The five young men entered the hall one after another. Vig studied their faces carefully—thin cheeks, faint dark circles around the eyes, the worn look of overworked tenant farmers.
"What happened to you? Why do you all look half-dead?"
The leader, Sebert Stormwind, immediately launched into a bitter tirade.
"Ivar suspected that there were problems in his accounts, so he dumped years of rotting ledgers on us! He worked us like beasts of burden!"
Since capturing Dublin in 845, Ivar had been resented by the local Irish nobles. Yet with his formidable military talent, he repeatedly broke the encirclement formed by surrounding clans and eventually controlled two-fifths of Ireland.
But his administrative ability… was not on the same level.
To sustain the endless wars, he heavily taxed the peasantry until many fled into the wilderness. To make matters worse, he borrowed money everywhere—by now he owed nearly every noble in Britain.
Realizing this couldn't continue or he'd have to beg his father for money, Ivar finally attempted reforms. He wrote to Vig and borrowed a team of clerks to fix the chaotic tax system and cut unnecessary expenses.
At the start of the year, Sebert and four classmates arrived in Dublin and began sorting out the financial mess.
The very first day, they were stunned.
The ledgers consisted of three different writing systems—Ogham from the Irish, Latin from the church, and the old, unsimplified runes of the Norse.
Ivar's explanation was laughable:
At first he appointed some Viking merchants as tax collectors and warehouse clerks. They barely managed for a year before he discovered outrageous corruption. In a fury, he beheaded all of them and replaced them with local Irish tax officials.
The Irish were far more efficient and less corrupt—corrupt enough to irritate Ivar, but not enough to be executed. But as their authority grew, the Vikings complained that he trusted outsiders more than brothers-in-arms.
So Ivar appointed another batch—loyal but incompetent Vikings—to balance them.
The result: a confused, sluggish administrative machine.
Vig let them rant for ten minutes before steering the topic back.
"How did you manage to clean those ledgers?"
Sebert replied confidently:
"We focused on the big issues first—mainly agricultural taxes from wealthy farmers upward, and the trade taxes from Dublin. Altogether we found over 300 pounds of old unpaid taxes. No one dared defy a ducal order, so they paid.
After that we re-surveyed the farmland around Dublin. Given Ivar's limited administrative capacity, I advised him to expand the fief-grant system—or even adopt that 'tax-farming'制度 you mentioned in class. It has flaws, but at least it works in the short term."
When they finished their report, Vig asked a key question:
"With such good results, did Ivar invite you to stay and serve in Ireland?"
Sebert sighed:
"I've grown used to the thinking and customs here. Tyne Town feels like a second home.
In Dublin, even though they're all Vikings, I felt suffocated. There's nothing to talk about with those warriors. It's dreary.
And we made plenty of enemies fixing those accounts. Once, while surveying farmland, someone even hired assassins to attack us—likely a local squire we'd offended."
Vig nodded, satisfied with the honesty, then opened the letter Ivar had sent.
"Vig, these students are excellent. It seems I must imitate your system—recruit shamans to run schools, and use simplified runes for daily paperwork."
Vig closed the letter, unimpressed.
Those reforms sounded simple, but were extremely difficult in practice. They would consume enormous energy, and given Ivar's rough, violent method of governance… chaos was inevitable.
"Rough estimate: Ireland has nearly five hundred thousand people. Ivar controls over two hundred thousand. For him, expanding the fief-grant system is far more efficient."
After thinking for a long moment, Vig assigned the five students to various posts in the northern four counties—assistant judges, county secretaries, and other mid-level administrative roles.
In early October, Vig made his routine visit to Londinium.
Overall, Britain was stable this year. Though nobles grumbled about the king's new taxes, there were no signs of rebellion.
In the palace hall, Ulf intercepted Vig and burst into complaints.
"All because of the trouble you caused, I was sent to Oslo as an envoy! Then that madman Halfdan dragged me along to Pomerania—I barely came back alive!"
"Halfdan? You mean that raiding trip to Pomerania?"
Vig recalled the rumors circulating in the markets:
—Some said Ulf fled with loot.
—Some claimed he was shot in the back by his own comrades.
—Others accused him of cowardice for abandoning the raid.
"Nonsense!" Ulf snapped. "From start to finish, Halfdan and his berserker lunatics forced me to join them—then repeatedly tried to get me killed. I've already filed an official complaint. I want to see what Halfdan says now!"
Vig guessed Ragnar would sweep the matter under the rug. Ulf had no solid evidence; it was one man's word against another.
Soon after, Halfdan entered the hall wearing a bearskin. He ignored the tribute scrolls he was supposed to present and immediately began mocking someone's cowardice, saying that certain people weren't worthy of being called Vikings.
Ulf's reputation was at stake. He shot back:
"I heard a certain warrior led three thousand men to attack Wales—and when ambushed at night, panicked so badly he lost to a mere thousand mountain bandits. Ha! You'd be better off with three thousand boars. Let them stampede the enemy; they'd kill more than those 'warriors' of yours!"
Clang!
The words had barely left his mouth when a dark blur flew toward him. Vig reacted instantly—he drew his sword and intercepted the deadly strike, saving Ulf.
Halfdan didn't even look angry. He only admired the blade.
"A beautiful dragon-breath sword."
As guards surged forward, Vig calmly sheathed his sword and met Halfdan's gaze.
"Eight years, Halfdan. You've seen it more than once. Still not enough?"
At last Ragnar rose from his throne, struck his son with a heavy slap, and ordered him to apologize.
Halfdan wiped the blood from his lip and forced out a thin smile.
"Earl of Kent, forgive my… momentary loss of temper."
Under the king's mediation, the two nobles exchanged a stiff embrace and declared the matter settled.
Vig wasn't surprised.
"Gothenburg is impoverished. It pays barely a dozen pounds in tribute each year. If Ragnar stripped Halfdan of his title, the man would simply turn pirate—and with those berserkers at his side, he could wreak havoc across Europe. If they raided West Francia, we'd likely end up in a second war."
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