After days of stalling both factions' envoys without committing to either side, Barnett still hadn't given a clear answer. The truth was that Biard's location was a trap: whichever power he joined, he'd immediately become cannon fodder. So even though he secretly favored Olaf III, Barnett kept everyone guessing, refusing to be swayed. Both camps pressed him repeatedly—raising their offers in each round of letters—but still nothing concrete materialized.
"Damn those two miserly bastards," he muttered, though in truth his own penny-pinching rivaled theirs.
A week of deadlock finally rattled Count Felix. A man used to controlling events hates uncertainty more than anything—and Barnett was the ultimate variable. Felix had already drawn up detailed plans to strike Olaf III before Biard even existed. But Barnett's emergence had delayed the invasion by a full week. Furious at the setback, Felix thought: if Barnett now threw in his lot with me, I might actually treat him well—after all, he commands over two thousand soldiers.
But so far Barnett showed no interest in Felix's hospitality.
Felix grew impatient. So he mobilized nearly his entire host to seize Biard. Apart from a token garrison and a small naval force guarding against Denmark to the south, he marched north with 27,000 troops: 400 knights, 2,000 professional Viking warriors, and 4,000 shield-and-spear infantry, archers, light swordsmen, and mounted skirmishers. The remainder were hastily-raised levies—barely armed with a spear and shield apiece.
Still, nearly thirty thousand men outnumbered Barnett almost ten to one.
"Unconditional surrender," Barnett decided. He penned a humble letter to Felix, threw open the city gates, and hosted Felix's army for three days of hospitality.
Felix was pleased. "Violence does the trick every time," he thought. He accepted Barnett's fealty without harsh terms—offering only mild admonition and polite words of encouragement. Though he granted no real concessions, he privately admired Barnett for surrendering unflinchingly before a fight.
Felix's army was largely made up of his own retainers and the nobles supporting his claim to the Norwegian dukedom. He dared not punish Barnett too harshly, lest those allies rebel. Besides, Biard's five-meter-high stone walls and several thousand defenders meant a costly siege—perhaps 10,000 lives—even if he blockaded every port. And he feared that a desperate Barnett might instead surrender to Felix's rivals. Seeing Barnett generously feed his troops, Felix accepted the surrender.
At Barnett's grand banquet, Felix found the salted roast delicious. Over flagons of ale he laughed and slapped Barnett's shoulder: "I look forward to working with you."
That night, Barnett quartered most of Felix's army in the surrounding villages and ceded his own manor to the count—choosing to sleep in the barracks himself.
"Oh—where's your backbone?" the System Sprite jeered in his ear as he prepared for bed.
"Fight him? He has nearly thirty thousand men—nine times my force, after my own recent recruitment. His regulars are as well-equipped as mine. How could I possibly win?" Barnett protested.
"Defend behind those walls," the Sprite countered. "You're the garrison, he's the attacker."
"But a siege would starve out my countryside—my farms, my serfs, my tenant-farmers. I can't afford those losses either," Barnett replied.
"…So you're content to let that duke ride roughshod over you? Listen to me: sacrifice a year or two of your lifespan, and the System can muster far more troops than he has. Even ten years' life could summon millions. Conquering Europe—and beyond—could be a reality!" the Sprite tempted.
"Shut up, you bastard," Barnett snapped.
Three days' rest deepened Felix's army again. Barnett was ordered to contribute 2,700 men—exactly one-tenth of Felix's host—to the campaign against Olaf III. Unlike Barnett's well-drilled men, Felix's newly-raised levies were as helpless as lambs before the wolves of knights and Vikings. Their commanders lamented daily casualties in camp discipline and training.
Meanwhile, bawdy tavern girls, pushcart vendors, and sausage stalls buzzed around camp, giving the whole place a raunchy free-market stink.
"Damn it, joining this army was a mistake," Barnett grumbled, pitching his tents well away from the main camp. Other Norwegian nobles ignored the "coward" Barnett, leaving his encampment eerily quiet amid the chaos.
After another day's march, Felix's army entered Olaf's territory. His light cavalry scattered like locusts, pillaging villages and driving plunder—grain, livestock, even captives—back to camp.
Barnett, ever resourceful, sold unusable furs and iron to the System for gold coins. But human captives troubled him, so "kindly" he sold them at rock-bottom prices to Felix's nobles—delaying the advance and improving his reputation among Norway's aristocracy. (Whether anyone secretly called him a fool remains unknown.)
Late one night, after posting guards, Barnett was summoned: his patrol cavalry had clashed with Felix's knights over a few sheep—first barbs, then fists, almost knives.
"Those idiots give me no peace!" Barnett sighed. He knew the patrols—equipped with the System's perfect terrain maps—had simply seized the sheep. Felix's knights, jealous at their success and hearing rumors of Barnett's timidity, had challenged them.
Barnett swallowed his pride, apologizing by sending the knights the sheep plus two mules, two ewes, and two horses. He then soothed his own patrols and settled the matter.
Still, Barnett's fifty-man patrols—bred and trained by the System—could clean out a hamlet in minutes. Yet fifty cavalry and 150 infantry aren't enough for major battles. He asked the Sprite for solutions.
"Don't you know you can split and merge units at will?" the Sprite exclaimed.
"You never told me that!" Barnett frowned.
"You never asked," the Sprite sneered.
Barnett learned that arguing with the Sprite was pointless. Better to just ask.
"You can subdivide identical units endlessly—one fifty-man patrol can become fifty single-rider troops—or combine fifty such patrols into a 2,500-strong cavalry mass. Understand now, fool?"
"I see," Barnett nodded. Freed of doubt, he tried to sleep—but memories of Felix's bragging knights kept him awake. He was small-minded—and vengeful.
"Someday—they won't even live to see it. Wait for my revenge, bastards!"
Meanwhile, Olaf III was mobilizing his entire domain—some 25,000 men and 800 chain-armored cavalry—to confront Felix. At their current marching speeds, the two armies would meet in two to five days, for the largest battle Norway had seen in years—one that would decide the nation's fate.
Barnett's first great war since crossing worlds was about to begin…