Chapter 22: Mountain Torrent! The British Isles

A night of fierce wind and torrential rain.

At first, a gentle breeze brushed through the valley, echoing among the rolling peaks where the mountain folk lived in seclusion. As the night deepened, the wind grew intense, sounding like a muffled, choked sob. Dark clouds drifted away like veils, revealing a full moon, white and round as a disk, captivating the soul. A flash of lightning streaked across the night sky, illuminating the lush, rushing valley stream below.

It seemed that because the world had seen too much slaughter in recent years, the heavens hoped to nourish all living things with this storm.

Amidst the rumbling thunder, the gale howled, echoing through the valley, growing ever more violent until it sounded like a hoarse, mournful cry. The wind lashed like a blade, sharp as a fingernail dragging across wood. A tempest swept through the secluded valley, and the downpour brought a long, low sigh from the long-parched earth. The vitality of all things merged with heaven and earth. The rainwater in the peaks and valleys began to gather; first as tiny trickles, then, after several bursts of storm, merging into a river. Finally, the wind shrieked, piercing the night veil, and countless streams converged into a flash flood that surged downward, shaking the surrounding mountains.

A torrent erupted from the rift in the mountain peaks, plunging down like a waterfall for a hundred fathoms.

How magnificent is nature!

The wailing wind sounded like a shrill lament, and the surging flash flood, like an inverted Milky Way, swept across the valley where the mountain folk lived. In the end, the parched earth drank up the water; when the flood reached the encampment, it merely toppled a fence and soaked a few sheepskin tents.

Under the moonlight by the window, the Raven Queen, Triss, admired the storm for half the night. Her stunning, exquisitely beautiful face was flushed, wearing a look of lazy satisfaction after witnessing the grand beauty of nature.

She rose and pushed the door open to step out. When she looked back, the wind and rain outside were gradually fading, though there were hints of another tempest yet to come.

The night passed in silence.

In the faint light of dawn, Duncan rolled over and rose, casually tossing a soft sheepskin over the person beside him, who lay there like a puddle of mud.

He pushed open the window to clear the air of the previous night. The tallow candle had burned for half the night, leaving the room heavy with a scent like mutton fat. From the bed covered in fine sheepskin came a soft murmur; seemingly displeased by the direct sunlight, the figure curled up into the corner like a maggot.

Duncan didn't mind. He stretched his limbs, feeling refreshed and invigorated. The exhaustion of many days was swept away, and the gloomy mood left over from his journey of slaughtering his way across half of Europe had vanished.

Crackle.

His joints popped.

In the morning glow, the muscle texture on his back was as clear as if carved by a knife—broad back and narrow waist. When he flexed his hands in a display of immense strength, countless sinews converged like eyes, and veins coiled like dragons. Under the sunlight, he possessed a more striking impact than any statue from Ancient Greece.

At the doorway, there was a pause in footsteps. The Raven Queen, Triss, watched with a fixed gaze, her slender swan-like neck swallowing slightly. Her cheeks flushed, and she said in a calm, flat tone, "Since you are awake."

"Let us begin the morning lesson."

"Today I will teach you to read and write Latin, as well as the knowledge of the Socratic school."

Inside the room.

The beauty who had been peeking from the corner like a maggot trembled all over, shrinking back like an ostrich, her delicate body shivering slightly.

Duncan nodded, threw on a coat, and as he walked out, said to the slave girl behind the Raven Queen, "Go boil some hot water."

"Then bring it in."

He gestured for the Raven Queen to wait, walked to the mountain stream, and washed himself bare-chested. The flash flood from the night before hadn't caused much damage; a few village women were busy repairing fences and drying sheepskins. Seeing the overflowing masculinity here, they couldn't help but stop and stare. That physique, reminiscent of a Greek statue, made the village women gasp and cover their mouths.

The Blood of the Holy Grail was beginning to take effect.

Perhaps it was also due to the constant fighting along the way; Duncan's physical fitness had risen sharply. He could now gallop on horseback with one hand, the weight of a hundred pounds feeling like nothing, not even needing to hold the reins with both hands.

With his current physical condition, an ordinary steed likely wouldn't suffice to unleash all his combat techniques; only a legendary horse like the Red Hare would allow him to explode with his full potential. His many lethal moves were beyond ordinary strength; if he unleashed his adrenaline, even a warhorse might not run as fast as he could on his own two feet.

The Raven Queen, Triss, was already waiting in the hall.

She did not want Duncan to be a reckless brute like a Spartan, so she intended to teach him literacy, philosophy, and art to refine his temperament and balance the slaughter of blood and fire.

His mortal vessel had been a farmer, then a blacksmith's apprentice, knowing a few words but having learned very little.

Although Duncan had the experiences of his past life, he did not want to disappoint the Raven Queen's good intentions, so he studied earnestly. Most of the abilities he had acquired were combat skills, and occasionally learning a bit of medieval philosophy helped cultivate his spirit.

At noon.

