Chapter 70: Conclusion of the War, and an Unexpected Turn

Margaret stood quietly, her gaze following the columns of Viking warriors until they vanished into the distance. An indescribable emotion welled up in her heart.

She turned around, offering a radiant smile to the lords gathered nearby. "Look, this is our future domain. It shall forever belong to us, and our family will be passed down here through generations!"

Sven sighed in heartfelt admiration. "You are truly an incredible military leader! Your strategic vision and tactical brilliance are simply astonishing. To win this war so effortlessly using cattle, despite being at a numerical disadvantage—it is remarkable."

Yet, not a single expression flickered across Margaret's face; she did not consider this achievement to be anything extraordinary. These tactics were merely borrowed from the wisdom of the ancients.

If they were to learn that Huo Qubing of China's Western Han dynasty had led eight hundred cavalrymen deep into enemy territory at the age of seventeen, slaying over two thousand Xiongnu and capturing high-ranking officials such as Jiruohoucchan—the grandfather of the Chanyu whom Europeans dubbed the "Scourge of God"—they would likely be gaping in absolute astonishment.

Margaret turned away with resolute determination, waved her hand, and announced, "I am going out to scout the situation. The knight squires may accompany me, while the rest of you are free to act as you please. Bring those burned cattle back later for slaughter, and prepare the victory feast!"

"Wait, Your Majesty!" Sigurd hurriedly spoke up, attempting to stop her. "It is far too dangerous for you to go out alone!"

Margaret smiled faintly, appearing entirely unconcerned. "It's all right, Sigurd, I will be careful." She thought to herself, what threat could a bunch of wounded soldiers who couldn't even stand properly possibly pose?

Still uneasy, Sigurd suggested, "It is still too risky. Perhaps you could allow the Housecarl knight squires to accompany you." He cast a glance at young Sigurd standing nearby. Young Sigurd caught the hint and immediately stepped forward.

Margaret gave him a calm, detached look without uttering a word. She lightly prodded her clip-donkey and set off swiftly, the knight squires promptly mounting their own steeds and falling in closely behind her.

This troop was exceptionally eye-catching, composed entirely of noble youths over the age of eight acting as teenage knights, each one a remarkably skilled donkey rider.

The weapons in their hands consisted merely of soft bows, javelins, and short spears, making them look somewhat mismatched and even mildly comical.

The only noteworthy items were their longswords, which were unquestionably the finest blades in the realm, gifted to them by their fathers.

Margaret led the procession all the way to the battlefield. The scene before their eyes was harrowing; blood and corpses littered the ground everywhere, mingled with those drawing their final, agonizing breaths.

Her gaze fell upon a severely wounded soldier whose body was twisted and who lingered on the verge of death. Margaret nudged the donkey's flanks, steering her mount closer until she stood right before the soldier.

Under the watchful eyes of the group of young nobles, Margaret drew her longsword. Sitting atop the donkey, she suspended the tip of the blade directly over the wounded man.

The wounded soldier's eyes were filled with terror. He grabbed at the donkey's hoof only to be kicked away, struggling desperately to stand, yet finding his body entirely paralyzed.

In that fleeting instant, Margaret felt as though she were witnessing those helpless wounded soldiers of later eras, watching the bombs fall under the watchful eyes of drones.

She loosened her grip, and gravity drove the longsword straight through the soldier's heart, ending his suffering.

Margaret turned to face the young nobles behind her, forcing a tight smile. "This is an exceptional opportunity to temper your courage. Start right here, and eliminate every single wounded enemy!"

"Why, Your Majesty? Isn't this far too cruel? Shouldn't we be helping them instead?" a young noble asked, confusion etched on his face.

Leaning over from the donkey's back, Margaret gripped the blood-stained hilt and pulled the blade from the soldier's chest. Her voice was cold and hard. "And then what? Bring trouble upon ourselves and prolong their agony?"

The questioning noble youth was left speechless.

"In any other place, I would praise your benevolence. But here, benevolence will only become your weakness. Not a single person who came to this battlefield is innocent. If we were the ones lying on the ground right now, they would show us no mercy whatsoever." Margaret's words served as both a lesson to the young nobles and an attempt to convince herself.

"The greatest mercy you can show an enemy is to end their suffering!" Young Sigurd stepped forward right after, dismounting quickly, drawing his longsword, and striding over to another wounded soldier who had yet to draw his last breath.

He gripped the hilt with both hands and swung fiercely across the man's neck. Blood spurted, splashing all over his face.

Casually wiping the blood from his face, he flashed a grin under Margaret's slightly astonished gaze.

What an absolute psychopath! This action shocked everyone present.

"You—" she began to say, but her pupils suddenly constricted as she caught sight of Sigurd staring fixedly behind her, brandishing a longsword and charging toward her.

An ambush from behind by a sneaky bastard!

Margaret spun around swiftly, thrusting her longsword backward, and felt the tip pierce through some solid object.

Before her stood a Curonian soldier frozen in an embrace-like posture, clutching a dagger tightly in his hand.

"Aahhhhh..." He let out a shrill scream, relentlessly thrusting the dagger toward Margaret in a desperate bid to kill her.

Young Sigurd intervened in the nick of time, using his longsword to chop off the attacker's hand before driving the blade straight into the soldier's abdomen. He followed up with a series of powerful, continuous thrusts executed with fluid grace until the enemy was finally slain.

Margaret withdrew her longsword, watched the enemy collapse, and quickly retreated to avoid the falling body.

Turning back to face the young nobles, she placed a boot on the dead man's head, her voice firm and merciless. "Did you all see that? In war, there is no right or wrong. As long as they are the enemy, they are our target! Because if you do not destroy them, they will destroy you!"

"If anyone cannot stomach this, I will permit you to withdraw from the Housecarls, but I will permanently strip you of your inheritance! For I will never entrust the lives of my soldiers to the hands of a cowardly lord who shows mercy to the enemy!"

Deeply shaken by this scene, the knight squires lowered their heads in shame. One by one, they leaped down from their donkeys, shouting as they drove their longswords into the chests of the wounded soldiers.

Yet, perhaps deeply disturbed by the ordeal, their movements were unrefined and failed to end the enemies' suffering quickly. The wounded soldiers spat blood, glaring at them with eyes full of venom and hatred.

Some squires could not bear such gazes and began hacking wildly at the wounded men with their swords.

Margaret stood by silently, offering no intervention. She knew this was a necessary rite of passage for their growth, even if tonight might mark the beginning of nightmares for those with weaker psychological constitutions.

She chanted silently to herself: *It's fine, you'll get used to it. Once you get used to not viewing the enemy as human beings, none of this will seem terrifying anymore.*

Margaret turned and spoke loudly to all the squires. "You must adapt to this! Mercy toward the enemy is cruelty toward yourself and those you care about!"

In the distance, a Housecarl knight came galloping on horseback and shouted loudly, "Your Majesty, we have captured a group of lords! Would you care to see them?"

Hearing this, Margaret instantly recalled the abnormal behavior of the enemy lords earlier. Her heart stirred; wasn't this the perfect opportunity to unravel the puzzle weighing on her mind?

She nodded decisively. "Of course, bring them over. I have many questions to ask them."