Chapter 26: If Duncan rides a druid, wouldn't he be invincible?

Tintagel Castle.

The banquet prepared by the Duke of Tintagel was quite lavish, though the taste was rather mediocre. To tell a dry joke: British cuisine. In this era of Europe, one would imagine only Italian and Frankish dishes were remotely palatable.

Anya wore an expression of disdain. She was accustomed to being pampered and carried with her a collection of bad habits typical of the old Roman nobility. Duncan, however, was not picky, though he remained somewhat restrained. He had discovered that the "Power of Gluttony" could not be indulged in every day; feasting once a week was sufficient. Because it slowly raised his maximum vitality, the cumulative effect of the Grail’s blood—when combined with time—caused subtle changes to his muscles and bones. He did not look particularly massive, but he possessed immense strength, and his bone density far exceeded that of a mortal.

The castle was dark and damp. Under the candlelight of the long table, two hypocritical political aristocrats were testing one another with polite formalities. Anya was an old hand at this—an imperial socialite whose speech was watertight. She was simply dangling bait before the Duke of Tintagel, waiting for him to take the initiative and ask for help. Politics was indeed dirty; Duncan felt he wasn't quite cut out for it, or rather, political animals lacked true emotion, with profit being their only driving force. The Duke of Tintagel, meanwhile, was extremely attentive to the noble widow, even with his own wife sitting right beside him.

There was one other person at the long table whose expression was uneasy: Igraine. The Duchess of Tintagel was a beauty, but her demeanor was filled with trepidation. Fortunately, it was late and the lighting was poor, so the Duke’s gaze rarely fell upon her.

"Has something already happened?" Duncan knew history could deviate slightly, but seeing the Duchess’s anxious appearance, he couldn't help but feel something was afoot. If Merlin were to intervene, the Duke of Tintagel would have no way to defend himself.

After the reception concluded, the Duke of Tintagel arranged for servants to show Duncan’s party to their quarters. Duchess Igraine hurried away, not even having the heart to exchange a few pleasantries. She seemed to be avoiding the Duke.

The Raven Queen, Tris, caught up with Duncan and whispered, "The Duchess seems a bit off."

Duncan could not reveal that he knew what the future held, so he only said in a low voice, "Wait and see."

In the corridor, Severus stopped and looked at the group. "I am leaving tonight. I need to find a way to recruit some men."

Severus had mentioned earlier that he still had some connections on the island of Britain. Among the indigenous Celtic tribes, many still practiced Druidism, and they were regarded as beings capable of speaking with the Celtic gods. Their numbers were too low. Whether by spending money or calling in favors, everyone agreed they needed to supplement their forces, ideally with units possessing actual combat capability. Severus volunteered to set out, intending to recruit some traditional Celtic warriors (similar to the units of the Gaulish factions).

Duncan pondered for a moment and nodded. "Very well. Stay safe."

Severus smiled upon hearing this. "Don't worry. I am a Druid, after all." Where Celtic faith still persisted, a Druid was truly in their element; he would be treated with great respect at any indigenous tribe he visited.

Severus leaped from the window. The next second, his figure transformed, shifting directly into a bird and disappearing before the astonished eyes of the others. The Raven Queen, Tris, was also surprised, whispering, "This is the first time I've seen him use shape-shifting."

It was only then that the two witches realized Severus’s spellcasting abilities had recovered.

"Druidic transformation?" Duncan also watched Severus disappear under the night sky. He switched to his "God’s Eye" perspective and saw a bird marked as 'Druid.' It soon landed, shifted back into human form, and then, under the moonlight, transformed into a towering stag, bolting into the dense forest.

Severus could shape-shift? Could he turn into a warhorse? Something like Red Hare? If I rode him... wouldn't I be invincible? It is well known that a hunter's best pet is a Druid. This thought was only a fleeting one; it was too much to ask of Severus. After all, they were companions who had shared life and death—how could he treat him as a mount? He only transformed into ordinary creatures, and his combat power didn't increase significantly.

