"Your equipment, your subordinates, and your actions."
"Silver chainmail, a sword that cuts through iron like mud, surrounded by fully armed elites."
Harald, the High King of Norway, said after introducing himself, revealing everything he had observed to the young Prince Rostislav.
"You are like a wolf cub on its first hunt, eager for achievements. I can see you haven't experienced many battles; you're full of an uncontainable bloodthirsty courage."
"I think there is only one person in Rus' who fits everything I've mentioned, my nephew, Rostislav Vladimirovich?"
"Uncle Harald, I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't expect the reinforcements arranged by my grandfather to be you."
Facing Northern Thunder, Rostislav nimbly dismounted, relieved, then bowed slightly to show his respect. This respect was heartfelt; the Nuo City Prince knew very well what achievements this King had accomplished.
"The Ruthless One," "Northern Thunder," "Arsonist of Bulgaria"—these terrifying nicknames all belonged to the King before him, the famous Harald Hardrada. Behind these titles lay countless glorious achievements.
Harald himself was a legend. As a young man, he lived in exile, went to Byzantine to serve as a mercenary, performed countless deeds worthy of sagas, built his own warband, and became famous in the South as the "Arsonist of Bulgaria."
After achieving fame and success, he went to Kiev to marry the daughter of the Kiev Grand Duke, whom he once couldn't hope to marry. Then, he returned to the North with his wife and subordinates, reclaiming his brother's lost throne with fire and sword, becoming the supreme ruler of Norway.
And now, he had begun a long struggle with the King of Denmark and destroyed Hedeby, one of the most prosperous cities in the North, adding another achievement to his sagas. Warriors throughout the North looked up to Harald as an example; he was a legend of his time.
"Since my father-in-law is willing to put himself in danger, how can I not cooperate? Besides, this is good; I've fooled the Danes again. I estimate Sweyn is still foolishly waiting for me in the strait."
Harald was quite familiar with Prince Rostislav. He was indeed very familiar with the Nuo City Prince; in the past few years, he had frequently come to Nuo City to sell spoils of war and slaves, and to buy supplies, naturally having many dealings with Prince Rostislav's father, the Nuo City Prince.
Rostislav had thus met the Norwegian King several times and formed a decent relationship with this uncle, which was why Rostislav felt relieved when he saw him.
"I already know about your father's matter. It's truly a pity; such a warrior should have died on a truly grand battlefield."
Harald's tone was very normal. After all, for this legend, death was as common as daily meals, no longer able to stir his heart.
To him, the greatest regret was that Vladimir, a brave man he respected, did not die heroically on the battlefield as in the songs. In his view, that was the proper end for a brave man.
When his father was mentioned, Rostislav couldn't help but feel a bit sad, but he quickly adjusted. They were on a battlefield, after all.
Speaking of the battlefield, the current situation was decided. The Chud army had no possibility of regrouping. The Norsemen were wantonly pursuing deserters and capturing prisoners.
And the main force of Rus' had just arrived on the battlefield, crushing the last group of stubbornly resisting Chud warbands.
"Uncle Harald, you truly live up to the name 'Thunder.'"
The Nuo City Prince's words carried envy. The Norwegian King had defeated the Chud army by his own power; the Rus' people were merely adding icing to the cake. If he could possess such a powerful army, how could he be in his current awkward situation?
But Rostislav also knew this was just wishful thinking. Harald's elite had experience wielding axes and fighting in the streets of the Imperial Capital, on the plains of Bulgaria, and in the hills of Asia Minor. They were truly battle-hardened elites. To command such power would require an unknown amount of money and lives.
"This is thanks to my Norse compatriots on the Estonian islands. If it weren't for their fire, I wouldn't have achieved such an easy victory."
Rostislav's eyebrows twitched when he heard this. "You actually made them submit?"
As the son of the Nuo City Prince, Rostislav was well aware of how troublesome the Norsemen scattered across the many islands along the Estonian coast were. Before Harald unleashed a wave that swept across the entire Baltic Sea, they were the largest source of pirates in the Eastern Baltic.
"I just promised them a share in the plunder."
Harald's reply was casual, and the Nuo City Prince was not surprised by the Norse pirates' defection. The rich spoils Harald obtained from Hedeby tempted every ambitious person in the Baltic Sea. Now that Harald had given them an opportunity, they would naturally flock to him.
Rostislav and Harald, disregarding the bloodstains on their bodies, stood there chatting. Harald's attitude towards Rostislav was unchanged by his awkward political standing; in his eyes, there was only the distinction between brave men and cowards.
Rostislav, on the other hand, greatly valued his relationship with Harald. If he could have this King as an ally, his future path would be much smoother.
As the two discussed the situation in the North, the battle was drawing to a close. The Chud's final resistance had been crushed by the Rus' army's shield wall. The battle had turned into a slave-catching contest, the most exciting moment, as the greatest value of these barbarians lay in this.
Everywhere lay unconscious and bound losers, piled with the corpses. From now on, they were no longer people but the property of the victors. These worthless slaves would be exchanged for real gold and silver in the South, which was worth far more than their wretched lives.
The clip-clop of hooves sounded behind the two Northern warriors. They turned to look; the Wise One and his personal guards had arrived. Seeing his son-in-law and grandson covered in blood, the Grand Duke couldn't help but frown.
"Harald, you always get yourself covered in blood. One day you'll die on the battlefield. As for Rostislav, don't learn from this fellow; he's just playing with his life."
"Haha, I'd be glad if that were the case. Maybe the Valkyries will take me to Valhalla."
Harald retorted fearlessly, even mentioning the pagan Valkyries, but the Wise One said no more. He knew his son-in-law's temper; talking to him would be endless. The Nuo City Prince, meanwhile, nodded silently. He was the junior and had to humble himself.
"Is that bastard Alar dead?"
The Wise One did not continue on the topic of hygiene, directly changing the subject to what he cared about most.
"That fellow is slippery; he got away."
Harald scratched the back of his head, a hint of embarrassment on his face.