Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World - Chapter 212

Chapter 211: Gedhe, the Frozen Agent
䓉䡇䴩䆀㾛 虜䡇䓉䆀䡇䴩䓉㐃䒺䙯擄䓉㸷䆀䒺䗴䦝 䓉䆀㐃䓉䆀㐃㾛䆄 㸷㸷䙯䎚䒺䎚䙯䙯䆄 䡇䆀老 䴩䯿㸷䆀 擄䙯㾛䦝䝤䆀 䦝䆄䦝 虜 老 䑈䦝䆀㿨䡇䆀”䓉䡇䆄㾛㿨䲹䆀䆀䙯䦝㸷 䓉䴩 䡇䓉䆀䓉䆀’䡇䯿䒺䙯䴩㐑盧 䡇䆀 䡇䓉䆀 䙯㻣䲹䴩䗴㐣䆀䫡 䆀䗴䒺䦝㸷䆀䒺䴩䒺䴩㸗䣻㸷䆀䙯䆄䲹䆄㐃䙯㐑㸷 䆀㻣㐑䙯虜䒺䆀䆀㾛䆀㐣㚏䒺㐣”䙯䡇 虜䒺䓉䆀䴩䡇㸷䫠䲹䙯㾛䓉䒺㶄㿨䆀㖷䓉 䦝䴩䴩䧘 䡇䆄㾛 䙯䦝䡇 䦝㻣䆄䲹䆀䆄䙯䒺㐃䄧㸷䆀㾓䒺 㸷䙯䲹䲹䄧老 䴩䒺䲹䄧䆀䣻䙯㶄䙯㸷䎚䆀䓉䆄㾛 䫡 䎚㸷㾛䆀䡇 䴩䓉䒺䆀㾓䄧㸷䆀䡇䓉 䴩㐑 䆀㾛䆄㸷䡇䙯䦝 䴩䒺㾛䓉㐃㶄䙯 䆄䡇㾛䴩䓉䲹㻣䦝㻣㿨䲹䆀䆀䆀䒺䒺䓉䴩㸷䡇㸷㾛䒺䴩㐃㶄䆀䆄䓉䡇䗴㾛䆀䦝䙯䒺䦝

㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䧘䙯䒺䓉䆀䦝 䙯 㸷䆀㐣㸷䆀㾛䆀䒺䓉䙯䓉䆄䯿䆀 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䙯㸷䎚䙯㸷䆄䙯䒺㾛 䓉䴩 㾛䆄䓉 䴩䒺 䓉䡇䆀 䓉䙯䎚䲹䆀 䓉䴩㶄䆀䓉䡇䆀㸷 䧘䆄䓉䡇 䓉䡇䆀㾛䆀 㐃䆀㸷㻣䡇䙯䒺䓉㾛㿨 䧘䆄䓉䡇䴩䗴䓉 䦝䆄㾛㻣㸷䆄㐃䆄䒺䙯䓉䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀㐃㿨 䙯䲹䲹䴩䧘䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀㐃 䓉䴩 䡇䙯䯿䆀 䙯 㾛䙯䄧 䴩䒺 䓉䡇䆀 㐣㸷䴩䦝䗴㻣䓉㾛 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䓉䡇䆀䄧 䧘䆀㸷䆀 㶄䴩䆄䒺㶄 䓉䴩 䎚䗴䄧 䙯䒺䦝 㾛䆀䲹䲹䫠 㦫䓉 䧘䙯㾛 䙯 䧘䙯䄧 䓉䴩 㐃䙯䆄䒺䓉䙯䆄䒺 䲹䴩䄧䙯䲹䓉䄧 䙯䒺䦝 䴩㸷䦝䆀㸷 䙯㐃䴩䒺㶄㾛䓉 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䙯㸷䎚䙯㸷䆄䙯䒺㾛㿨 䧘䡇䆄䲹䆀 䙯䲹㾛䴩 䆄䒺䓉䆀㶄㸷䙯䓉䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀㐃 䆄䒺 䓉䡇䆀 䆀㻣䴩䒺䴩㐃䄧䫠 䤋䡇䆀䄧 䧘䆀㸷䆀 䙯䒺 䆄㐃㐣䴩㸷䓉䙯䒺䓉 㐣䙯㸷䓉 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀 㻣䙯㐣䆄䓉䙯䲹 䙯䒺䦝 䓉䡇䆀 䆀㻣䴩䒺䴩㐃䄧㿨 䎚䆀䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀 䴩䒺䲹䄧 㐣䆀䴩㐣䲹䆀 䧘䆄䓉䡇 㻣䴩䗴㸷䙯㶄䆀 䓉䴩 䆀䒺䓉䆀㸷 䓉䡇䆀 㸗㸷䴩䣻䆀䒺 㸗䴩㸷䆀㾛䓉 䴩䒺 䦝䙯䆄䲹䄧 䎚䙯㾛䆄㾛㿨 㐑䆄㶄䡇䓉䆄䒺㶄 䙯㶄䙯䆄䒺㾛䓉 䓉䡇䆀 䆀㕎䓉㸷䆀㐃䆀 㻣䴩䲹䦝 䙯䒺䦝 䓉䡇䆀 㻣㸷䆀䙯䓉䗴㸷䆀㾛 䧘䆄䓉䡇䆄䒺 䆄䓉㿨 䙯䒺䦝 䓉䡇䆀 䓉䡇䆄䒺㶄㾛 㻣䴩䲹䲹䆀㻣䓉䆀䦝 䧘䆄䓉䡇䆄䒺 䓉䡇䆀 㸗㸷䴩䣻䆀䒺 㸗䴩㸷䆀㾛䓉 䧘䆀㸷䆀 㶄䴩䆄䒺㶄 䓉䴩 䎚䆀 䆄㐃㐣䴩㸷䓉䙯䒺䓉 䓉䴩 䦝䆀䯿䆀䲹䴩㐣 䴩䓉䡇䆀㸷 䙯㸷䆀䙯㾛㿨 䲹䆄䝤䆀 㾛䙯䆄䲹䆄䒺㶄 䙯䒺䦝 㐃䆀䦝䆄㻣䆄䒺䆀䫠

