Flames, soaring flames tore the green robes of the earth. The groaning of the land weighed the hearts of the English people, and now that the flames of war had burned deep into Mercia, what was the fate of York? All the lords of England were tormented by terrible thoughts, and King Edgar was particularly worried.

"Deliver us, O God, from the wrath of the northerners." Some of the priests began to pray, and they surrounded the king's banner, just as King Alfred had done when he went on a campaign.

The whole English army numbered about 3,000 men, all on horseback, and with the exception of the king's cavalry, most of the Sain and the guards had become the West Saxons of the south, but a few Northumbrians were the most anxious part of the army, and their native land had been disturbed by the Danish dragon heads, and the countless elves and aliens that had inhabited the wilderness trembled like the humans who had hidden in the fortresses of the towns.

King Edgar wore a pale yellow woollen burqa, a white mink-trimmed shawl slanted over his shoulders, a gold chain inlaid with amber between his neck, and his iron armor parted at his legs until his strong shins. The seal skin of the scabbard on his belt was polished to shine, and the other silver sword tied to the saddle was supported by a light green interlining cloth on the bottom of the saddle, and the legs and knees were clamped, and the gauntlet pointed diagonally in front of him, reflecting the strength and skill of the prince on horseback. Edgar's chamberlains were armed with a spear, a longbow and quiver and several ornate swords hanging from their saddles, ready to provide the king with spare weapons in battle.

After taking off his helmet and hanging it to his side, the King of England ordered the whole army to march in the direction of the fire, looking for traces of the enemy. It was near Chesterfield, with the Peak District to the west, and the English slowed their pace until they were surrounded by ash and ruins.

A group of Danish guards rode up to the English army, led by an old northern prince who could overwhelm all the jarrs, except for a face that seemed to be plagued by witchcraft and filled with darkness.

"Lord Osbjorn." The King of England immediately recognized each other.

"Your Majesty, you are finally here." The attitude of this Danish prince was unexpectedly friendly.

At this time, the light of the sword was already flickering in the middle of the blazing air, and the atmosphere of sword rattling was very obvious, and it seemed that as long as the respective lords gave an order, all the warriors would start a bloody battle.

"Can you explain what you are seeing?" There was no emotion in the voice of the King of England, but his eyes were like steel threatening the gap in the other's helmet.

"It's just a signal for His Majesty to find us." Osbjorn replied nonchalantly.

Edgar asked, "Why does your lord want to meet us?" ”

"Because I saw the future in my dreams." The answer was very vague, but the northerner continued, "Your Majesty and your people are devout Christians, and we accepted this crucified new god decades ago, but our beliefs may not be identical. ”

As he spoke, Osbjorn found a cross from his pigtailed beard, but it was different from the usual pattern in England, a bit like the pagan Hammer of Thor: "In our land, the fountain of the old gods is still worshipped, but it has been replaced by a new patron saint, and the Danish faith may have changed, but the ancient gods still live among us." ”

"Do you want to discuss the question of faith at the site of this massacre?" The King of England's tone grew a little impatient.

"In His Majesty's eyes, it may be a massacre, but among us Danes, it is nothing more than the wish of the old gods."

"Then your old gods are brutal." The king rebuked unceremoniously.

"It's just different, the ancient gods—Odin, Tyr, Thor, and even the cunning Loki—are unpredictable, their ways are more laid-back, and they don't require the northerners to serve them, unlike the new gods of today."

"And what exactly do they want?" There was a hint of curiosity in the king's tone.

"They want to laugh, so they want us to please them." Osbjorn sighed suddenly, "We are like actors, all performances are to please the gods, they hate boredom, and they are tired of unsatisfactory performances. ”

Seeing King Edgar's somewhat shocked expression, Ošbjorn continued: "But they have no future, I am not a devout Christian like my brother, but I can see that the time of the Vikings is passing, and my brother Sven, who surrounded him with a group of priests, still lives in the ancient Sagas. ”

"Why are you telling us this?" Edgar finally asked bluntly.

"Because Sven fell ill, very sick." The Danish nobleman's expression was a little sad, but then the gloom dissipated, his gray beard was a little unkempt, but the voice that came from his beard was unusually firm, "My nephew Harald is a wise man, but Sven has always distrusted him, and now Sven regrets it, but unfortunately Harald is not here, so he will lose Sven's crown." ”

"Do you want to be king?" Edgar heard the other man's voice, but still couldn't believe that the seemingly loyal prince would say such a thing.

"After the battle of York, I said to Sven, let me go to Mercia, and I will bring back enough loot to be worthy of the reputation of King Sven, so Sven let me take his best warriors." Osbjorn recounted these events almost in a nostalgic tone, "He was lame early, but he did not lose his valor, just as Odin was blind in one eye, but gained wisdom, but now his heart is blind, and if it were in the past, he would never let me go at this time." So I come to Your Majesty and promise you that the Danes will leave your kingdom and never return again, as long as Your Majesty supports what I am about to do. ”

"Why should we support such a usurpation instead of cooperating with Harald?" The corners of Edgar's mouth rose slightly, and then he regained his composure, "After all, it is entirely possible for him to agree to us on more favorable terms, not to mention that the Lord has just slaughtered and plundered our people." ”

"Because Harald was so clever that he was against attacking England, but only because he felt that the Danes could not win the war at the moment, and if he felt that he was strong enough one day, he would still bring the Danes to England to try his luck. In this respect, Harald was even inferior to Olaf in Norway, who still longed for glory rather than a stable kingdom in his heart. As for me, my best days are long gone, all glory and victory mean nothing to me, and my children and grandchildren will only seek a secure throne. More importantly, I would tell them that the Viking Age is gone. O'Sbjorn's answer seemed to be a towel, like a poet in the hall singing in a deep voice: Wyn-eal-gedreas! All the fun is gone!