Chapter 20: Death by Confrontation

Marquise looked at the three behemoths turning to face him and blanched in fear, "Milord, are you certain you want the details of the entire events replayed?"

Ragnar looked at the Marquise with a questioning look, "Well, of course, I do? Why else would I ask? Go on then" He proferred his arms in question.

Marquise looked between the three of them before repeating the events to the best of his ability. It was hard to retain most of the fight and explain it coherently when he was mesmerized by the entire event.

"...And when Eric reneged his word and asked his men to charge Ragnar down, they all stood still in awe. He's been dubbed 'Ragnar the Almighty'. Marquise scoffed at the moniker.

A victorious laugh broke from Harald's visage. "My boy has made a name for himself! Oh, praise the gods, our family has been given another blessing from ODIN! And 'Almighty' at that."

He turned to face the french man before explaining the significance of such a thing. "No Viking before this has been given the moniker Almighty, Marquise. The closest has been Sigurd the Mighty, who died in a very unflattering way, if I must add. His death was said to have been caused by the trophy of a head he had severed in battle."

"While riding on his horse with the head attached to its side as a trophy, the teeth of the head grazed his leg, which soon caused an infection that spread from his leg causing his death." Harald smiled at the thought of such an unfortunate death.

"But, this is great news for you, Ragnar. This means that the people of Norse religion treat you as if God himself sent you." Harald grinned as he slapped Ragnar on the shoulders.

A loud metallic scraping sound rang out, causing everyone to turn around to find Thorkell picking up swords and axes from the ground.

"Ah, guess my boy can't take it. Alright, lads, let's clear this mess up and then find this bastard of a Baron." Harald sighed as he told Ragnar.

Ragnar nodded in satisfaction. Though he did not seek his new father's approval, there was nothing more satisfying than receiving unbounded love from a father.

Ragnar snapped out of his reverie and turned to face Marquise and his men, commanding them to clean up the field. The rest had scattered into the countryside with the captured, tied up already. Waiting for a time when they can come back to shore and scatter via the ships they used to invade the Baron's port.

Over time, they divested the area of its weapons. Accumulating sacks full of material, with supplies, loaded up onto a cart for them to carry up the open hill.

After about 2 hours of cleaning up, the crew started to head out towards the army camp they had previously left this morning.

As Harald and his entourage crested the hill, there were absolutely no signs of movement among the camp. They still had pots and pans spread out across fire camps with the main army lazing around, laughing and drinking booze as the day ended.

Silence quickly spread across the camp as they noticed Harald and his entourage splattered in blood, unsatisfyingly strolling through the camp. Nicks and scores from weapons covered the skin of his two sons, and the soldiers looked on with fear as they noticed the blank-faced expression on their Marshal.

The second in command, Sigurd, was quickly notified of Harald's arrival and burst out of his tent to greet his superior. "MiLord! It is so great to see that you live! The mission was truly risky. I'm glad that you were able to pull it off." Sigurd's loud and unsteady voice confirmed his outward appearance as he wried his hands in nervousness.

Harald strode right up to Sigurd before a low and dangerous whisper broke out, "Where were my men?" A snarl slipped from Thorkell behind them.

Sigurd looked up in angst before a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, "It was the Baron, I swear, Milord. He told me that Ragnar's plan was a fool's errand and that I was not to comply with your request for men on this suicide mission." He hissed in reply.

Harald took one step closer, grabbing Sigurd by the scruff of his linen shirt, "You mean to say that he left my family and me out to die, and you agreed with him?" He raised his eyebrow in question, tightening his grip on Sigurd's shirt.

Sigurd replied in panic, "No, Milord! I vehemently objected. I said we should send men at once, and I would personally ride out in… urk." His voice suddenly failed him as he struggled to choke out the next words.

Harald wiped his narrow four-inch blade on Sigurd's shirt as he sighed, staring into the man's quickly fading irises. "You made a mistake, my dear Sigurd, and the Baron's made a bigger one."

Soldiers stood up in shock, ready to apprehend their Marshal but backed down when they saw the glare of Ragnar and Thorkell right next to him, hands on their massive battle axes.

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The Baron was busy going over paperwork for the day, planning for the full-scale assault on the morrow. He was sure that the scheming Marshal and his family were dead by the now, sniggering at the thought in glee.

At this moment, Harald tore the tent flap open and strode into the room alongside Ragnar and Thorkell. The Baron's face turned into one of mock happiness as he exclaimed, "Ah, Harald! What a pleasure to see you, my old friend. I'm sure the operation…" He trailed off as a loud slam of a body hitting his desk captured his attention.

The lifeless eyes of his second in command and accomplice, Sigurd, stared back at him. A thin slit across his neck was still bleeding profusely, pouring blood all over his desk.

The Baron stood up in shock, his chair breaking by the force of his movement, causing his overweight frame to tumble. "What is the meaning of this Harald?! Guards! Right now!" He shrieked out to his men.

For the first time since walking into camp, Harald's demeanor shifted into one of pure rage as he thundered to the Baron. "Where the fuck were ye?!" A loud crack split the desk as he slammed his fist down in rage.

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