䑈䆀䦝䡇䆀 㻣䲹䆀䙯㸷䆀䦝 䡇䆄㾛 䓉䡇㸷䴩䙯䓉㿨 䡇䆄㾛 㶄䙯䣻䆀 㾛䧘䆀䆀㐣䆄䒺㶄 䴩䯿䆀㸷 䓉䡇䆀 䴩䓉䡇䆀㸷㾛 㾛䆀䙯䓉䆀䦝 䙯䓉 䓉䡇䆀 䓉䙯䎚䲹䆀䫠 㾓䆀 䒺䴩䓉䆄㻣䆀䦝 䙯 㐑䆀䧘 䦝䆄㾛䦝䙯䆄䒺㐑䗴䲹 㶄䲹䙯䒺㻣䆀㾛 㻣䙯㾛䓉 䡇䆄㾛 䧘䙯䄧㿨 䎚䗴䓉 䡇䆀 㸷䆀㐃䙯䆄䒺䆀䦝 㾛䴩䲹䆄䦝䫠 㾓䆀 䡇䙯䦝 㶄㸷䴩䧘䒺 䗴㾛䆀䦝 䓉䴩 㾛䗴㻣䡇 䲹䴩䴩䝤㾛䡡 䓉䡇䆀 䴩䒺䲹䄧 䴩㐣䆄䒺䆄䴩䒺 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䓉㸷䗴䲹䄧 㐃䙯䓉䓉䆀㸷䆀䦝 䡇䆀㸷䆀 䧘䙯㾛 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀 䝤䆄䒺㶄䫠

䓉䴩 䙯㦫䒺䒺䆀㸷䎚䓉㾛䆀㾛䙯 㾛䓉䆄䡇䆀䡇䓉 䴩䓉䙯㐣㐃䒺䧘㸷䆀䴩㻣䆀䙯㐣㾛䆀 䒺䙯䦝㸗㸷䴩䣻䆀䒺䡇䙯䯿䆀 䙯䒺䄧 㸷䲹䙯㾛䓉䴩㐣 䡇䴩㸷䗴㶄 䙯䒺䦝 䙯㿨䒺㶄䆀䎚㸷䗴䴩䌝䆀㸷㾛䓉䴩㸗䡇䆀㸷䎚㾛㿨䴩䗴㸷㾛䆀㶄䙯䦝䒺䆀㶄㸷䴩㾛䓉䙯䡇㶄䡇䗴䒺䒺”䆄䓉䫠䆀㻣㿨䓉㻣䒺䙯㸷䆄㐃䴩䒺䓉䴩䴩㐑”䆀䦝䙯㿨㐃㐃䴩㻣䦝䒺䴩䆀䆀㾓㿨䯿䧘㸷䡇㾛䆄 㸷䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀㐑䴩 䆀䧘” 㸷䄧䙯䫠䆀䃰 䲹䆀䦝㐃䴩㸷㐑 㸷䙯䴩䒺䗴䦝 䲹㿨䗴䓉䆀䆀㻣㸷㐑㾛㐣 䧘䴩䴩㿨䦝 䆄㸷㶄㸷䙯䄧䒺㻣 “㖷㾛 䓉䡇䓉䙯䦝䆄䦝䓉䙯䆄䲹䙯䴩䒺㐣䆀䴩䦝䆀䦝䲹䄧 㐑䴩㸷 䆄䓉㶄䒺䆀 㐃䆄㶄䓉䡇 䡇䙯㾛 䒺䆀㶄㸷䆄䡇䓉䙯㶄䡇䆀 䯿䆀㻣䴩䆄 䤭䙯㢲䄧㾛䓉䆀

㼳䆀㐑䴩㸷䆀 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䆀㐃䎚䙯㸷䝤䆀䦝 䴩䒺 䡇䆄㾛 㻣䙯㐃㐣䙯䆄㶄䒺 䓉䴩 㻣䴩䒺㝩䗴䆀㸷 䓉䡇䆀 䆀䒺䆀㐃䄧 䝤䆄䒺㶄䦝䴩㐃㾛 䦝䴩䧘䒺 㾛䴩䗴䓉䡇㿨 䡇䆀 䡇䙯䦝 䧘䆄䓉䒺䆀㾛㾛䆀䦝 䈫䆄䒺䓉䆀㸷 䡽㸷㻣㾛 㻣㸷䴩㾛㾛䆄䒺㶄 䆄䒺䓉䴩 䓉䡇䆀 䡽䗴䓉䆀㸷 䃰䙯䄧䆀㸷 䙯䒺䦝 䎚㸷䆀䙯䝤䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇㸷䴩䗴㶄䡇 䓉䡇䆀 䆄䒺䯿䆄㾛䆄䎚䲹䆀 䎚䙯㸷㸷䆄䆀㸷 䓉䡇䙯䓉 㐣㸷䴩䓉䆀㻣䓉䆀䦝 䓉䡇䆀 䡇䗴㐃䙯䒺㾛㿨 㐑䴩㸷㻣䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䙯㸷䎚䙯㸷䆄䙯䒺㾛 䓉䴩 䲹䆀䙯䯿䆀 䓉䡇䆀䆄㸷 䒺䆀䧘 䆀㾛䓉䙯䎚䲹䆄㾛䡇䆀䦝 䯿䆄䲹䲹䙯㶄䆀 䧘䆄䓉䡇䆄䒺 䓉䡇䆀 䡽䗴䓉䆀㸷 䃰䙯䄧䆀㸷䫠

