On the afternoon of October 19th, Charles the Bald received news:
The Viking army had left Rennes and was advancing northeast.
Their apparent target was the Dunwo Barony manor where he was currently stationed.
Charles studied the map spread across parchment and concluded that escaping Vig's pursuit would be difficult.
Rather than fight hastily in open country, it would be better to remain at the manor, strengthen defenses, and hold out until reinforcements arrived.
He dispatched mounted messengers, ordering all forces to abandon previous plans and converge on Dunwo Barony immediately.
Beneath a leaden sky, Vig's army wound forward along muddy country roads.
Excitement spread through the ranks.
The soldiers were energetic, eager for the rewards and glory that would follow victory.
As the sun sank, daylight faded rapidly.
In the distance, the vague outline of a village emerged.
Scouts had already occupied it, and no sizable enemy force remained within five kilometers.
Orders passed down through the chain of command:
Camp here tonight.
The columns quickened their pace and poured into the village—one destined for anything but peace.
The local residents had already fled.
The Vikings found no food or livestock left behind.
Even the cellars had been emptied.
Officers sent soldiers to cut timber and construct a temporary camp centered around the village.
Soon, the air filled with the smell of smoke and cooking food.
Sentries patrolled the camp perimeter, their silhouettes moving between weak firelight and thick darkness.
With the decisive battle approaching, tonight's meal was unusually generous—
Wheat-and-vegetable porridge mixed with thick slices of smoked sausage.
Many soldiers poured in double or even triple portions of fish sauce.
Only one thing disappointed them:
Alcohol remained forbidden in camp.
After a simple dinner, Vig went straight to bed.
After so many campaigns, he had long grown accustomed to this life.
Pressure no longer robbed him of sleep.
At dawn the next day, before daylight fully broke, sharp trumpet calls shattered the village's silence.
Soldiers rubbed sleepy eyes and forced themselves awake under officers' urging.
They mechanically chewed hard bread, filled their waterskins, and adjusted armor and weapons.
At six o'clock, the army completed assembly.
Accompanied by military marching songs, the enormous exhausted serpent began moving again, crawling through gray autumn fog toward what seemed an endless muddy road.
Only ten kilometers remained to Dunwo Manor.
Vig ordered a halt.
Sunlight filtered weakly through sparse clouds.
Soldiers rested by the roadside.
After eating a few bites of hard bread, many simply collapsed and slept.
Nearby horses snorted and chewed remaining roots from the ground.
The entire force fell into heavy, temporary silence.
At one in the afternoon, the marching columns crossed a low hill from west to east.
The view suddenly opened.
Before them stretched broad flat land—
Fields of newly plowed winter wheat.
Three kilometers away stood the gray-white spire of the manor church.
Around it clustered the baron's residence, mills, granaries, scattered houses—
And endless rows of Frankish tents.
After more than half an hour, Vig deployed into a broad offensive formation.
The Royal Field Army stood at the center.
The Second and Third Field Armies occupied left and right wings.
The Cavalry Army remained in reserve at the rear.
Only a little over three hours remained before sunset.
There was no time for probing attacks.
Vig committed all three infantry armies in the opening assault.
Under the urging of horns, the Viking army advanced toward the eastern manor in disciplined formation—
Like a slow-moving black tide.
The Franks had also completed deployment.
Outnumbered at only twenty-seven thousand men, they adopted a more conservative approach.
West of Dunwo Manor they planted thousands of sharpened stakes, each roughly a meter apart, to block Viking cavalry charges.
Once within range, archers on both sides moved.
Bows bent.
Dense volleys swept across the sky like locust swarms and screamed downward toward enemy infantry.
Under this deadly rain of arrows, the Viking spearmen advancing at the front did not stop.
Iron helmets.
Black brigandine armor.
Unless arrows struck exposed flesh or narrow gaps, casualties remained limited.
The same held true for the Frankish front line.
Their infantry also wore armor—
Though of wildly mixed styles.
Some pieces had even been captured from Iberian Moors.
Thanks to armor protection, losses stayed manageable.
Once the Vikings closed to melee distance—
The real battle began.
Spearmen at the front of both armies lowered their weapons almost simultaneously.
Roaring, they drove their spears forward, trying to pierce enemy armor.
Metal clanged and screeched across the battlefield.
After more than ten minutes of fighting, the Vikings withdrew slightly and rotated in fresh infantry regiments.
The Franks mirrored the move, sending second-line troops forward.
But these reserves had less than forty percent armor coverage.
Their morale and training were inferior.
Soon after engaging, cracks began appearing in the Frankish line.
Sensing enemy weakness, Vig stood atop a simple wooden platform and waved signal flags.
The front ranks intensified pressure.
Gradually, the Viking spear wall pushed forward.
The Frankish formation began separating in multiple places.
To reverse the situation, a large force of Frankish cavalry appeared north of Dunwo Manor.
Their intention was obvious—
Strike the flank and rear of the Second Field Army.
Vig immediately committed Torgil's Cavalry Army.
If the Frankish horse attacked, Torgil would hit their exposed flank and shatter them.
Recognizing the danger, the Frankish cavalry abandoned the attack.
Instead they waited silently on northeastern grasslands, facing Torgil from afar.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, the Third Field Army on the southern side achieved a major breakthrough.
More and more Viking soldiers poured into the gap.
Crowds of Franks pushed backward in retreat—
Exposing the flank of their center.
At that moment, the Frankish cavalry on the northern battlefield received repeated orders to move.
Unable to remain idle, they abandoned plans against the Second Field Army and redirected toward Torgil's cavalry.
Seeing them approach, Torgil remembered the king's instructions.
He chose caution.
He withdrew into a prepared wagon fort.
The Cavalry Army consisted not only of 2,800 combat riders—
But an equal number of support personnel.
Combined with support crews from the other three armies, these noncombatants totaled nearly six thousand.
They had not remained idle.
Using wagons, they formed three enormous hollow squares behind the main line.
Armed with crossbows and spears, they prepared to repel attacks.
The Frankish cavalry suddenly found themselves with no good options.
Attack the infantry?
They would expose themselves to Viking cavalry.
Charge the wagon fort?
That was suicide.
The battle was turning steadily against them.
Atop the church tower of Dunwo Manor, Charles the Bald forced himself to remain calm as he addressed his nephew Lothair II and the other Frankish commanders.
"To the north, Count William of Orléans is rushing here with twenty thousand men.
"To the south, another ten thousand reinforcements are coming.
"As long as they reach the battlefield—
The situation will improve."
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