Anya finally walked downstairs, shy and hesitant under the service of the slave girl. She looked weary and lazy, but her complexion was excellent, radiant and charming—almost enough to rival the Raven Queen, Triss. However, her gaze was erratic, and she felt timid and uneasy. When she was swept by the Raven Queen's calm gaze, her legs subconsciously began to tremble.

The storm of last night, the Raven Queen, three lashes shattered the heroine's dream, but Anya would not give up easily!

"Eat."

The Raven Queen, Triss, remained expressionless, signaling that today's lesson in Ancient Greek philosophy was over for Duncan.

Anya felt as if granted amnesty, even taking the initiative to help the slave girl bring the food.

Severus was not in high spirits today. His eyes occasionally drifted to Duncan, and they exchanged an awkward smile. Feeling as if his blood circulation was blocked and the old wound in his abdomen ached faintly, he could only sit to the side and wait to eat.

*I am a wounded man, focus on eating, eat seriously, eat well.*

There was nothing of great importance in the mountain village. Kveto couldn't lead men out to raid estates all the time, so in the afternoon, some people practiced in the open area. Their fighting style was somewhat like the gladiators of the Roman era, not the tactics of regular legions.

This was related to the heritage of the exiles; they had been trained as gladiators in their early years, and since they usually engaged in small-scale skirmishes, their training methods were closer to the style of rangers.

Once they truly hit the battlefield, it wasn't as effective as simple sword-and-shield hacking. The Roman battle array, with shields for defense and heavy short swords for offense, could make them cry for their parents.

During the Spartacus uprising, so many excellent gladiators could slaughter Roman soldiers at will in one-on-one combat, but once the battle array was set, they were still beaten into a rout.

The most typical example is the prototype of *Assassin's Creed*, the Hashshashin; when they encountered the Mongol cavalry, they were practically toyed with, unable to manifest their individual martial prowess at all.

The combat techniques of armies are actually quite simple and unadorned.

Duncan was quite interested and looked at the Raven Queen, Triss, asking, "Do you want me to teach you some combat techniques?"

The Raven Queen, Triss, readily agreed.

Although Duncan's strongest combat power lay in the God's-eye view, in his ordinary state, the abilities he had plundered had become physical instincts. Every move and stance was something that couldn't be mastered without ten years of hard work. What he taught the Raven Queen were just basic combat skills, dismantling the most fundamental moves like hacking, thrusting, and parrying.

The Raven Queen, Triss, learned extremely quickly; it seemed she had some foundation as well.

Not long after.

Many mountain folk gathered around. They dared not look too much at the Raven Queen, so their gazes mostly fell on Duncan. Some even picked up wooden swords to follow along with the basic stances.

Duncan, to this day, didn't know any profound combat styles; all his combat power lay in those basics.

"Pick a few people to spar with."

Duncan spotted Kveto in the crowd and casually picked up a crude wooden sword.

Kveto was quite excited. He looked at the people around him, and seeing many eager to try, he went up himself and called over a few of his close subordinates.

A sword thrust out.

Duncan moved casually, instantly making Kveto miss. With his current combat skills, to force him to use a roll to dodge would require at least a master.

Clang!

When Kveto swung his sword, Duncan parried it. In the moment of the parry, his figure surged forward like a butterfly, appearing directly at Kveto's side. The wooden sword in his hand was already resting against Kveto's neck, having even drawn a faint red line.

This was without using force; if he had used his full strength, the wooden sword likely would have sliced Kveto's neck open.

The surroundings erupted in an uproar.

Duncan's counter-attack was extremely simple: parry, step, advance, blade sweep—the most basic撩 (upward slash) move—and Kveto was already a "dead man."

The physical fitness, combat techniques, and reaction speeds of the two were not on the same level.

"Again."

Duncan picked up a shield and gestured to the six men before him: "Come at me together."

The six men were restless.

Soon, someone roared, as if to bolster his courage, and swept toward Duncan, his wooden sword aiming for his waist.

Clang.

The wooden shield blocked it, and with a backhand thrust, one man clutched his abdomen and crouched down in pain. Another man hacked down, but Duncan surged forward, his shield swinging with a *bang*, and the man fell flat on his back, nearly knocked unconscious.

Hack, slash, thrust.

Shield block.

Without any flashy movements, just the most basic combat stances, Duncan—without using his God's-eye view—knocked all six men to the ground. However, Kveto's desperate strike allowed his wooden sword to graze Duncan's arm, leaving a shallow red mark.

A cheer erupted from the surroundings.

The watching exiles cheered both for Duncan's superb combat techniques and for the fact that Kveto had actually managed to scratch Duncan.

"Indeed, without the God's-eye view, my abilities are just standard panel attributes."

With this set of combat specializations, dealing with six people at once was already quite strenuous.

Of course, if he were in full armor, the result would be completely different.

Duncan reached out and pulled the fallen Kveto up. He said in a deep voice, "We will stay here for a few days. During these days, I will train your combat techniques."

"Bring all the able-bodied men from the village over."