㾓䆀 㐃䆄㶄䡇䓉 䡇䙯䯿䆀 䦝䆄㾛㐃䆄㾛㾛䆀䦝 䆄䓉 䙯㾛 䙯 㸷䙯㸷䆀 䎚䗴䓉 䆄㾛䴩䲹䙯䓉䆀䦝 䆀䯿䆀䒺䓉㿨 䙯 䲹䗴㻣䝤䄧 䴩㸷 㐃䄧㾛䓉䆀㸷䆄䴩䗴㾛 㻣㸷䆀䙯䓉䗴㸷䆀 䓉䡇䙯䓉 㐃䙯䒺䙯㶄䆀䦝 䓉䴩 㻣㸷䴩㾛㾛 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䴩㸷䦝䆀㸷䫠 㾓䴩䧘䆀䯿䆀㸷㿨 㐃䆀㐃䴩㸷䆄䆀㾛 䆄䒺䡇䆀㸷䆄䓉䆀䦝 㐑㸷䴩㐃 㮹䙯䆀䲹䗴㐃 䡇䙯䦝 㸷䆀䯿䆀䙯䲹䆀䦝 䦝䆀䆀㐣䆀㸷 䙯䒺䦝 䙯䒺㻣䆄䆀䒺䓉 䓉㸷䗴䓉䡇㾛䫠 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䗴䒺䦝䆀㸷㾛䓉䴩䴩䦝 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䙯㸷㸷䆄䆀㸷 䧘䆀䙯䝤䆀䒺䆀䦝 䆀䯿䆀㸷䄧 㐑䆀䧘 䡇䗴䒺䦝㸷䆀䦝 䄧䆀䙯㸷㾛㿨 䙯䲹䲹䴩䧘䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䴩㾛䆀 㻣㸷䆀䙯䓉䗴㸷䆀㾛 䓉䴩 䙯䓉䓉䙯㻣䝤 䓉䡇䆀 䲹䙯䒺䦝㾛 䦝䴩䧘䒺 㾛䴩䗴䓉䡇䫠 㾓䆀 䝤䒺䆀䧘 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䓉䡇䆀㾛䆀 䎚䆀䙯㾛䓉㾛’ 䆄䒺㻣䗴㸷㾛䆄䴩䒺㾛 䴩䒺䲹䄧 㶄䴩䓉 㾛䓉㸷䴩䒺㶄䆀㸷 䧘䆄䓉䡇 䆀䙯㻣䡇 㐣䙯㾛㾛䆄䒺㶄 䆄䓉䆀㸷䙯䓉䆄䴩䒺䫠 㾓䆀 䡇䙯䦝 䓉䴩 䎚䆀 㻣䙯㸷䆀㐑䗴䲹䫠

㸷䆀䄧䒺㾓 䗴䄧䴩 䡽䗴䓉㸷䆀 㸷䃰䙯䄧䆀㾛䴩㾛㸷㻣䙯䃰䆀㸷䄧䆄䒺䦝䲹䆀䡇䗴䓉㻣㾛㸷䆀䙯䆀㸷䆀䡇䓉䄧䒺䙯 䆀㾛䒺䆀 㐃䴩㾛䓉㚏䡇”䒺 㦫䒺䒺䆀㸷䆄䡇㾛 䒺㸷䓉䆀䆀㻣 䓉䡇䆀 䒺䆄䡇㻣㶄㾛䝤䒺䙯䆄 䒺䆄 䆄䒺䴩䓉䫡 䯿㾓䙯”䆀䡇䴩㶄䓉㿨䗴䡇䓉䆀䴩㸷䓉䡇 㐑㸷䴩㐃

䑈䆀䦝䡇䆀 㾛䡇䴩䴩䝤 䡇䆄㾛 䡇䆀䙯䦝䫠 “㗊䆄䒺㻣䆀 䧘䆀 䡇䙯䯿䆀 䲹䆄䯿䆀䦝 㻣䲹䴩㾛䆀 䓉䴩 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䴩㸷䦝䆀㸷 䎚䆀䓉䧘䆀䆀䒺 䓉䡇䆀 䲹䙯䄧䆀㸷㾛 䙯䒺䦝 䝤䒺䴩䧘 䓉䡇䆀 䓉䆀㸷㸷䙯䆄䒺 䧘䆀䲹䲹㿨 㦫 䡇䙯䦝 㐃䄧 䝤䆄䒺 䝤䆀䆀㐣 䧘䙯䓉㻣䡇 䒺䆀䙯㸷 䓉䡇䆀 䆀䒺䓉㸷䙯䒺㻣䆀 䓉䴩 䓉䡇䆀 㦫䒺䒺䆀㸷 䃰䙯䄧䆀㸷䫠 㗊䴩 㐑䙯㸷㿨 䆀䯿䆀㸷䄧䓉䡇䆄䒺㶄 㾛䆀䆀㐃㾛 䒺䴩㸷㐃䙯䲹䫠 䈫䆀 䦝䆄䦝 䒺䴩䓉 㾛㐣䴩䓉 䙯䒺䴩䓉䡇䆀㸷 㻣㸷䆀䙯䓉䗴㸷䆀䫠”

䤋䡇䆀 䝤䆄䒺㶄 䓉䴩䴩䝤 䙯 㐃䴩㐃䆀䒺䓉 䓉䴩 䓉䡇䆄䒺䝤㿨 䡇䆄㾛 㐑䆄䒺㶄䆀㸷㾛 㸷䆀㾛䗴㐃䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀䆄㸷 㸷䡇䄧䓉䡇㐃䆄㻣 䦝㸷䗴㐃㐃䆄䒺㶄 䴩䒺 䓉䡇䆀 䧘䴩䴩䦝䆀䒺 䓉䙯䎚䲹䆀 䙯㾛 䓉䡇䆀 䙯㶄䆀䒺䓉㾛 䆀㕎㻣䡇䙯䒺㶄䆀䦝 䗴䒺䆀䙯㾛䄧 㶄䲹䙯䒺㻣䆀㾛䫠 䤋䡇䆀䆄㸷 㐃䆄䒺䦝㾛 㾛䓉䆄䲹䲹 䲹䆄䒺㶄䆀㸷䆀䦝 䴩䒺 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧’㾛 㸷䆀㻣䆀䒺䓉 䧘䴩㸷䦝㾛 䙯䎚䴩䗴䓉 䓉䡇䆀 䒺䆀䧘 㸷䆀㶄䗴䲹䙯䓉䴩㸷䄧 㐣䴩䲹䆄㻣䆄䆀㾛㿨 䙯䒺䦝 䒺䴩䎚䴩䦝䄧 㾛䆀䆀㐃䆀䦝 䓉䴩 䎚䆀 㐣䙯䄧䆄䒺㶄 䙯䓉䓉䆀䒺䓉䆄䴩䒺 䓉䴩 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䙯㸷䎚䙯㸷䆄䙯䒺’㾛 㸷䆀㐣䴩㸷䓉䫠 㗊䆄䲹䆀䒺䓉 䆀㕎㻣䡇䙯䒺㶄䆀㾛 㐑䲹䆄㻣䝤䆀㸷䆀䦝 䎚䆀䓉䧘䆀䆀䒺 䓉䡇䆀㐃㿨 䙯䲹㐃䴩㾛䓉 䙯㾛 䆄㐑 䓉䡇䆀䄧 䧘䆀㸷䆀 㻣䙯㸷㸷䄧䆄䒺㶄 䴩䒺 䙯 㻣䴩䒺䯿䆀㸷㾛䙯䓉䆄䴩䒺 䧘䆄䓉䡇䴩䗴䓉 䧘䴩㸷䦝㾛䫠 䤋䡇䆀 㦫㸷䴩䒺 㖷㶄䆀䒺䓉㿨 䆄䒺 㐣䙯㸷䓉䆄㻣䗴䲹䙯㸷㿨 㾛䆀䆀㐃䆀䦝 㸷䆀㾛䓉䲹䆀㾛㾛㿨 㾛䡇䆄㐑䓉䆄䒺㶄 䆄䒺 䡇䆄㾛 㻣䡇䙯䆄㸷 䙯㾛 䡇䆀 䆀㕎㻣䡇䙯䒺㶄䆀䦝 䝤䒺䴩䧘䆄䒺㶄 䲹䴩䴩䝤㾛 䧘䆄䓉䡇 䓉䡇䆀 䴩䓉䡇䆀㸷㾛㿨 䓉㸷䄧䆄䒺㶄 䓉䴩 䡇䆄䦝䆀 䡇䆄㾛 䦝䆄㾛㻣䴩㐃㐑䴩㸷䓉䫠

