Alfred stood before the exhausted sailor, who knelt deeply, struggling to catch his breath. As Alfred, William, and Charles listened intently to the harrowing news, the sailor silently expressed his gratitude for the Kingdom's well-developed roads to himself, which had allowed him to reach Alfred within a month of relentless travel.
Alfred nervously bit his fingers, trying to formulate a plan. Thousands of raiders had landed on his undefended shores, and he knew they must already be wreaking havoc along the southern coast. "Pull back all forces from advancing," he ordered, "The delayed shipment means we will begin to starve if we stay overextended." His mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done.
"Charles," Alfred continued, "you and the Unyielding will return to the Kingdom with me to address this threat. William, take command of the eastern forces and continue the invasion. The entire war effort is in your hands during my absence." Without waiting for a response, Alfred began preparing for the long but urgent journey to the southern coast.
His decisive actions left William and Charles with no time to suggest alternative ideas, forcing them to make the necessary preparations to face the approaching storm.
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" Yusuf screamed as he was dragged down the Palace corridors toward the dungeons. "IT WAS ADRIAN THE SNAKE! ADRIAN! UNHAND ME!" His desperate cries fell on deaf ears; the guards had their orders directly from the Sultan. From a distance, Adrian watched the scene unfold, a crooked smile hidden beneath his mask.
Returning to his office, Adrian quickly penned a note and tied it to one of his birds. He was fortunate that Mansa's guards were preoccupied with the commotion in the corridor, allowing him a brief moment of privacy. He then turned his attention to the finance reports of the Sultanate, now under his control.
Yusuf's merchant empire had contributed a sizable percentage of the Sultanate's budget, and Adrian now understood how the man had wormed his way into the inner council. With Yusuf out of the picture, Adrian saw an opportunity to accelerate his plans under the guise of financial strain.
As night fell, Adrian made his way to the dungeon. Unlocking a large iron door, he found Yusuf chained to the wall, beaten black and blue, his stomach rumbling from hunger.
"It must be strange, sitting here, feeling hunger for the first time," Adrian mocked, leaning against the wall. Yusuf glared at him with angry eyes and lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the chain around his neck, collapsing to the floor.
"You bastard," Yusuf wheezed, his voice barely audible from the beating he had endured. Adrian chuckled softly.
"You didn't care when my face was disfigured, so why should I care about a beaten dog clinging to life?" Adrian kicked him in the stomach. "God, you're pathetic."
"You're finished when Nasr returns," Yusuf cursed, ignoring Adrian's taunts. "He will finish the job his father started."
Adrian gave a light laugh. "No, I have his trust now," Adrian replied calmly. "Besides, who else would watch over the Capital in his absence? Nasr is too eager to prove himself, running off to play war when he barely understands it."
Crouching down, Adrian sneered, "Even if you try to speak out, it will be dismissed as the ravings of a dying madman. No one will believe you. No matter how many sentries were placed on me, I survived." Hovering over Yusuf's face, Adrian pocked into his forehead, "And you. Leaving everything about the war to you did provide me the perfect cover." Adrian stood up and walked toward the door. "I'll be back. Enjoy your time here," he said, waving as he left.
Yusuf watched Adrian's retreating figure with desperation. If threatening the man didn't work he knew he could try something else. With a desperate voice, he begged, "Adrian, don't leave me here, please. I'll give you money. Please, Adrian." Despite his hatred for the man, his fear of rotting in the dark cell outweighed everything. When bribing him was ignored, despair overwhelmed him. "YOU PROMISED NOTHING WOULD HAPPEN TO ME!" he cried out as the heavy door closed, plunging the dungeon back into darkness. Yusuf curled into a ball, trying to stay warm. His thoughts flooded of ways to kill Adrian.
Knut, Erik, Frode, and Halfdan stood around a crackling fire. "We march east, back to that grand village. You should have seen the walls—it's bigger than anything I've ever encountered," Frode bragged, clutching his stomach. Erik and Knut exchanged wary glances, knowing all too well how difficult it was to breach castles, and this one sounded twice the size of any they had faced.
"How do we even do it? Me and Knut, have already taken a castle and it was hassle enough." Looking at the man like an idiot he asked trying to be a voice of reason, "How do we destroy those walls? The gate has iron gates not letting us use a ram". Even Halfdan, usually indifferent to the others, agreed. Frode remained silent, unable to offer a solution.
"If we head west instead, there are many defences, but none as formidable as what you describe. With all four of us, our armies could easily rip through this land," Knut proposed.
"We can't do that," Frode countered. "If you saw it, you'd know it must be where the King lives—the gold, the women. We must attack the east. It's what our ancestors would have done. And when we kill the king, we will become kings of this land," Frode declared with a booming laugh.
The three men pondered Frode's words. They all craved the glory of the heroes of old, but they knew attacking such a great fort would be a daunting task. Halfdan finally spoke up. "I agree with these two, Frode." His words caught them off guard, but before Frode could object, he continued, "If they can build forts like this, they must have a way to destroy them. We head west, find these weapons, then return to kill the king."
Erik and Knut nodded in agreement. Frode, though displeased, reluctantly conceded. Turning to Erik and Knut, he added, "We must take that place if we want to return home with the supplies we need. Our ships aren't large enough, and the ones we've captured so far won't be sufficient."
With a deep sigh, Erik agreed thinking of his homeland. "You're right. Let's hold a ceremony for the gods at midnight. Tomorrow, we move." The others nodded, with Frode being the most enthusiastic. As Halfdan and Knut left to prepare for the ceremony, Frode walked alongside Erik.
He glanced at the backs of the two men with cold eyes. "You and I, Erik, we're different from those two. They don't respect the gods. Halfdan thinks he's better than them, and Knut is a coward. But you and I are different. You're the father of a God-summoner, and I live and die by the gods."
"What are you getting at, Frode?" Erik asked cutting him off. Staring deep into his eyes, he saw a religious fervour appear in them.
"We could split this land between us. Give me your daughter. Our child will rule both our homeland and these lands. No Jarl, King, or foreigner could challenge him," Frode said confidently. Erik's eyes narrowed as he listened. "He wouldn't just be God-bound, Erik. Our son would be a God in this land, like the Era of Hero's. He'd revive the bygone era and restore the lost strength of our people." Frode's voice was filled with madness as he envisioned the legendary tales of warriors slaying dragons and wielding magic.
Scoffing, Erik tapped Frode's chest. He could see the man was lost in his delusions. "You can have my daughter if she agrees. That girl is fiercer than half the men here. But don't blame me if it ends with more than a hole in your stomach." Erik turned and walked away, leaving Frode alone, laughing maniacally