Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry

Chapter 379: Iron Demon of the North

"It arrived while you were at the docks arguing with Ardashir..."

"What did Sven say?" Ragnar asked.

"He has been tracking the movements of the Frankish royal court," Gyda explained, her breath turning to white mist in the air. "Ragnar... Sven just said that the Frankish scholars made the first musket."

Ragnar stood frozen on the stone path. For a second, he thought he had misheard her over the distant rumbling of the city’s factories.

"A musket?" Ragnar repeated, "Are you sure? A metal tube? Using the black powder?"

"Sven saw it with his own eyes, Ragnar," Gyda nodded quickly, "He bribed one of the Frankish blacksmiths. They blew a hole through a solid oak target from fifty paces away... they have fire-weapons now."

"Damnit!" Ragnar hissed violently, slamming his fist against a nearby stone pillar.

The sharp pain completely grounded him.

He had always known that the secret of gunpowder would eventually leak... he had accepted that fact.

But he thought he had years before the other medieval kingdoms figured out the complex chemistry of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter.

Ivar the Boneless had stolen the powder to blow up a castle, yes. But Ivar didn’t know how to forge modern guns!

It was an absolute disaster... a musket was primitive compared to his Gatling guns and lever-action rifles.

A musket took a full minute to reload and was entirely inaccurate at long distances!

Even so, the monopoly of the Iron Kingdom was officially broken... If the Franks could build one musket, they could build ten thousand.

An army of untrained peasant farmers armed with cheap, mass-produced muskets could completely slaughter a highly trained shield wall of elite warriors.

"This changes everything." Ragnar whispered, "If the Franks start mass-producing muskets, they will start pushing north."

Gyda looked up at him, "...that isn’t even the worst part of Sven’s report, husband," Gyda added.

"What?" Ragnar asked, his voice entirely flat. "What could be more important than a weapon that will kill millions and millions of people in wars? You just told me the Franks have fucking fire-weapons, Gyda!"

Gyda took a slow, deep breath, stepping closer to him.

"Sven told also that they made an alliance with Bohemia and the Magyars in one night..." Gyda explained.

"The Magyars?" Ragnar muttered, stunned. "The eastern horse lords? And Bohemia? How the hell did they convince them to ally with the Franks overnight? They have hated each other for decades!"

"Sven’s spy network confirmed it," Gyda explained, "They invited the Bohemian kings and the Magyar warlords to a secret meeting in Paris... they demonstrated the explosive musket, entirely blowing apart heavy steel armor in front of their eyes. He promised to arm their entire armies with the new weapons... but only if they signed a blood pact to join his banner against the ’Iron Demon of the North’."

"So..." Ragnar murmured, staring out into the sky. "The Franks have the massive infantry and the iron forges. Bohemia brings an endless supply of fresh manpower and resources. And the Magyars..."

"The Magyars bring the most unstoppable light cavalry," Gyda finished for him,"...if you put a Frankish musket in the hands of a Magyar horseman... they can just ride in fast circles and shoot our men to pieces from a safe distance."

Ragnar knew that traditional defensive tactics wouldn’t win a war of this terrifying scale... you couldn’t just hide behind concrete forever when a million men were marching toward your gates with guns.

"If they are trying to mass-produce those primitive muskets to arm the entire Magyar cavalry, it will take his blacksmiths at least a few months to make enough weapons for a real army." Ragnar stated.

"I need Louis," Ragnar muttered, grabbing Gyda’s hand and gently pulling her back toward the heavy doors of the keep.

They walked back through the corridors, when they finally pushed open the curtains and entered the Great Hall, the scene inside was almost entirely comical compared to the apocalyptic news they had just received.

Louis the Stammerer was covered in black ink, laughing loudly as he pointed at a geometric shape on Al-Khwarizmi’s scroll.

Ardashir was cheerfully drinking his third cup of spiced wine, amused by the young Frankish King’s absolute obsession with the algebra.

"Ah! Ragnar!" Louis cheered, "This math is brilliant! Look at this!"

Ragnar walked over to the table, resting his hands on the wood. "How long is it going to take you to translate the math?"

"Hmm..." Louis tapped his chin, looking at Ardashir. "With my new Persian friend here helping me... maybe three weeks? The formulas are highly complex, Ragnar. We cannot completely rush absolute perfection."

"You have one week," Ragnar ordered smoothly.

Louis blinked, "Oone week? But Ragnar, that is impossible... We have to sleep."

"Nobody is sleeping," Ragnar stated, ignoring the young man’s complaint. He turned his head. "Leofric!"

The Lord Commander immediately snapped to attention, setting his mug of ale down on the table. "Yes, my King?"

"Wake up the chief engineers in the lower city," Ragnar commanded, "I want the steel production doubled by tomorrow morning. Empty the coal reserves if you have to. And send a fast raven to Bjorn in Calais."

Leofric frowned, "Bjorn, my King? But he is heavily defending the southern trading port."

"Tell him to heavily fortify the southern walls and rig the outer harbor with explosive mines," Ragnar ordered, "Because the Franks have guns."

After hearing such words, the entire Great Hall froze.

"...guns?" Louis stammered, "How?! they don’t know the chemical formula for the powder!"

"They found some broken rifles," Gyda explained, stepping closer to the table. "They reverse-engineered the steel barrels and the explosive residue. And they just formed a massive alliance with Bohemia and the Magyars to use them against us."

"So... a massive army is forming in the south," Ardashir whispered, "I must admit, King Ragnar... this is incredibly bad for my new trade monopoly."

Ragnar let out a low chuckle. "Heh... your trade monopoly is the least of my worries, Ardashir."