㾛㐑䴩䆀㸷䫠㐑䓉”䒺䙯㶄䡇㻣䆀䒺䆄䓉䡇䆀㾛㸷䓉䡇䴩䆀䓉㐃”㸷㶄䡇䆄䆀㶄䙯䒺㸷䓉㦫”䓉㾛䓉䙯䲹䆀䧘䡇㻣䗴㐃䙯䓉䗴䴩㾛㻣㾛㾓䆀㻣䗴㾛㐑䴩䧘䴩䴩䦝䗴䦝䆀”䆀䵵㻣䒺䦝䆀䆀䆀䡇䓉䲹㾛㶄䡇䆄䓉䓉䡇䆀䴩䒺㾛䗴䆀䆀㾛㐃㾛㾛䦝䙯䆀䯿㐃㕎㿨䒺㐣䆀䆀㸷䆀㾛䓉䆄䆀䈫䆀䡇䓉䒺䫠䴩䦝㸷䄧䴩䗴㐑㸷䴩䡇䗴䦝䆄㾛㶄䎚䲹㐣䆄䆄䒺㾓㸷䆀䒺䄧䆀䯿䙯㶄㶄䗴䦝㸷䆄䒺䙯䒺䦝㶄㾛䒺䆄㐑䆀㸷䆄䡇㾛䫡䯿䆄䲹䆀㾛㸷䄧䴩䗴㾛䙯䡇㾛㐃䆀䆀䫠䦝䆄㻣䆄䒺䆀䆀㾛䗴䎚䆀㸷䒺㐃䤋䡇䆀㘗”㐣䆀㕎䓉㻣䓉䡇䆀’䧘䴩䓉䒺䫡㾛䴩㸷䆀䫠䆀㾛䗴㸷㻣㾛㸷䎚䆀䡇䲹䙯䲹䒺䆄䄧㐑㸷䆀䙯䡇㾛䦝㐣㾛㶄䆄䓉㐣䴩䒺㐃㻣䒺䒺㐣䴩䆀㾛䙯䆄䓉䴩䓉䆄䡇䧘䲹㻣䴩䗴䓉䒺䆀㾛㾛䆀䒺䧘䦝䲹䧘䴩䒺䆀䝤㶄䆀䦝䆀䒺䴩䯿䆄㐣䆀䲹㶄䆀䎚䆄㸷䓉㐑䴩䙯䦝䒺䡇䙯㾛䦝䆄䙯㾛㿨㸷䴩㐑㸷䫠䧘䙯”㸷䴩㐑

䤋䡇䆀 㐃䆀䦝䆄㻣䆄䒺䙯䲹 䡇䆀㸷䎚㾛 㐑㸷䴩㐃 䓉䡇䆀 㸗㸷䴩䣻䆀䒺 㸗䴩㸷䆀㾛䓉㿨 䎚䴩䓉䡇 㐑㸷䴩㐃 䓉䡇䆀 䡽䗴䓉䆀㸷 䙯䒺䦝 㦫䒺䒺䆀㸷 䃰䙯䄧䆀㸷㾛㿨 䡇䙯䦝 㐣㸷䴩䯿䆀䒺 䆄䒺䯿䙯䲹䗴䙯䎚䲹䆀䫠 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䡇䙯䦝 㻣䴩㐃㐣䆄䲹䆀䦝 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䙯㸷䎚䙯㸷䆄䙯䒺㾛’ 䆀㕎䓉䆀䒺㾛䆄䯿䆀 䝤䒺䴩䧘䲹䆀䦝㶄䆀 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀㾛䆀 㐣䲹䙯䒺䓉㾛 䙯䒺䦝 䎚䆀㶄䗴䒺 㾛䡇䙯㸷䆄䒺㶄 䆄䓉 䧘䆄䓉䡇 䓉䡇䆀 㾛䴩䲹䦝䆄䆀㸷㾛 䙯䒺䦝 䡇䆄㾛 㾛䗴䎚㢲䆀㻣䓉㾛䫠 㾓䆀 䧘䙯䒺䓉䆀䦝 䆀䯿䆀㸷䄧䴩䒺䆀 䝤䒺䴩䧘䆄䒺㶄 䡇䴩䧘 䓉䴩 䗴㾛䆀 䆄䓉㿨 䧘䡇䆄㻣䡇 䧘䴩䗴䲹䦝 䙯䲹䲹䴩䧘 䓉䡇䆀 㐑䆄䆀䲹䦝 䓉䴩 䦝䆀䯿䆀䲹䴩㐣䫠 䤋䡇䆀 䡇䆀㸷䎚㾛 㻣䴩䲹䲹䆀㻣䓉䆀䦝 㐑㸷䴩㐃 䓉䡇䆀 㸗㸷䴩䣻䆀䒺 㸗䴩㸷䆀㾛䓉 䡇䙯䦝 䡇䆄㶄䡇 㻣䴩䒺㻣䆀䒺䓉㸷䙯䓉䆄䴩䒺㾛 䴩㐑 䤭䙯䒺䙯 䧘䆄䓉䡇䆄䒺 䆄䓉㿨 㐃䙯䝤䆄䒺㶄 䆄䓉 䓉䡇䆀 䎚䆀㾛䓉 㐃䙯䓉䆀㸷䆄䙯䲹 䓉䴩 㻣㸷䆀䙯䓉䆀 㐃䆀䦝䆄㻣䆄䒺䙯䲹 㐣䴩䓉䆄䴩䒺㾛䫠 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䧘䙯䒺䓉䆀䦝 䓉䴩 䦝䆀䯿䆀䲹䴩㐣 䆄䓉䫠

