Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 147: Iron Portrait

Ragnar was currently standing in the middle of his Boardroom; he was posing for a Daguerreotype Photographer who had shown exceptional talent over the last few months, so much so that Ragnar had commissioned this inventor to take a "plate" of himself. The first of many to come.

It was no secret that Ragnar was incredibly aware of his Brand Image; he cared greatly for his appearance and how the public perceived the Directorate.

There was a reason he outfitted his forces in the standardized, intimidating grey-and-black uniforms from his previous life’s industrial aesthetic.

He secretly wondered if he had inherited this need for control from his father in this life or if he had developed it over time as a coping mechanism for the chaos of the Viking Age.

After all, in his previous life, Ragnar was an exceptionally average-looking middle manager; his great attracting feature was his ability to organize a spreadsheet. His face, however, was nothing special, and though it was not ugly, it was certainly not billboard material either.

However, after reincarnating into this life, he found himself in the body of an exceptionally rugged Viking.

If one went from "Assistant Regional Manager" to "Nordic God," it made sense for them to become slightly obsessed with documenting the upgrade.

At the moment, the young Director stood dressed in his "Executive Armor." The three-quarter plate was made out of blackened steel, with exquisite silver gear-work etched into the pauldrons.

The pauldrons were perfectly sloped over the gaps in the armor to the point where rondels were unneeded.

His gauntlets allowed access to the individual fingers for signing contracts, and he currently held onto the grip of his heavy silver-geared cane, which was planted firmly on the floor.

His free hand rested on his equally embellished Sallet helm, which sat on a nearby drafting table next to a stack of blueprints.

Ragnar’s facial expression was cold, calculating, and indifferent, which went perfectly with his monocle, creating an atmosphere of Hostile Takeover.

he photograph itself was from the waist up, and as such, the brace on his leg was not visible.

In the audience watching the photographer adjust his bulky, steam-powered camera was Gyda, who greatly admired the process... mostly because she had invested heavily in the silver nitrate supply chain.

Ragnar had promised that if it turned out as well as he thought it would, then he would commission a plate of Gyda and Magnus as well.

The camera was a marvel of Directorate engineering.. a box of mahogany and brass, hissing slightly from the chemical heater.

Ragnar was far from a chemist, but he knew the basic principles of light sensitivity from his past life.

He had helped the alchemists in City Titan advance their skills so that their "Sun-Pictures" would be less blurry and more terrifyingly high-definition.

"Hold still, Director," the photographer muttered, ducking under a black hood. "Exposure time is down to ten seconds thanks to the new lens."

Ragnar held his breath, channeling his inner CEO.

Ten seconds later, the shutter clicked shut.

"Done!" the photographer announced, emerging from the hood with a grin. "I will develop the plate immediately."

As the photographer rushed off to the darkroom, Ragnar relaxed his pose, rolling his shoulders. The armor was heavy, but it projected authority.

"Well?" Ragnar asked Gyda. "Did I look authoritative?"

Gyda smirked, walking over to inspect him. She adjusted his collar.

"You looked like you were about to fire someone," she said affectionately.

"Perfect," Ragnar nodded. "That is exactly the vibe I want for the Annual Report cover."

Ragnar then placed his steel-clad arm around Gyda’s waist.

"Go and check on Magnus; you have earned a break. Whenever the photographer is ready, send him to my office. I want to see the proof."

Gyda merely nodded at Ragnar’s request, but not before stealing a quick kiss.

"Don’t stay late, Director," she whispered. "We have a ’merger’ to discuss tonight."

Ragnar chuckled as he watched her leave. She was ruthless, efficient, and incredibly attractive. He was a lucky man.

But he was also a busy man. Now that his portrait was finished, Ragnar had plenty of other matters to attend to.

So did Gyda; as the CFO, she quickly got to work compiling the ledgers on Ragnar’s competitors, expanding the financial web that covered the British Isles.

Soon enough, Ragnar’s auditors would be in every corner of the Kingdom, collecting taxes and waiting for an opportunity to foreclose.

As for Ragnar, he had a meeting to attend to, where he would be consulting with General Bjorn and Princess Elfwynn about the ongoing hostile takeover of the North.

Though now was not the time to strike the West Saxons directly, preparations were in progress for the critical moment when Nottingham was secured and the coal flowed freely to the coast.

With this in mind, Ragnar got changed into his "Business Casual" attire - a black wool tunic and trousers - and visited the War Room.

When he arrived, Ragnar noticed that his executives were waiting for him inside, and they quickly stood up as Ragnar made his presence known.

"Sit," Ragnar commanded, leaning his cane against the table.

Ragnar began the meeting without preamble.

"First and foremost, how is Unit Alpha doing in Manchester?"

General Bjorn quickly announced the status of the operation to defend the Western Line.

"Director, the ’Consultants’ have secured the railhead. The local lords were... hesitant, but after we demonstrated the Steam Cannon, they signed the exclusivity contracts. Manchester is ours."

Ragnar nodded in approval at this news before addressing his next concern.

"So the region has been secured for our coal trains to pass through?"

"That is correct, Director!"

Ragnar smiled when he heard those words; now that the western line was secure, he did not have to worry about bottlenecks when he finally flooded the market with Scottish coal.

As such, he began to address the border crisis in the South.

"And the blockade at Crewe? How are the mercenaries enjoying the mud?"

Princess Elfwynn, looking sharp in her new role as Minister of Logistics, spread a map across the table. She placed a few black pins representing the Directorate’s forts.

"The West Saxon mercenaries have halted their advance entirely. After the Leviathan shelled their supply ships at Chester, their pay has dried up. We are seeing reports of desertion. They are raiding local villages for food, which is turning the populace against King Aethelwulf."

Ragnar smiled thinly. "Excellent. A dissatisfied customer base is a vulnerable market."

"However," Elfwynn continued, pointing to a new red pin on the map, "we have reports of a new player. The Frankish Kingdom has sent an envoy to Aethelwulf. They are offering a loan."

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. "A bailout?"

"It appears so. King Charles wants to keep Aethelwulf in the fight to distract us from his own borders."

Ragnar tapped his fingers on the table. This was an unexpected variable. If the Franks subsidized the West Saxons, the war of attrition could last for years. And Ragnar didn’t like long wars. They were bad for quarterly growth.

"We need to disrupt that loan," Ragnar decided. "Al-Hakam?"

The Vizier stepped forward from the shadows. "Director?"

"Your friends in Cordoba... do they have any influence with the Frankish banks?"

"The Jewish merchants in Paris owe the Caliph favors," Al-Hakam noted.

"We could... encourage them to raise interest rates on King Charles."

"Do it," Ragnar ordered. "Squeeze them. Make the loan so expensive that Charles has to pawn his crown to pay for it."

Al-Hakam bowed. "It shall be done."

Ragnar stood up, pacing the room with his cane clicking rhythmically.

"We are winning the logistics war," Ragnar announced to his team. "But logistics alone won’t end this. We need a Symbolic Victory."

He stopped at the head of the table.

"Elfwynn, prepare the Leviathan for a second voyage. We aren’t just breaking the blockade at Chester. We are going to sail it up the Thames."

The room went silent. The Thames led straight to London... technically a Mercian city, but currently occupied by West Saxon "protectors."

"London?" Bjorn asked, eyes wide.

"London," Ragnar confirmed. "We are going to park an indestructible, fire-breathing iron ship right outside the Tower. And we are going to fire a blank shot every hour, on the hour, until they lower the toll prices."