Months had passed since the first tribute was demanded, and Kattegat pulsed with a new rhythm.
The town's streets were no longer only mud and timber huts—they buzzed with merchants, smiths, and farmers carrying grain sacks to the storehouses. At the docks, Floki's new ships, sharper and longer than any seen before, swayed in the water like hungry beasts waiting to be unleashed.
Inside the great hall, Bjorn sat on his high seat, watching warriors feast. His wife, proud and sharp-eyed, kept the women in line, while his concubines moved among the benches, serving meat and ale. The scent of roasted boar hung heavy in the air, and the clash of drinking horns rang like music.
And yet… beneath the laughter, there was unease.
Not all were pleased.
Raiders who had once grown fat on plunder now grumbled at the system of tribute and tax. "Better to burn and take all than to count sacks of grain," one muttered. Others longed for the chaos of old, where blood and silver flowed without measure.
Bjorn heard every whisper.
And he planned.
The Spark of Rebellion
One evening, Sven Iron-Foot stormed into the hall. "My lord," he said, bowing low, "two of the jarls you appointed—Sigurd and Rolf—have refused to hand over the tribute from their districts. They claim the silver is theirs, won by sword, not owed to any man."
The hall quieted. Every eye turned to Bjorn.
His voice was calm, but it cut like steel.
"Then they must be reminded that silver is not theirs—it is mine. And mine because Odin has placed it so."
He rose, towering, his strength heavy in the air. "Gather the men. Tonight we march."
The warriors roared approval, eager for blood, but some traded uneasy glances. They saw what Bjorn was building: not only raids, but a kingdom. And kingdoms crushed those who stood against them—even if they were once brothers.
The Lesson of Fire
Bjorn rode at the head of fifty men to the settlement where Sigurd and Rolf held sway. The air stank of defiance. Banners still flew, but no tribute wagons had left the gates.
"Bring them out," Bjorn commanded.
Sigurd spat at his feet. "We are Vikings, not thralls! No man takes what I win with my axe."
Bjorn's answer was silence. Then he gave a nod.
In moments, Sven's men dragged Sigurd to the square, iron chains clanking. Villagers gathered, whispering. Rolf drew his sword in desperation, but Haldor struck him down with a blow to the skull.
Bjorn looked at the villagers, then at his warriors.
"This is what comes of rebellion."
He ripped the heart from Sigurd's chest with his bare hands, blood spraying in the torchlight, and bit into it before the crowd. Gasps and screams filled the air. Some fell to their knees. Others trembled in awe.
Then he tossed the bloody remains to the dirt.
"But this," he said, holding up Rolf's severed head, "is what comes of loyalty denied."
The tribute was collected. The people obeyed. And fear tightened its grip around Kattegat.
The Envoys
Days later, as Bjorn sat in his hall, an unexpected arrival came.
A longship, flying no hostile banners, docked at Kattegat. From it stepped two figures: one, a Viking chieftain draped in furs; the other, a foreign man with a shaved head and a wooden cross around his neck.
The Viking bowed. "I am Hakon of Hedeby. I come with terms. The world whispers of Bjorn Ironside—of the man who rules not with raids but with law. Some fear you. Some admire you. I… would ally with you."
The foreign priest stepped forward, his eyes wary. "And I… bring word from Frankia. My lords wish to treat with you, for they hear you are not only a raider but something more."
The hall buzzed. Some scoffed at the priest, others muttered of treachery. But Bjorn only smiled.
"Sit," he said. "Drink. Speak."
The Balance of Power
That night, Bjorn weighed both offers.
Hakon wanted ships and warriors, in exchange for trade and support. The Frankish envoy wanted peace, promising silver if Bjorn spared their shores.
But Bjorn was no fool. He knew alliances were blades with two edges.
Later, in the shadows of his hall, he spoke quietly to his wife and concubines.
"They think me simple—a raider who stumbled into power. But I will play both sides. Hakon will bind his fate to mine. The Franks will pay tribute, believing it is peace. And in time, I will strike them both when it suits me."
His wife smirked. "And until then?"
Bjorn drank deep from his horn. "Until then, I let them believe they are the hunters, when in truth, they are the prey."
Order Through Fear and Silver
The days that followed set the tone for Kattegat's rule.
Farmers paid tribute, but were protected by Bjorn's men from bandits.
Merchants brought goods, knowing Bjorn's ships guaranteed safe passage.
His concubines whispered through the hall, feeding him secrets and rooting out plots.
His children, still small, were paraded through feasts as symbols of dynasty.
Even his restless warriors began to see the truth: under Bjorn, there was not only blood to be had, but endless silver, endless food, endless spoils.
The rebellion had been crushed. The alliances were forming. And the legend of Bjorn Ironside—the ruler, the conqueror, the wolf crowned in silver and blood—spread farther than the fjords.
And in the quiet of night, when all the hall was asleep, Bjorn stood alone at the docks, gazing at the ships he and Floki had built.
"The world," he whispered, "is not yet mine. But it will be."
The sea answered with silence, endless and waiting.