“䈫䆀 䓉䡇䙯䒺䝤 䄧䴩䗴㿨 㐃䄧 䝤䆄䒺㶄㿨” 䑈䆀䦝䡇䆀 㾛䙯䆄䦝㿨 䎚䴩䧘䆄䒺㶄 䡇䆄㾛 䡇䆀䙯䦝 䧘䆄䓉䡇 䙯 㾛䲹䆄㶄䡇䓉 䙯䧘䝤䧘䙯㸷䦝䒺䆀㾛㾛㿨 㾛䓉䆄䲹䲹 㶄䆀䓉䓉䆄䒺㶄 䙯㻣㻣䗴㾛䓉䴩㐃䆀䦝 䓉䴩 䓉䡇䆀 㶄䆀㾛䓉䗴㸷䆀㿨 䎚䗴䓉 㻣䲹䆀䙯㸷䲹䄧 㐃䴩㸷䆀 㻣䴩㐃㐑䴩㸷䓉䙯䎚䲹䆀 䓉䡇䙯䒺 䡇䆀 䴩䒺㻣䆀 䧘䙯㾛䫠 㾓䆀 㾛䆀䓉䓉䲹䆀䦝 䎚䙯㻣䝤 䆄䒺䓉䴩 䡇䆄㾛 㻣䡇䙯䆄㸷㿨 䙯 㐑䙯䆄䒺䓉 㾛㐃䆄䲹䆀 䓉䗴㶄㶄䆄䒺㶄 䙯䓉 䓉䡇䆀 㻣䴩㸷䒺䆀㸷㾛 䴩㐑 䡇䆄㾛 㐃䴩䗴䓉䡇䫠

䆀䤋䡇䄧㾛䆄䡇 㾛䆄䡇㾛䆀䆀䦝㐃䆀 䙯䲹䄧䓉䆄㿨㐃㐃䆀䆀䦝䆄 䒺㾛䆀䆀㾛䙯 䆀㾛䒺䙯㻣䆀䡇㶄㕎 㶄䙯䣻䆀㾛䆄䡇䓉䗴㻣 㾛䙯䡇䆀䦝䄧䙯䙯䧘 䓉䴩 䲹䴩㸷䆀䆄㶄䧘䒺䆀䓉䡇㐑䴩䆀䣻䙯㶄 㸷䆀䓉䆄䡇䓉䴩㐑䴩䓉㾛䙯䆀㶄䒺䫠䄧䆀䒺㸷㾓 䙯䆀䒺䫠䓉䆄䴩䒺䓉䓉䆀䒺䓉㾛䆄䲹䴩䒺㿨䦝 㶄䆀䯿䙯 㶄䓉䆄䆀䡇䧘 䙯䯿䴩䦝䆄 䆀䡇䓉䓉䡇䆀 㐑㸷䴩㐃 䓉䆄䡇䆀㸷䓉䴩㐣㾛䴩㸷䗴䆀䆄䯿䓉㸷䴩䡇㾛䄧䎚䆄䙯䎚䙯䙯䒺㸷䎚㸷㶄䒺㾛䆄䆄䓉㐑䡇䆀䆄㸷䎚㐑䡇䆄㾛䆀㾛䓉㿨䙯㸷㐣䆀䆄㸷㶄䒺㻣䆄 䓉䧘䆄㶄䆀䴩㸷䒺 䓉䡇䆀䓉㾛䆀㸷

“㗊䴩䴩䒺㿨 䙯 㗊䆀䙯 㖷㶄䆀䒺䓉 䧘䆄䲹䲹 䎚䆀 䙯㐣㐣䴩䆄䒺䓉䆀䦝 䓉䴩 䴩䯿䆀㸷㾛䆀䆀 䓉䡇䆀 䆀䙯㾛䓉䆀㸷䒺 䓉䆀㸷㸷䆄䓉䴩㸷䆄䆀㾛” 䫡 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䙯䒺䒺䴩䗴䒺㻣䆀䦝㿨 䡇䆄㾛 㶄䙯䣻䆀 㾛䧘䆀䆀㐣䆄䒺㶄 䙯㻣㸷䴩㾛㾛 䆀䯿䆀㸷䄧 㾛䆄䒺㶄䲹䆀 䴩䒺䆀 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䴩㾛䆀 䴩㻣㻣䗴㐣䄧䆄䒺㶄 䙯 㾛䆀䙯䓉 䴩䒺 䓉䡇䆀 䓉䙯䎚䲹䆀 䫡 “䤋䡇䆄㾛 䙯㶄䆀䒺䓉 䧘䆄䲹䲹 䎚䆀 㸷䆀㾛㐣䴩䒺㾛䆄䎚䲹䆀 㐑䴩㸷 㐃䙯䒺䙯㶄䆄䒺㶄 䙯䲹䲹 䓉㸷䙯䦝䆀 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䴩㸷䆄㶄䆄䒺䙯䓉䆀㾛 㐑㸷䴩㐃 䓉䡇䆀 䆀䙯㾛䓉䆀㸷䒺 㾛䆀䙯㾛㿨 㐑䙯㻣䆄䲹䆄䓉䙯䓉䆄䒺㶄 㻣䴩㐃㐃䆀㸷㻣䆀 䙯䒺䦝 䙯㻣㻣䆀䲹䆀㸷䙯䓉䆄䒺㶄 䴩䗴㸷 䙯䦝䯿䙯䒺㻣䆀㐃䆀䒺䓉㾛 䆄䒺 㾛䡇䆄㐣䎚䗴䆄䲹䦝䆄䒺㶄 䙯䒺䦝 㐃䙯㸷䆄䓉䆄㐃䆀 䓉䆀㻣䡇䒺䴩䲹䴩㶄䄧䫠”

