Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry

Chapter 365: Guilty

The High King’s Bedroom, Dublin Castle.

High King Aed MacNeill lay on his back, staring blankly at the canopy above his bed.

He already knew where he was, and more importantly, he knew how close he had come to crossing over into the afterlife.

His battle-hardened body felt hollow, as if someone had drained all the blood from his veins and replaced it with freezing river water.

Slowly, and with grueling effort, Aed raised his hand and wiped it across his face. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the horrifying memory that kept replaying in his mind.

"I am so sorry, Lorcan..." Aed whispered into the quiet room, his voice breaking with crushing sorrow.

The fourteen-year-old cupbearer was dead... And Aed had merely watched it happen.

The memory was burned into the High King’s brain. It was the night of the royal feast, just days before the grand tournament was to begin.

Little Lorcan, always so proud to serve his king, had taken the traditional first sip of the Frankish wine to test it for poison.

Aed saw everything clearly. He saw the boy swallow the red liquid. He saw the violent spasm that tore through little Lorcan’s chest.

And he saw the naked terror in the boy’s eyes when dark blood suddenly spilled from his pale lips.

Aed had barely consumed a single drop from his own cup before alarm bells rang in his mind, but even that drop was too much.

The concentrated poison instantly paralyzed his spine. He collapsed onto the floor of the Great Hall right beside the dying boy.

He had dozens of chances to reach out... He could have held the boy’s hand. He could have offered some comfort in his final moments. But his poisoned muscles betrayed him.

Aed couldn’t move a single inch. He just lay there, trapped inside his body, forced to watch his loyal servant choke to death.

Had it been an assassin with a drawn sword, Aed would have fought like a cornered bear. If the killer had targeted his son across the table, the King would have found the strength to rip the man’s throat out. But against a cowardly, invisible poison?

What a humiliating weakness...

Knock. Knock.

"My King? Are you awake inside?"

The booming voice that echoed through thedoor instantly pulled Aed from his spiral of guilt.

He took a deep breath, forcing his lungs to expand.

"Enter, Domnall," Aed rasped.

The iron latch clicked, and the door was pushed open.

Domnall, Captain of the Royal Guard, squeezed his shoulders into the room.

"Praise the Gods..!" Domnall exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his rough face as he hurried toward the bed. "It is a glorious thing to hear your voice, my King! Do you need help sitting up? I can bring some fresh water, or perhaps a whole roasted chicken!"

"..." Aed tried to push himself up on his elbows but failed. He sank back into the soft pillows with a heavy sigh. "Just the water will do, Domnall."

Domnall poured water from a clay pitcher and brought it to the King’s lips, supporting Aed’s head with a gentle hand.

Though Aed was known across Ireland as a fierce warlord, he was now just an exhausted man.

Surviving the poison had stripped him of his strength. His cheeks were sunken, his skin pale, and he had lost ten pounds of muscle while sweating out the fever.

"How long have I been asleep?" Aed asked, his voice returning slightly after drinking the water.

"Four days, my King," Domnall answered, taking a step back. The strained smile slowly faded from his face, replaced by a look of deep fury.

"Stop staring at the floor, Domnall," Aed chuckled weakly, "I am not dead yet. It takes more than bad wine to put an Irish king in the dirt."

Despite that, the Captain of the Guard did not laugh.

"I apologize, my King," Domnall whispered, his deep voice with shame. "I failed you. I was standing right behind your chair at that feast... yet I could not protect you."

"Don’t be a fool," Aed said firmly, shaking his head. "You are a swordsman, not a food taster. You cannot cleave poison in half with a broadsword."

"..." Domnall suddenly snarled, "...standing there, watching you turn pale and collapse to the floor while I could do nothing to fight back... it was torture."

Hearing these words, a genuine, warm smile touched Aed’s tired face.

He knew how much his loyal guard was suffering. Domnall was a man of action, and feeling useless was the insult to a true warrior.

"Your time to swing that axe is coming, Domnall." Aed promised quietly, "Whoever poisoned me is highly ambitious. They are making their move. And when they finally step out of the shadows, I promise you will be the first man to greet them."

"As it should be," Domnall grinned ferociously. "I will go down to the Great Hall and gather your royal advisors... They must know the King is awake."

"Go," Aed nodded.

The door clicked shut, leaving the High King alone in the quiet bedroom.

However, the moment the room fell silent, Aed’s mind began to race. He stared at the flickering candle, ignoring the lingering aches in his body.

Something about the assassination attempt didn’t make sense...

If an enemy truly wanted him dead, why use a poison that kills a boy but only paralyzes a grown man? Why not plunge a dagger into his ribs while he slept? Why target him on the very night before the gates opened for the grand tournament?

Thus, the horrifying truth slowly began to take shape in his mind.

The poison was meant to cause panic within the royal court.

What happens when the High King falls gravely ill before a massive public event? Aed asked himself.

The Royal Guard panics... They cancel the tournament. And they lock down the fortress, sealing the gates to prevent the invisible assassins from escaping.

Someone wanted to seal off the royal fortress from the rest of the city. But who? And how did they slip the poison into the King’s personal wine supply in the first place?

Only one man had access to those barrels before they were brought to the Great Hall. The Master of the Royal Cellars.

Creeeak... Aed turned his head toward the corner of the room. The door used by the cleaning servants was slowly being pushed open.

Stepping out of the dark shadows was Cormac, the Master of the Royal Cellars himself.

The man looked terrified. He was sweating, his hair was a mess, and his hands were trembling.

"I... I heard you were awake, my King," Cormac whispered.