Kveto looked pleasantly surprised, but upon hearing that Duncan would leave, he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

In these troubled times, it wasn't easy to find someone to rely on.

Duncan naturally had other plans for them, but that required a lot of preparation, and without a fleet, he couldn't transport the exiles to the island of Britain. More people meant more mouths to feed, and he didn't know the situation on the island of Britain yet; he definitely had to scout the path first.

In the medieval era, the island of Britain would certainly have no problem accommodating tens of thousands of exiles to recuperate.

By the time the commotion settled, it was already afternoon.

Duncan observed the mountain village and, through his God's-eye view, arranged for the construction of defenses—essentially just setting up minor arrangements at a few key locations so that they would have more reaction time in case of a fight.

The exile group wasn't entirely made of rebels.

Kveto sent people to nearby towns to scout for information and find a way to contact the merchant ships Anya had prepared.

With the supplies seized yesterday, they would have no problem surviving the winter.

The figure of the Raven Queen, Triss, wandered throughout the village. Her beauty was so stunning that people dared not look directly at her. After just one afternoon of interacting with the exile mountain folk, more than a dozen of them were converted into units marked in green.

Some mountain women even knelt to pay homage to her upon seeing her, calling her "High Priestess."

In Ancient Rome, one rarely knelt to priests; except for the gods they worshipped, Romans mostly worshipped their ancestors. Often, behind the shrines of the gods they venerated, the spirit tablets of their ancestors were placed to be worshipped alongside them.

The Raven Queen, Triss, did not like being knelt to.

But barbarian priests had the custom of kneeling, and after a bit of effort, she finally got those ignorant mountain folk to stop wanting to kneel every time they saw her.

Many people here were followers of polytheism.

Only the followers of the Church would slowly abandon ancestor worship and ancestral rites. In faiths under the influence of traditional Roman culture, many had small family temples to worship household gods and the souls of their ancestors.

When the followers of the early Church were persecuted, one of the charges was "not worshipping ancestors"—a grave disrespect in the Ancient Roman era.

To cater to the religious policies of the Roman Empire at the time, the early Church had introduced many rituals similar to traditional Roman sacrifices into their ceremonies, but these customs were eventually condemned as heresy by Church leaders.

With such a chaotic belief system as polytheism, there was a reason they could unite to persecute the Christians.

The exiles were all people who couldn't survive.

They didn't care much about faith; whoever could keep them alive, they would believe in whoever you wanted them to.

Duncan and his group stayed here for three days.

Finally, after contacting the ships Anya had prepared, the five of them disguised themselves and headed to a nearby town port. The Saxons were not only invading Britain; they were also invading Germania Minor. However, no one was guarding Britain, while Germania Minor had to face the Franks and the Imperial border guards.

At present, Germania Minor had not completely fallen; at least the Empire still held a few military towns.

Blue seas and clear skies.

On the eighteenth day of his travel, Duncan and his group crossed half of Europe and finally boarded a ship bound for the island of Britain.

The province of Britain had already been abandoned.

The Empire had withdrawn its last garrisoned legion decades ago, so now the island of Britain was effectively unmanaged, belonging to a chaotic zone of conflict. The Saxons launched a migration and invasion that lasted for over a hundred years, while the living space of the traditional Celts was gradually compressed, eventually transforming into Wales and Scotland.

Of course, according to legend, King Arthur had reclaimed the lost territories.

Through twelve battles, he and the Knights of the Round Table repelled the Saxons who had invaded the island, though after his death, the Saxons regained absolute dominance.

Duncan was now going to scout the situation on the British Isles.

A flock of seagulls flew past.

The Raven Queen, Triss, stood on the deck, looking toward the distant island of Britain with an inscrutable expression, not knowing what she was contemplating. Occasionally, her gaze wandered and fell on Duncan, and her eyes never shifted away again.

Anya was excited. She was, after all, a noble Roman lady who had rarely left the Italian peninsula. She was currently looking at the land in the distance with curiosity, seemingly finding everything novel.

Two-star white board.

As the weakest witch Duncan had met so far, Anya had tried several times to walk to his side and hold his arm to show intimacy, but after being swept by the Raven Queen's gaze, she subconsciously stayed put.

"We are about to arrive in Britain," Severus said in a low voice.

Druidism originated from Celtic culture.

Now, on the European continent, the Germanic barbarians were rising, the Huns were pressing step by step, and the Celts were gradually weakening. After Gaul accepted Imperial culture and transformed, true Druids had become very rare.

He certainly wanted to preserve the heritage of the Druids. If the Church hadn't been hell-bent on extermination, judging the people of the old era as "heretics," he wouldn't have been forced to fight to the death.

"Britain, eh..."

Duncan looked at the land in the distance and murmured, "Has King Arthur been born yet?"

A light breeze brought a faint scent of blood.

The shout of a sailor rang out: "Saxons! It's the warship of the Saxon pirates!"

Since they intended to cross the sea to invade the island of Britain, the Saxons were naturally adept at navigation.