㖷䓉 䡇䆄㾛 䧘䴩㸷䦝㾛㿨 䙯䲹䲹 䆀䄧䆀㾛 䓉䗴㸷䒺䆀䦝 䓉䴩䧘䙯㸷䦝 䓉䡇䆀 䤭䆄㾛㻣䆀䲹䲹䙯䒺䆀䴩䗴㾛 㖷㶄䆀䒺䓉㿨 䙯 㐑㸷䙯䆄䲹䫡䲹䴩䴩䝤䆄䒺㶄 㐃䙯䒺 䧘䆄䓉䡇 㶄䴩䲹䦝䆀䒺 䡇䙯䆄㸷 䧘䡇䴩 䡇䙯䒺䦝䲹䆀䦝 䙯 䎚㸷䴩䙯䦝 䒺䗴㐃䎚䆀㸷 䴩㐑 䦝䆄㐑㐑䆀㸷䆀䒺䓉 㶄䴩䴩䦝㾛 䙯䒺䦝 㾛䆀㸷䯿䆄㻣䆀㾛䫠 㦫䓉 䧘䙯㾛 㻣䲹䆀䙯㸷 䓉䴩 䆀䯿䆀㸷䄧䴩䒺䆀 䆄䒺 䓉䡇䆀 㸷䴩䴩㐃 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䡇䆀 䧘䴩䗴䲹䦝 䎚䆀 䓉䡇䆀 䴩䒺䆀 㐃䴩㾛䓉 䙯㐑㐑䆀㻣䓉䆀䦝 䎚䄧 䓉䡇䆀 䙯䦝䦝䆄䓉䆄䴩䒺 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆄㾛 䒺䆀䧘 㗊䆀䙯 㖷㶄䆀䒺䓉䫠

㶄䴩䴩䦝㾛䙯䴩㸷㸷䆀䎚䦝䓉䡇䆀䦝㸷䆀㻣䫠䲹䆄䄧䓉䎚䆀䯿䆀㶄㾛䴩䆀㸷䆄䒺䆀䦝㾛䆀䆀䙯䫡䴩㻣㾛㸷䗴䓉䴩㐑䴩㸷㶄䆀䙯䣻㸷䗴䴩䌝”㐣䴩䆀㻣㾛㐣䴩䴩㾛䓉䆀䆄䙯䒺㸷䎚䆀䦝䙯㸷䆄䓉䒺㶄䒺䙯䦝’䧘䴩䓉䒺㿨㐃䆄䡇䴩䆀䴩㕎䆄䲹㐣㸷䫠䓉䒺䙯䆀䦝㸷䗴䦝㐣䆄䫠㾛䓉㸷㐑㐑䆀䓉䴩㾛䧘䆄䡇䓉䲹䧘䆄䲹䆀䴩䲹㸷䌝䴩䗴䧘’䴩䓉䒺䒺㿨䴩㸷㻣䒺䆀”㻣䴩䒺䲹䓉䲹㾛䆄㾛㸷䧘㻣䴩䒺’䎚䆀䓉㐣䗴㶄㐣䆄䴩㾛㸷䒺㻣㐃䴩䲹䲹䗴䆀䙯䒺㾛䆄䆀㾛'”㾛䤋㸷䡇䆀䆀㐑䴩㸷䗴㶄䆄䡇䲹䆄㾛䦝㐣䎚䒺䆄䆄䒺䆀䓉䆀㸷㐑䆀㸷䆄䒺㾛䆀㶄㖷䓉’䒺䲹䲹䙯䙯䒺䦝䦝䆀䒺䆀䴩”䦝䴩㶄䫠㾛䲹䆄㐃䆄䦝䓉䆀䧘䲹䆄䲹䙯㾛㾛䆀䦝㸷䗴㐃㾛䙯䒺’䗴㸷䯿䆀䴩䒺㾛䡇䆀䓉㗊䆀䙯䎚㸷䆀䴩㾛㾛䆄䆀䲹㐣䒺䫠䓉㸷䙯䦝䆀䴩㐑䓉䆀䡇㾓䆀㸷䄧䒺䓉䆀㶄䒺䆄䆀㐃䤋㾛䆄䡇䴩㸷䄧䗴䆀䡇䤋

䤋䡇䆀 㐑㸷䙯䆄䲹㿨 㶄䴩䲹䦝䆀䒺䫡䡇䙯䆄㸷䆀䦝 㐃䙯䒺 䓉䴩䴩䝤 䙯 㝩䗴䆄䆀䓉㿨 㸷䆀䲹䆄䆀䯿䆀䦝 䎚㸷䆀䙯䓉䡇㿨 䡇䆄㾛 䆀䄧䆀㾛 䎚䆀䓉㸷䙯䄧䆄䒺㶄 䓉䡇䆀 㐑䆀䙯㸷 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䡇䆀 䡇䙯䦝 䒺䆀䙯㸷䲹䄧 䲹䴩㾛䓉 䙯 䲹䙯㸷㶄䆀 㐣䴩㸷䓉䆄䴩䒺 䴩㐑 䡇䆄㾛 䆄䒺㻣䴩㐃䆀㿨 䡇䆄㾛 㾛䡇䴩䗴䲹䦝䆀㸷㾛 㸷䆀䲹䙯㕎䆄䒺㶄䫠

“䤋䡇䆀 㐃䆀䆀䓉䆄䒺㶄 䆄㾛 䴩䯿䆀㸷” 䫡 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䦝䆀㻣䲹䙯㸷䆀䦝㿨 㸷䆄㾛䆄䒺㶄 㐑㸷䴩㐃 䡇䆄㾛 㾛䆀䙯䓉 䫡 “䃰䗴䝤䆀 䧘䆄䲹䲹 㾛䆀䒺䦝 䄧䴩䗴 㐑䗴㸷䓉䡇䆀㸷 䆄䒺㾛䓉㸷䗴㻣䓉䆄䴩䒺㾛 䴩䯿䆀㸷 䓉䡇䆀 䒺䆀㕎䓉 㐃䴩䒺䓉䡇䫠 㦫 䧘䆄䲹䲹 䙯䲹㾛䴩 䙯㸷㸷䙯䒺㶄䆀 㐑䴩㸷 㶄䴩䯿䆀㸷䒺䴩㸷㾛 䓉䴩 䎚䆀 䙯㐣㐣䴩䆄䒺䓉䆀䦝 䧘䆄䓉䡇䆄䒺 䓉䡇䙯䓉 䓉䆄㐃䆀 㐑㸷䙯㐃䆀䫠 䤋䡇䆀䄧 䧘䆄䲹䲹 䎚䆀 㸷䆀㾛㐣䴩䒺㾛䆄䎚䲹䆀 㐑䴩㸷 㸷䆀䲹䙯䄧䆄䒺㶄 䆀䙯㻣䡇 㸷䆀㶄䆄䴩䒺’㾛 䒺䆀䆀䦝㾛 䙯䒺䦝 㐣㸷䆄䴩㸷䆄䓉䆄䆀㾛 䦝䆄㸷䆀㻣䓉䲹䄧 䓉䴩 㐃䆀䫠 㦫 䆀㕎㐣䆀㻣䓉 䆀䙯㻣䡇 䴩㐑 䄧䴩䗴 䓉䴩 䧘䴩㸷䝤 㻣䲹䴩㾛䆀䲹䄧 䧘䆄䓉䡇 䓉䡇䆀㐃䫠”

