Chapter 55: You Shall Be Crowned Queen

Margaret and Ralph rode on donkeys, dressed in new clothes, and arrived at the training ground.

Alexander stood upon the falconry platform, delivering an impassioned speech. Though his voice was still youthful, it rang out like a bronze bell, and his posture was so confident that he seemed like a natural-born miniature version of Robert-Jaques.

Margaret nodded in satisfaction, well aware that as a ruler, one could be wicked, but must never be incompetent.

She thought of Duke Xiang of Song during the Spring and Autumn period, who was mocked by great thinkers as "pig-headed benevolence and righteousness" because he stubbornly adhered to the principles of "not attacking an enemy in mourning, not taking advantage of a disaster, a gentleman not inflicting double wounds, and not capturing the gray-haired."

In contrast, Sun Wu did precisely the opposite. He did whatever was most unscrupulous and struck wherever it would cause the enemy the most agony, earning him the posthumous title of the Saint of War.

Margaret pointed toward the falconry platform and shouted to the officers, "Some of you, come help me move him over there." She signaled for them to assist Ralph down from his donkey.

Alexander strode over eagerly, wearing a triumphant expression as he claimed credit before her, "Sister, I've arranged everything! I told them that whatever the order, they must obey, and only absolute obedience earns the right to stay."

His gaze suddenly fell upon Ralph, and he looked curiously at the person Margaret was supporting. "Who is this karl (peasant)?"

Margaret glared at him, casting a sharp look at the top of his head as she mentally plotted how to knock some sense into him.

Alexander instantly covered his head in alarm and backed away step by step, keeping a wary eye on her.

Margaret turned to several officers and instructed, "A few of you, come here!" She pointed to the side. "Carry him over there!"

Ralph, meanwhile, seemed entirely indifferent to all of this. He spread his arms and allowed the housecarls to carry him to the edge of the falconry platform and seat him down.

Margaret climbed up the platform and approached the seated officers. She gently patted each of their rounded bellies in turn, saying with a firm tone, "You will soon recover your vigorous physiques!"

Ralph struggled to his feet. Covered in scars and leaning on a crutch, he made his way laboriously over to the officers. He brandished his crutch and struck them one by one across their bodies.

The officers initially intended to flare up in anger, but the moment they locked eyes with Ralph, their fury vanished instantly, replaced by astonishment and awe. They asked in trembling voices, "You... My Lord, you are still alive?"

Most of them were war orphans who had grown up alongside Ralph, sharing deep and enduring bonds. Even if his appearance had changed, his voice and demeanor remained the same, making him easy to recognize—much like how a nearsighted person, after removing their glasses, generally relies on voice alone to identify familiar faces.

"Get down!" Ralph pointed at the officer who had spoken, his voice stern. "Don't make me kick your backsides!"

The officers no longer dared to remain seated. Furthermore, with Harold and the others backing Ralph up, they knew they couldn't fight against the current, so they obediently got to their feet and stood in a row before the soldiers.

"During the time Harold and I were away, it seems you have grown quite lax. I am now going to inspect your training. Prepare yourselves!"

"At once!"

"Wuuu—" The horns blew, and riders led their warhorses out of the stables while training equipment was set up.

To prevent the stationary scarecrows from injuring the riders due to recoil, they were suspended from ash-wood poles by hemp ropes, bound only at the top while the lower ends hung loose, dangling within the training field along a fifty-meter corridor that stretched all the way to the edge of the city wall.

The riders charged at the dummies wielding maces, either gripping their lances with both hands to slash, thrusting with a reverse grip, or using maces to smash the dummies away one by one.

Ralph nodded and moved on to the next event: mounted archery.

Attendants pulled targets along tracks while the riders, bouncing up and down on the backs of galloping warhorses, struck the targets with pinpoint accuracy.

It seemed that over the past eight years, they had not let their skills rust. However, when it came to the officers, the situation grew rather awkward. Because the mess hall food was too good and their training volume fell short, these officers had bellies that were far too rounded, making it utterly impossible for them to draw their bows.

This was not due to a lack of strength, but because the bowstring was blocked by their protruding bellies, preventing them from being pulled back. This was also the reason why Oony had never practiced archery, while Amazonian female warriors essentially had to sever their left breasts just to draw a bow.

Ralph’s face darkened. He immediately called those pot-bellied officers before him and ordered them to undergo supplementary training by running laps around the training ground.

This was sheer torture for them. The officers let out a series of wails and, amidst the laughter of the rank-and-file riders, ran backward with their bellies thrust outward.

"Brat, come here!" Ralph beckoned to Alexander.

"You should be the one coming to pay respects to this lord!" Alexander curled his lip and stood his ground.

Seeing that Ralph pondered for a moment before walking toward him, Alexander arrogantly tilted his head up, attempting to look down with disdain upon Ralph, who was taller than him.

To his surprise, the scars on Ralph’s face twitched a few times. Ralph stepped forward and, catching him off guard, slapped him hard enough to force his head down, leaving Alexander stunned in sheer disbelief.

Margaret let out a mocking laugh; a ruthless figure like Ralph would never coddle him.

"Angry?" Ralph borrowed a riding crop from Margaret, handed it to Alexander, and pointed at the group of panting officers. "Go on, channel your anger. If anyone falls behind, whip them hard!"

Alexander’s eyes lit up. He took the whip and cast a glance at Ralph, who was standing on one leg, seemingly pondering where best to strike.

"Go on!" To his surprise, Ralph immediately raised his crutch as if to hit him, scaring Alexander into breaking into a trot toward the lagging officers.

Killing two birds with one stone!

Margaret mused that this approach both supervised the officers and exercised Alexander. Moreover, given his status, the officers wouldn't dare to retaliate.

Running while whipping others—exercising in such an engaging and entertaining environment made it hard to perceive the training as a torment to the will.

It was much like having a trail of gold stretching twenty kilometers ahead on the ground; even a three-hundred-pound fat man wouldn't feel tired.

"When will you fulfill the condition you promised me?" Ralph looked at Margaret.

Margaret panicked slightly. "Before the Viking season next summer, I need to commune with Sheena through spirit-walking so that she will appear!"

"I'll wait!" Ralph said no more. He seemed to have regained his former confidence, and facing the sunlight, she felt that the chilling aura about him had diminished significantly.

She breathed a sigh of relief, turned her gaze toward the clamping donkey, and shared her thoughts with Ralph.

"Loyalty training?" Ralph pondered for a moment and shook his opinion. "I wouldn't advise you to do that right now, because the soldiers' loyalty to you is still insufficient. If you try this, you'll awkwardly discover that no one will obey you!"

"Is that so?" Margaret looked thoughtful, feeling that his words made sense. Yet she also suspected he might just be finding an excuse to prevent her from harming the clamping donkey.

Never mind! she thought.

"Go back and prepare. I heard the servants discussing it—tomorrow is the founding of the Gotland family, and you will be crowned queen!"

Ralph called a halt to the officers, scolded and reprimanded them one by one, and then dismissed them.

Margaret stared at his leg—it was amputated below the knee—and wondered if she could find a way to fit him with a prosthetic limb.