NovelOnline Chapter 384: The Western Front Alliance
Chapter 384: The Western Front Alliance
The salty wind of the Breton coast whipped across the docks of the port city.
Ethelwulf, the highly educated Saxon diplomat who had sworn his unbreakable loyalty to Ragnar’s Iron Kingdom, stood patiently near the very edge of the pier his men had temporarily secured.
Behind him, were fifty elite Iron Kingdom riflemen.
Ethelwulf adjusted his cloak, watching the local Breton dockworkers.
The men were entirely paralyzed by fear, stopping their lifting to stare at the silent northern warriors.
"Damnit, they look at us like we are literal demons from the underworld," one of the riflemen, a Viking named Ulric, muttered quietly.
A playful smirk twitched under his thick blonde beard.
"Can you really blame them, Ulric?" Ethelwulf chuckled softly, keeping his voice low. "They are used to fighting men with rusty iron swords and wooden shields. Then we show up out of the fog looking like the grim reaper’s personal royal guard."
However, the wait was finally over...
A heavily armored Breton guard captain jogged down the pier. He looked nervous, his hand resting hesitantly on the hilt of his sword as he approached the gray-coated soldiers.
"Lord Ethelwulf?" the guard asked, "King Salomon has agreed to see you. Please, come with me to the keep."
"Excellent," Ethelwulf smiled warmly, "Lead the way, my friend."
After hearing such words, the guard relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
He signaled to a group of his men nearby, who quickly brought forward a line of sturdy Breton horses for the diplomat and his escort.
Ethelwulf and his fifty riflemen easily mounted the horses, ignoring the nervous whispers and pointing fingers of the townsfolk as they rode out of the harbor.
They slowly made their way through the bustling city streets leading toward the castle of Rennes.
For a few minutes, Ethelwulf silently observed the city... the Kingdom of Brittany was incredibly wealthy, yes, but it lacked the brilliant industrial magic of City Titan.
There were no smooth, flat concrete roads here. There were no glowing gas streetlamps illuminating the alleys.
The horses’ hooves simply splashed through dirty mud, and the smell of raw sewage entirely filled the autumn air.
Even so, the Breton soldiers guarding the streets and the merchant stalls looked highly disciplined and fierce.
This was a proud nation that had humiliated the massive Frankish Empire in open battle just a few years ago.
They were not soft southerners; they were survivors, and they were not to be underestimated!
As they finally reached the gates of the royal castle, a richly dressed man walked out into the courtyard to greet them.
It was Lord Gurvand, one of King Salomon’s most trusted and notoriously arrogant vassals.
"Welcome, welcome to Rennes!" Gurvand laughed loudly, spreading his arms wide as Ethelwulf gracefully climbed down from his horse.
"You must be the famous diplomat from the Iron Kingdom! I am Lord Gurvand.
I must say, we were entirely shocked when your ship sailed into our waters~"
"The pleasure is entirely mine, Lord Gurvand," Ethelwulf offered a polite diplomatic bow. "My King sends his warmest regards and deepest respects to the people of Brittany."
"Oh, I am sure he does." Gurvand chuckled, stepping closer and walking right beside Ethelwulf as they entered the keep.
But while Gurvand was talking and laughing about the terrible autumn weather, his eyes were glued to the fifty riflemen marching behind them.
He stared intensely at the metal tubes strapped to their broad backs.
He had heard the insane rumors about the Viking King’s explosive magic, and seeing the strange weapons up close made his warrior’s blood run cold.
"Fucking giant metal sticks..." Gurvand muttered quietly under his breath.
They walked through the dimly lit, torch-lit stone corridors until they finally reached the doors of the Great Hall.
The Breton guards pushed the doors open, and Ethelwulf stepped inside.
He expected to see King Salomon sitting high and mighty on a throne, looking down on him like a typical arrogant southern monarch demanding respect.
But the throne at the back of the hall was entirely empty... Instead, King Salomon was standing casually near a large hearth in the center of the room.
He was surrounded by his elite personal guard, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"So," Salomon’s deep voice echoed across the quiet hall before Ethelwulf could even speak a single word. "...you are the man who speaks for the Iron Demon of the North."
Ethelwulf stopped a few paces away, offering another bow. "I speak for King Ragnar Ulfsson, yes. And I assure you, he is certainly no demon, King Salomon. He is simply a man who understands the future."
"The future?" Salomon scoffed, "My spies tell me the Franks just formed a terrifying alliance with the Magyars and Bohemia to march north. The entire continent is about to burn to ash, and your ’King’ is the one who lit the match."
Salomon took a slow step forward. "So tell me," Salomon demanded smoothly, "Why the fucking hell did Ragnar send you to my doorstep?
Brittany wants nothing to do with this madness between your two empires... we won our independence, and we intend to keep it."
Ethelwulf maintained his calm, highly educated smile, unbothered by the King’s aggression.
"Because, King Salomon, you do not have a choice," Ethelwulf stated plainly. "Do you really think that once the Franks destroy the Iron Kingdom... they will leave Brittany alone?
You humiliated him in the past.... if he wins this war, he will march his new explosive weapons through your borders next. Your independence will vanish."
After hearing such words, the entire Great Hall went utterly silent.
"Then what exactly does Ragnar want?" Salomon asked, his voice dropping into a focused whisper.
"He wants an unbreakable alliance," Ethelwulf declared, "The Iron Kingdom and the Kingdom of Brittany. We completely lock down the western front together. You provide the manpower and the heavily fortified southern border to stop the Franks from flanking us, and we crush them before the new weapons can spread."
Salomon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "An alliance?" Salomon asked, mocking the idea.
"You want me to throw my brave men against the Frankish army? I will not send my men to die for your King!"
"My King is entirely aware of your technological disadvantage..." Ethelwulf smiled.
Ethelwulf turned around and snapped his fingers.
Instantly, Ulric, the Iron Kingdom rifleman, stepped forward.
He unslung his weapon, cleared the chamber with a satisfying metallic clack, and highly respectfully laid the beautiful weapon onto the table right in front of the Breton King.
Salomon stared down at the dark industrial steel barrel and the polished wooden stock.
"King Ragnar is not asking you to fight with wooden shields, King Salomon," Ethelwulf said smoothly, "If you sign this alliance today... the Iron Kingdom will immediately open its military trade routes directly to Rennes. King Ragnar wants to trade."
Salomon frowned, "Trade? Trade what? Your iron? Your coal?"
"No," Ethelwulf smirked, pointing at the lethal weapon resting on the table. "He will arm your entire military. He wants to ally with you... for trading our muskets."
The crackling fire in the hearth suddenly felt frozen.
Salomon’s breath hitched in his throat.
His dark eyes went entirely wide as he stared at the weapon sitting on his table.
"Huh?" Salomon’s mind stopped working for a split second, "He will give us his muskets?!"