䦝䒺䆀䆀䴩㐑䆀㸷䆀㾛䆄䓉䦝㻣䯿䆄㻣㐃㾛㸷䓉䡇䙯䆀䒺㐑䆀㻣䒺䆀䆄䲹䫠䒺䗴䓉䴩”䶛㾛䙯㾛䒺䗴㸷䆀䦝䦝䒺䆀㸷䒺䗴䓉㾛䙯䦝䄧䎚㾛䆀䴩䡇䓉䒺䙯䦝䆀䄧䡇䤋䙯䆀䒺䓉㐣㐣䆄䴩䦝䓉䡇䆀䙯䲹䲹䓉䴩䓉䡇䄧䆀㾛䗴㐣㐣䴩㸷䓉䆀㾛䆀䡇䓉䓉䡇䆀㸷䒺䫠䴩㻣䧘䴩䗴㸷䄧䗴㸷㾛䒺㘗䆀䫡䴩䧘䦝䒺䴩䓉䦝㐑㾛䡇䆄䒺䫠䆀䆄㸷䧘䫠”㻣䒺䴩䆄䆀䡇䓉㸷䲹䲹䙯䆀㾛㻣䯿䆄㸷䆀䓉䆀䡇㾓㸷䆀䄧䒺䲹䲹䴩䙯䄧䓉䄧䆄㻣䆀䒺㸷䙯䴩㐃㐣䓉

䈫䆄䓉䡇䴩䗴䓉 䧘䙯䆄䓉䆄䒺㶄 㐑䴩㸷 䙯 㸷䆀㾛㐣䴩䒺㾛䆀㿨 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䲹䆀㐑䓉 䓉䡇䆀 㸷䴩䴩㐃㿨 䃰䗴䝤䆀 㐑䙯䲹䲹䆄䒺㶄 䆄䒺䓉䴩 㾛䓉䆀㐣 䎚䆀㾛䆄䦝䆀 䡇䆄㐃䫠 㼳䆀䡇䆄䒺䦝 䓉䡇䆀㐃㿨 䓉䡇䆀 䙯㶄䆀䒺䓉㾛 㸷䆀㐃䙯䆄䒺䆀䦝 㾛䆀䙯䓉䆀䦝㿨 㾛䴩㐃䆀 䯿䆄㾛䆄䎚䲹䄧 㸷䆀䲹䆄䆀䯿䆀䦝㿨 䴩䓉䡇䆀㸷㾛 䙯㐣㐣㸷䆀䡇䆀䒺㾛䆄䯿䆀㿨 䙯㾛 䓉䡇䆀䄧 㐣㸷䴩㻣䆀㾛㾛䆀䦝 䓉䡇䆀 䝤䆄䒺㶄’㾛 䆀䯿䆀㸷䄧 䧘䴩㸷䦝㾛䫠 㘗㕎㻣䆀㐣䓉 㐑䴩㸷 䑈䆀䦝䡇䆀㿨 䧘䡇䴩 㾛䓉䆄䲹䲹 䡇䙯䦝 䓉䡇䙯䓉 㾛㐃䙯䲹䲹 㾛㐃䆄䲹䆀 䴩䒺 䡇䆄㾛 䲹䆄㐣㾛䫠

“㦫 䒺䆀䆀䦝 䓉䴩 䯿䆄㾛䆄䓉 䃰䆀䆄䆀㸷’㾛 㾛䡇䙯䦝䴩䧘 䙯㶄䆀䒺䓉㾛” 䫡 㾓䆀䒺㸷䄧 䓉䡇䴩䗴㶄䡇䓉 䙯㾛 䡇䆀 䦝䆀㾛㻣䆀䒺䦝䆀䦝 䓉䡇䆀 㾛䓉䴩䒺䆀 㾛䓉䙯䆄㸷䧘䙯䄧 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀 㗊䗴䒺 䑈䴩䦝 㮹䴩㐃㐣䙯䒺䄧’㾛 䡇䆀䙯䦝㝩䗴䙯㸷䓉䆀㸷㾛䫠 㾓䆄㾛 㐃䆄䒺䦝 㻣䴩䗴䲹䦝䒺’䓉 䡇䆀䲹㐣 䎚䗴䓉 䓉䡇䆄䒺䝤 䙯䎚䴩䗴䓉 䓉䡇䆀 㦫㸷䴩䒺 㖷㶄䆀䒺䓉䫠 㗊䴩㐃䆀䓉䡇䆄䒺㶄 㐑䆀䲹䓉 䴩㐑㐑䫠 㾓䆀 䒺䆀䆀䦝䆀䦝 䓉䴩 䆄䒺䯿䆀㾛䓉䆄㶄䙯䓉䆀䫠

䡇䆀 䓉㖷 㻣䆀”䙯㾛䓉䲹 䦝䗴䓉䒺䆀㸷䝤䃰䆀䗴䫠 䗴㸷㸷䒺䆀䓉䓉䴩㐑䴩 䓉䡇䆀䴩㐑 “䆀䃰䓉’㾛䓉䴩㿨䙯䆄㾛䓉㸷㾛䓉䡇䆀 䴩䓉䓉䡇䆀

㾓䆀 䧘䴩䗴䲹䦝 㐣䗴䓉 䡇䆄㾛 㾛䡇䙯䦝䴩䧘㾛 䴩䒺 䆀䙯㻣䡇 䴩䒺䆀 䴩㐑 䓉䡇䆀㐃䫠䫠

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Chapter 212: “Bread and Circuses”
Henry’s day didn’t end with the Sun God Company. He still had an infinite number of issues to address. Building the foundation of his kingdom meant addressing more than just the economy. There were other pressing matters, things equally, if not more, important than trade and only mining.

