In Risland, the former royal city of King Grufiz, the English saw a scene no more alive than the tombs, with the spruce-covered Welsh fortresses looking precarious in the hazy haze, and the occasional bee flying through the meadows, which made the English horses a little restless.

The British nobles who fled to the fort were not small in number, but their ranks were mostly as thin as the stars of a winter night. King Edgar's thousands of West Saxon and Northumbrian soldiers brought only more unease, and the lords of England, who were among the strangers, were like travelers in the woods, constantly feeling the eyes of wild beasts watching them in the shadows.

Trahone had been busy with the refugees from Boas for the past few days, many of whom were lying on the side of the road with their eyes blank, and hunger had made them barely able to move, and only the occasional passing soldier in armor made them shiver.

"Your Majesty, we can't go on like this here, or there will be a plague!" William Mallett, this Norman lord couldn't help but remind the King of England.

"Staying in Lisland will not solve the problem, only going to the source of the crisis can cut it all." Edgar saw through the situation in Wales at a glance.

"The situation is worse than we thought, should we let Count Mercia immediately bring reinforcements west?" The Normans cautiously advised.

"I'm going to talk to Traheun, his army is supposed to be at least enough to defeat the lords of the Teivi Valley, but now it's just a lack of morale, and we can't even control the terrain without the help of the Welsh army."

Edgar came to the Welsh barracks on the banks of the Cluyd River, and the green grass around him grew like crazy, almost flooding the low walls around the camp, and the Welsh people had no spirit to build wooden fences and dig trenches, but only camped in the middle of this green ruin, and even a water snake could easily climb into the camp. Despair was in the air, no one was interested in talking about anything, and an unsettling tranquility hung over the labyrinthine barracks.

"My lord, do you want to admit defeat?" The voice of the King of England woke Traherne, who was alone and staring.

"As Your Majesty can see, we are powerless to shelter all those who have fled." The lord replied sadly, almost as if he was really sorry for the people.

"If you keep sitting on this chair, the ranks of exiles outside will only grow. Now is not the time to hide and wait for the storm to pass, our troops have all been assembled and it's time to go to the center of the storm to end the madness. The King of England categorically stopped the other man's self-pity.

"The man I left behind in Aruistli has just received news that the Irish have landed not long ago." The Welsh lord replied in despair, he had hoped that the slogan of revenge for Bredin could summon more lords, but now the troops around him were less than half of the Dafelds, and the English could only reach half of the enemy's total strength, and the strength of the English was still measured by the Mercians who had been dealing with them for a long time, and in his opinion, King Edgar's strength of less than three thousand men plus his own more than two thousand people, facing a total of nearly ten thousand opponents, was only enough to barely protect himself, after all, The enemy included more than 2,000 of Dublin's elite Irish.

The king, too, had just heard the news of the arrival of the Irish, and after a moment of pause, he quickly came back to his senses: "In that case, we should immediately send troops to recover Aruiistli, as long as the lords of the valley are defeated, it will be difficult for the enemy to enter Boas in the west." ”

Upon hearing this reply, Trahne was amazed at the determination of the King of England, and before he could think of how to phrase it, Edgar said in an unquestioning tone: "I will set out at once, and ask my lord to give me some guides, as soon as my army has broken through the ...... of Aruiistley."

"I'll block the western pass at once, so that the mongrels don't have a chance to escape to the coast." The Lord of Wales seemed to regain his spirits and assured loudly.

After crossing Jutland, the Bishop of Canterbury's fleet cautiously traversed the narrow sea channel that separated the islands, and as he approached the vicinity of Roskild, Bishop Leofrick muttered to himself: "That news is true. ”

For the Danes, who still have pagan memories, they do not want to disturb their shores with the dragon heads carved by foreign beasts, and only when they go on expeditions to foreign lands will they re-attach the dragon heads and pounce on the enemy's shores like giant beasts of the sea, making the Christians of those lands tremble.

In the hall of King Sven, the Bishop of England was greeted by the Danes, and if it had not been for everything he had seen in the harbor, and the large number of warriors in the shield-hung banquet hall, he would have almost thought that the Danes were really innocent.

"Say hello to the young King Edgar on my behalf, for these years there have been many people in my hall talking about his battle Sakya, and it has been a long time since Harald's death that there has been no such heroic figure in the North." King Sven offered to make a toast to Bishop Leofrick.

"Our Majesty the King has also brought the friendship of the English, and I just hate not being able to meet His Majesty in person, thanking the Danes for their support over the years."

King Sven glanced at his eldest son, Harald, who had been opposed to sending troops to England: "If this is what King Edgar wants, we can arrange it." ”

Hearing that the voice was not good, the Bishop of Canterbury did not answer, and everyone in the hall fell silent for a while.

"Your Excellency may convey to King Edgar the meaning of the Danes, we have shed blood to protect the land of the English in the West, and now we only hope that the English will continue to do business with us."

"What does this business mean?" The bishop had already guessed the answer, but still blurted out.

"The Danish ship will be far from the shores of England, and will require only forty thousand pounds of Danish gold and a thousand sets of Greenwich chain mail." Despite his preparations, the bishop of England was startled by the lion opening of the king of Denmark.

After hastily bidding farewell to the Danish king, the bishop immediately said to his captain: "Leave at once, we will go to Norway." Then he glanced back at Roskilde, and his fear grew stronger, and he hated that the oar could not become the wings of a bird, and that he had to cross the swan path to the royal court of Bergen.