With order restored in Ireland, Vig left the conscripted militia behind to continue constructing the wooden forts. The next day, he led the standing army and the royal guard back to Dublin.
Fearing a possible invasion from West Francia, he did not linger. Vig boarded ships immediately for Liverpool, returning to his loyal island of Britannia.
After landing, he sought out Frode.
"How does it feel," Vig asked, "to experience your first war?"
Frode thought for a moment.
"Most of the time was spent marching and building camps. The actual fighting between armies was very brief—blink and it was over. Overall… the army's discipline is strict and complicated. It felt like living in a house with no windows—dull and suffocating."
Vig nodded.
"In large-scale warfare, discipline is everything. From the lowest soldier to the commander, everyone must fulfill their role.
"Take the Siege of Magdeburg not long ago. Nils relaxed for only a moment, and Carloman seized the opportunity. In a single night, twenty years of Nils's achievements vanished."
Thinking of his old friend's fate, Vig fell briefly silent. He gazed at the sails scattered across the Mersey River before asking an important question.
"You are the crown prince. One day you will be king. After experiencing all this—do you know how to be a good king?"
Frode answered hesitantly.
"Justice?"
Vig shook his head.
"Everyone has a different definition of justice. What you consider fair may look like tyranny to someone else."
Frode tried again.
"Command ability?"
Vig smiled faintly.
"Yes—and no.
"I founded this kingdom, so naturally I had to fight wars myself. But as a successor, you may either lead armies personally or appoint commanders to do so.
"The key is judging their ability and their loyalty.
"I don't expect you to become a great general. But you must understand how war works and know how to choose capable commanders.
"As for loyalty—that depends on your judgment.
"A king cannot personally handle every matter. What matters is observation, reflection, and placing the right people in the right positions."
A Mother's Welcome
When they returned to Londinium, Queen Heligif saw the thin, exhausted figure behind Vig.
For a moment she did not recognize him.
Then she realized—it was her eldest son.
She finally understood how Britta must have felt when welcoming Leif home. Heligif embraced Frode and cried for a while before ordering the servants to prepare a grand feast.
After three months away, Frode wasted no time.
He grabbed the nearest roast goose. The skin crackled as he cut into it, releasing rich sauce from the stuffed belly. He tore off half the bird and devoured it.
Next came lamprey and goat cheese—all his favorites.
The only annoyance was his younger brother Freyr, who kept pestering him with questions about the war and asking for gifts. Soon the youngest, Garrick, clapped his hands and began repeating the word "gift."
"First," Frode said patiently, "I never actually fought anyone."
"Second, my wages and campaign allowance together were only ten silver pennies. What kind of gifts could I buy with that?"
After a while, he suddenly had an idea.
He pulled two uniquely patterned seashells from his pocket.
"Fine. These are sacred Druid relics I found in ruins along the western coast. They supposedly contain lost nature magic. One for each of you."
The boys accepted them with wide eyes.
Back to Work
At the head of the table, Vig finished his lamprey and stood.
"You all eat slowly. I have work to do."
Returning to his office, he saw dozens of crates filled with documents.
While he was away, the Queen and the Cabinet had managed state affairs. Nothing disastrous had happened—but Vig still felt compelled to review everything.
He examined the labels:
Personnel changes
Financial reports
Public security across the realm
Construction progress
Eventually he found the crate marked Technological Developments.
Inside were five reports.
The most important two came from Londinium University:
New dye formulationsA treadwheel crane
The Dye Discovery
The first report described experiments with madder root.
Used directly, it produced a pale yellow dye. With different mordants, however, it yielded shades of:
Scarlet
Brown-red
Purple-red
Orange-red
These could be used to manufacture high-end red textiles.
The following pages meticulously recorded the dyeing process and included market price comparisons, demonstrating the technology's potential profit.
Unfortunately, Minister of Agriculture and Education Kemmy Wildfire added a note:
Madder did not grow well in the kingdom's climate. The roots had to be imported dried from the Mediterranean.
Mediterranean climate…
Vig immediately thought of the Canary Islands, which had similar weather. But those islands were currently focused on sugarcane, followed by grapes and citrus.
There might not be land available for madder.
After thinking it over, Vig ordered the university to contact major textile workshops and the Canary Islands. The three sides would negotiate cooperation.
Whether it made money or not would depend on them.
A Booming Textile Industry
From another box, Vig found reports on the textile industry.
During the long conflicts, privateers had captured ten Flemish dye masters.
With these rare specialists, textile workshops significantly improved their dyeing techniques. They could now produce mid-grade blue and yellow fabrics.
In the first half of the year alone, textile patents and taxes had generated over £2,500, and the industry was still expanding rapidly.
Yawning slightly, Vig moved on to the report about the treadwheel crane.
The final page stated that a prototype had been constructed at the south dock and was operating successfully.
The Giant Wheel
Curious, Vig went to see it himself.
At the dock stood a twelve-meter wooden crane.
Below it was a massive treadwheel five meters in diameter, with wooden steps inside. Two workers walked inside the wheel to power it.
"It looks like a hamster wheel," Vig murmured.
Nearby, a cog ship was unloading cargo. Workers hooked a net around a load weighing nearly two tons.
The wheel turned steadily.
The cargo rose slowly into the air.
At a certain height, the crane's horizontal arm swung around, positioning the load above a rail wagon.
"Too far! Move it closer—yes, right there. Lower it!"
Following the foreman's instructions, the wheel reversed, lowering the cargo gently into the wagon.
Two draft horses pulled the rail wagon away. Another empty one rolled into place.
Vig watched with satisfaction.
"A fine invention. My investment in education was worth it."
He immediately decided to introduce treadwheel cranes at the busy ports of Tyne Town and Edinburgh.
Once people saw their effectiveness, it wouldn't take long before Dover, Southampton, Manchester, and Dublin requested permission to install them as well.
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