bring any specific orders from King Ragnar? He has been silent for weeks."

Torstein’s cheerful smile faded slightly. "The King is locked inside the grand workshop in City Titan, he hasn’t slept in days. He has Prince Louis and the master blacksmiths working through the night."

"Working on what?" Bjorn asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I don’t know the exact details, my Lord," Torstein shrugged. "But the rumors in the capital are insane. They say the King stopped the production of all wall cannons. He is pouring every ounce of steel into building some kind of... moving iron fortress."

"A moving fortress?" Hakon raised an eyebrow.

"Well, his orders for you were very clear, Lord Bjorn," Torstein stated firmly. "He said you are to lock down Calais. Mount the three hundred cannons immediately. Arm your infantry with the repeating rifles... but under absolutely no circumstances are you to march out and meet the Frankish army in the open field."

Bjorn let out a low growl. "I could easily march out and shatter their vanguard before they even reach the forests."

"King Ragnar’s exact words were, ’Let them break their teeth on the stone, and wait for my signal,’" Torstein added.

"Wait for his signal..." Bjorn muttered, looking out toward the rolling green hills beyond the city walls.

He hated letting the enemy dictate the pace of the war... but Ragnar had never been wrong before. If the Iron King said wait, they would wait.

"Alright." Bjorn finally agreed, rubbing his bearded chin. "We follow the orders. Odo, I want those cannons hauled up the stone ramps immediately. I don’t care if the men have to push them by hand—"

"Lord Bjorn!"

The panicked shout cut through the busy noise of the port.

Bjorn, Hakon, and Torstein turned around.

Galloping down the path that led from the main castle to the docks was a lone rider.

The rider was Eadric, one of Bjorn’s most trusted forward scouts.

Eadric threw himself off the saddle while the horse was still moving, hitting the dirt hard and rolling before scrambling quickly to his feet.

"Eadric." Bjorn stepped forward quickly, catching the scout by his harness to keep him from collapsing. "Steady yourself, man. What is it? Did the forward patrols spot the Frankish vanguard?"

Eadric was gasping for air, "We... we found them, Lord Bjorn," Eadric wheezed, gripping Bjorn’s armored arm tightly.

"Where?" Hakon asked quickly, stepping up beside Bjorn. "Are they marching on the southern road? How many days out are they?"

Eadric slowly shook his head, his eyes wide.

"Breathe, Eadric," Bjorn commanded. "Take a breath and tell me what you saw. Where is the Emperor taking his men?"

Eadric swallowed hard, accepting a wooden flask of water from Odo.

The young assistant had rushed over, his ledger forgotten on a barrel. The scout drank greedily, wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty sleeve.