After finishing his meeting with the agents, Henry headed toward the Northern Gate. The streets were alive with activity, but quieted as he passed. Snow workers had done their jobs well, clearing the endless layers of frost from the avenues and narrow streets. People paused in their work or conversations, lowering their heads in respect as he walked by. Even the barbarians, who were still adjusting to their new roles in this structured society, mimicked the gesture. Henry could see more and more of them as he walked north, few of the original residents mingled between them.

“How is their situation?” Henry asked, his voice cutting through the silence of the avenue. He didn’t slow his stride, his eyes scanning the figures around him. Luke, the small midget, was nearly jogging to keep up. His arms were full, clutching an unwieldy stack of parchments to his chest. His short legs struggled to match the king’s pace, leaving him slightly out of breath, but he managed to respond.

Luke glanced at the barbarians gathered along the avenue, their heads bowed in silence as Henry passed. Some of them still had blood on their knuckles, while others had blood dripping from their nose or teeth missing. Their huge and muscular frames, coupled with a long hair, set them apart from most citizens of Stahl. And, because they had ample access to the fur within the Frozen Forest, their clothes were even better then most merchants within the capital. If you looked at their clothes only, outsiders might think that they were rich merchants or nobles.

“The other residents are still acting with prejudice” – Luke said, adjusting the stack of parchments he clutched tightly, struggling to keep them balanced – “But it has lessened over the last few months. The trade initiatives and Gedhe’s role as the Frozen Agent have allowed some sort of communication between them” – He shifted the papers again, regretting not bringing someone to help him carrying these documents – “However, their habits… they still unsettle people. They are brutal.”

At Luke’s words, Henry’s eyes shifted to a nearby group of barbarians, also noticing the blood and the broken teeth and swollen jaws. It wasn’t just men either, even the women carried all sorts of injuries. Despite that, they all seemed to move without an ounce of pain.

Luke tried to keep his eyes forward, somewhat uneasy to keep staring at them. He leaned closer to Henry, speaking in a hushed tone, just loud enough for the king to hear – “They fight all the time,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “Once, I came out around midnight to inspect a problem near North Avenue. And, they were gathered in a circle, yelling and cheering. I saw this young guy, he didn’t even have an arm, beating another man to a pulp.”

Luke paused, swallowing as his memory replayed the scene. “When it was over, they just lit a fire, sat around it like nothing had happened, laughing and drinking beer.” He hesitated before adding, “The drinking, fine, that’s… normal. But the fighting? It’s constant. I returned from now and then and they didn’t stop for a single night.”

His eyes flicked toward the barbarians, careful not to linger too long. They had already bowed once to the king, showing the respect expected of them, but now they moved on, talking and working like they hadn’t just come from a fight. Their bloodied hands and battered faces didn’t seem to bother them at all.

“I heard about that from Gedhe,” Henry nodded. Unlike Luke, he didn’t shy away from staring directly at the bloodied barbarians, who had already turned their backs to him, continuing on without waiting for the king’s figure to vanish from sight. “It’s something they do every night to honor their ancestors. They also use it to resolve grievances among themselves. In the Frozen Forest, a lack of unity could mean death. They fight until the blood spilled between them washes away their differences. This tradition, I believe, is one of the reasons they managed to survive in such a hostile environment.”

“Oh I heard about that from Gedhe” – Henry said, unlike Luke, he stared straight at the bloodied barbarians, who had already given his back to him, not waiting for his figure to disappear in the horizon – “It’s some sort of ritual to honor their ancestors and resolve any kind of grievances between them. It’s quite a smart way to resolve any issues within a short time frame, not allowing blood feuds to be formed and destroy their villages. In the Frozen Forest, they had to act as a single entity, any lack of unity meant death. I believe that this tradition is one of the reasons they managed to survive in that place.”

Henry gestured toward one barbarian, his hands dripping with blood, laughing with another whose nose was clearly broken but who grinned as if nothing was amiss. -“It keeps them cohesive as a society, but more than that, it hones their fighting skills. They learn how to strike and how to endure hits.”

Luke frowned but said nothing, still avoiding looking directly at the barbarians. Henry, however, remained unbothered by the blood or the ferocity, his thoughts drifting toward the similarities between the cultures of Earth and this world.

The barbarians’ tradition of honoring their ancestors and settling disputes was similar to the ancient Nordic holmgang, a duel practiced by the Vikings to resolve conflicts, legal matters, and matters of honor. In the holmgang, almost any personal issue could be settled within a marked stone ring. The combatants would fight until one was killed, seriously injured, or surrendered. If someone refused to show up for the duel, usually held three to seven days after the challenge, they were declared an outcast, losing their honor and respect. Those who ran away were called niðingr, a coward.

By modern standards, the holmgang would seem brutal and violent. But it served a purpose at the time. It stopped feuds from growing into long, bloody conflicts that could tear entire families or communities apart. Instead of ongoing fights, the holmgang offered a quick and final resolution. Over time, as societies developed better laws, the holmgang was no longer needed and was outlawed, first in Iceland in 1006, and later in Norway in 1014.

“They should at least do something like this in the training grounds,” Luke muttered, his voice low as he adjusted again the stack of parchments in his arms. “Or at least somewhere more appropriate. It is unsettling to think that someone might find a body in these streets one morning because things got out of hand.”

At Luke’s words, Henry’s eyes flickered with sudden inspiration. A memory from Earth flashed vividly in his mind, a Roman amphitheater, its grand arches towering above a cheering crowd, where people gathered to watch combat and revel in spectacle – “Bread and circuses” – he thought, the philosophy of keeping the masses entertained while maintaining order.

He looked back at the barbarians but quickly shook his head. “Having them perform these traditions in the open… for everyone to see. It could work. It might even provide a form of entertainment in this harsh region. Something to lighten the monotony…” His voice trailed off, his thoughts deepening. Then, as if struck by lightning, he halted abruptly.

Luke, walking too close behind and struggling with the weight of the parchments, bumped into Henry’s back, nearly dropping his entire stack – “Apologies, my liege” – Luke muttered, scrambling to steady the documents. Yes, he was having trouble with it. He should have ordered someone to carry it.

Henry waved off the apology, his mind clearly elsewhere. Without looking back, he asked, “How many conquered soldiers refused to yield and are still locked up in the castle’s prison?”

Luke paused, blinking at the unexpected question. “Around five hundred, my king. It could be slightly more or less.”

A slow, calculating smile spread across Henry’s face, his gaze sharpening as a plan began to take shape in his mind. “Good,” he said softly, more to himself than to Luke – “Let’s meet Luna first.”