Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 75 Sword Skills
"Stupid horse, I didn't expect you to be so perceptive. I should have listened to your opinions more often."

Vig patted his mount's neck, signaling it to find a place to stay, then drew his Dragonbreath Sword, intending to finish off the Franks as quickly as possible.

Clang!
As the two drew their swords simultaneously, the moment their eyes met, Vig's heart sank. He then lowered his gaze to observe Vig's steps, a sense of unease rising within him.

Oh no, I've run into a master.

Taking a deep breath, Vig sized up the knight wearing a nasal helmet and chainmail. By Frankish standards, this man was quite tall, estimated to be 176-178cm, a few centimeters shorter than Vig. He was robust and walked with a steady gait, looking rather formidable.

After a half-minute standoff, Viger suddenly stepped forward and unleashed a powerful diagonal slash at his opponent's left shoulder.

This is his usual starting move. Usually, ordinary soldiers are killed before they can react, or their slow reaction causes them to block too late. He can then change his move and thrust his sword tip close to the opponent's blade to their face.

However, this knight was no weakling; he reacted with surprising speed and steadily parried the dragon's breath sword that was slashing towards him.

Realizing his opponent's strength was comparable, Vig used the recoil from the blocked Dragon's Breath Sword to swiftly raise the blade, twist his wrist, and slash at the enemy's right cheek. The Frankish man anticipated this, ducking and retreating to avoid the strike.

"Such speed. What kind of conditions did Esselwolf offer to borrow such a master from 'Bald' Charlie?"

Vig and his opponent faced off around the edge of the open space, sometimes drawing their swords, sometimes dodging, seemingly unable to gain the upper hand.

Not long after, a cool breeze swept by, and a few blades of grass swirled past the two men. As a leaf landed on Vig's face, the knight suddenly charged forward, thrusting his sword at Vig's neck with both hands. Based on his years of combat experience in Spain, this move could often strike an enemy's throat even through chainmail, and more than a dozen Berber soldiers had died by this strike.

In an instant, a chilling, deadly glint flashed towards him, and Vig quickly stepped back to dodge. The Frankish man pressed forward, easily deflecting the Dragon's Breath Sword while his opponent was still unsteady. Vig retreated again, and the Frankish man continued to advance, unleashing a second series of thrusts with such speed that Vig had no time to react.

What bizarre sword moves!
With nowhere to retreat, Vig stepped back while tilting his head to the right. He heard a sharp scraping sound as the sword tip grazed his iron helmet, the force traveling through the helmet to his brain, causing a wave of dizziness.

Instinctively, he swung his sword diagonally with his right arm, forcing the knight to jump back and create distance. In just a few seconds, both men were severely exhausted, staring at each other and panting heavily, unable to launch a second attack for a long time.

The knight raised his chin, sweat dripping down his neat, short beard. A slight upturn at the corners of his mouth conveyed a mixture of regret and admiration. "Maurice de Montpellier."

(Maurice from Montpellier, or Maurice de Montpellier)

"Vigg, ​​Tyneburg."

Almost killed on the spot by this fierce and unpredictable "continuous thrusts", Vig was shocked and his chest heaved.

We can no longer use the conventional starting stance.

After a moment's thought, he changed his stance from a downward chop to a thrusting stance, slightly lowering his knees, preparing to contest the center line with the knight. With slightly longer arms and greater strength, taking the center line shouldn't be a problem.

For the next few minutes, the scene fell into an eerie stillness, with the two men in almost identical positions, five meters apart, their sword tips pointing at each other's faces.

"My lord!" Suddenly, six Viking hunters rushed at him with bows and arrows. Maurice grabbed a handful of dust and threw it at them, then rolled sideways into the thicket. The hunters fired a volley of arrows, but unfortunately missed their target.

"Don't chase them, there are still Franks nearby."

Vig stopped the hunters from continuing their pursuit and followed them out of the dense forest.

As the moonlight rose, the group returned to Latworth Castle. Vig carefully observed the atmosphere of the outer camp; it seemed alright, not like they had suffered a defeat.

Fortress Hall.

Upon discovering that Vig had returned safely, the nobles all looked up. Ragnar breathed a sigh of relief. "Where did you go? I was just about to send more hunters into the woods to search."

Feeling hungry, Vig grabbed a piece of bread and ate it while talking, while Ulf poured him a glass of mead.

"Hiccup, after leading light infantry to surround the Frankish knights, I was besieged by the enemy and forced to flee into the woods, where I later encountered a knight with superb swordsmanship."

Vig removed his helmet, showing the scratches on the top to the crowd, and then introduced the Frankish knight's signature swordsmanship.

"Multiple thrusts in succession?" Ivar perked up instantly. "Is this guy tall, with brown hair, a short beard, and quite good-looking? The kind of pretty boy that Anglo-Saxon noblewomen love?"

"Yes, you fought him?"

As soon as Vig spoke, the hall fell silent. Someone pointed to Leonard, whose face was wrapped in bandages, and said, "During the battle, Lord Lids was stabbed in the throat by this man and died on the spot. Leonard rushed to his aid and was accidentally sliced ​​off half of his nose by a sword, but fortunately the Shield Guards reacted in time and saved him."

According to the intelligence revealed by the prisoners, Maurice was the third son of a Frankish nobleman. Unable to inherit the family castle, he spent many years serving as a mercenary knight in Iberia, fighting against the Berber invasions from North Africa. Not long ago, he won the infantry championship at a tournament held in Oxford.

Stroking the sword mark on the top of the helmet, Ragnar sighed softly, "I never imagined that this champion knight could beat Vig like this. Perhaps I should hold regular tournaments to select the most skilled warriors from the common people."

Concerned about his reputation, Vig immediately stepped forward to retort: ​​"Your Majesty, I haven't lost! It's about a 50/50 chance. If we continue, I have at least a 50% chance of defeating the other side."

“Got it, I’ll handle him for you next time,” Ivar said, putting his arm around Vig’s right shoulder with a knowing smile. Vig was speechless. “Hey, that’s no fun. I really didn’t lose.”

After finishing his bread, he briefly reviewed the day's battle situation:
The attack was hasty, and neither side was adequately prepared. While the Frankish cavalry fought desperately, the main Anglo-Saxon force failed to arrive in time, giving the Viking army ample time to deploy its formation. After a standoff of about ten minutes, both sides tacitly withdrew.

After listening to others' accounts, Vig thought to himself that if he had a unit of shock cavalry, he would never easily go into battle. Instead, he would choose the classic hammer and anvil tactic, using infantry to hold the enemy's front, and then letting the cavalry charge from the flanks and rear.

He secretly rejoiced, "In his first use of cavalry, Esselwolf made a fatal mistake—he didn't coordinate the cavalry offensive with infantry and archers. After this battle, the enemy cavalry suffered heavy losses, and the subsequent battles will be much easier."

(End of this chapter)