As Richard looked away from his sovereign and gazed out over the invasion force disembarking upon the Irish shores, his frown slowly dissolved into a look of awe.
The 21,000 professional men-at-arms did not roar barbaric war cries, nor did they scatter to pillage the local villages. They moved with the unfeeling precision of a massive gear assembly.
"You possess the military capacity to crush his armies, Your Grace, that much is undeniably certain," Richard conceded. "But what of the political ramifications? Ivar the Boneless has subjugated these tribes through a centralized campaign of fear and blood. Even if you eradicate his standing army beneath your supply chains, the local populace is fiercely tribal. How do you intend to pacify a fractured island that has never known a singular, unified rule?"
Ragnar turned his eyes away from the bustling docks.