"Two-star silver-gray elite units should all have their own specialty moves!" Duncan thought of the Monastery Sanctuary—the true top-tier experts. Once Severus’s strength recovered, his methods were quite formidable, and his shape-shifting held great potential, compensating for his crippled fingers. Thinking of this, Duncan turned to look at the witch, Anya.

Hmm. Still a two-star blank slate, no changes. Anya sensed Duncan's gaze and seemed to guess some of his thoughts; she bit her luscious red lip, her expression revealing a hint of grievance and pitiable charm. For her spellcasting abilities to fully recover, either the Goddess of Beauty, Aphrodite, would need to be revived, or she would need to switch allegiances to a deity with similar domains. Currently, in all of Europe, only the Nordic pantheon likely possessed such power. The Raven Queen, Tris, was a special exception; not all witches were born as extraordinary as her.

Speaking of spellcasting abilities, there was another big player on the island of Britain: the legendary wizard, Merlin!

The group returned to their rooms. Anya tried to sneak into Duncan’s room but was given a glare by the Raven Queen, Tris, and obediently went back to her own. That night, a mountain torrent broke loose.

She had recently developed a taste for such things and always wanted to stir up a little trouble. But beauty is a bone-scraping blade; Duncan could not afford to indulge himself too much right now. Once in a while was good for the body and mind, but too often would affect his combat effectiveness.

"Wine and women have left me so haggard. From today on, no more alcohol."

—"Day 23 of the crossing: 93 kills." He took out his little notebook and recorded it.

His combat gains had been few recently, though he had acquired several new abilities after arriving on the island of Britain. It seemed that to further expand his combat techniques, he needed to hunt and defeat different enemies. This battle had added a few new abilities.

—"Natural Sailor: The Saxons are born sailors, skilled at fighting in the surging waves of the sea. Unlike other invading barbarian tribes, the Saxons chose to conquer the island of Britain. Enhances nautical talent and corresponds to the rapid mastery of sailor skills."

—"Naval Combat Mastery: You can maintain your balance amidst the surging waves of the sea. Saxon pirates are adept at naval combat, maintaining their balance on deck; some elite pirates can even fight while standing on the masts."

—"Lance Charge Proficiency: This is a combat technique of the barbarian noble knights. They can kill with a single strike during a lance charge; even heavy armor units cannot withstand the full force of their lance strikes."

He hadn't acquired anything particularly powerful lately. Perhaps it was because he hadn't encountered any true masters, only accumulating basic combat styles. However, the projection page under his God's Eye perspective had undergone some special changes.

—"Battle Formation - Wedge Formation [Command Skill]: A combat technique of the barbarian noble knights. The human avatar can, through commands, cause the cavalry units under his command to form a wedge. The power of a cavalry formation depends on the comprehensive strength of the units, as well as their training and discipline. Can only command troops that obey orders."

—"Battle Formation - Phalanx [Command Skill]: One of the standard basic formations."

—"Battle Formation - Diamond Formation [Command Skill]: A formation of Macedonian light cavalry, capable of dealing with enemies from any direction and avoiding disadvantages. Requires the commanded troops to have high training and discipline."

—"Battle Formation - Circular Formation [Command Skill]: One of the standard cavalry archery formations."

Battlefield command capabilities? Duncan checked the formation page, which was mainly divided into cavalry, infantry, and archers. Cavalry had the most tactical formations—perhaps because he had killed quite a few barbarian noble knights today. Infantry formations were few: loose and tight formations, plus the standard Roman shield wall and tortoise formations; the latter required higher levels of training. As for archers, there wasn't much to say; the room for command was small. He couldn't yet manage more advanced infantry shield and archer coordination; he clearly hadn't acquired the corresponding command skills, and it would require high levels of discipline.

"All tactical commands do not consume my own abilities. They all depend on the training and discipline of the combat units." In other words, if Duncan issued orders to a group of farmers without training or discipline, it would still be a chaotic mess. His talents were mostly applied to himself and could not influence others.

Duncan searched for a long time but could not find a marker for a 'Commander' ability. It seemed that in the heat of the moment, the final result depended on the military literacy of the soldiers. However, once a unit was reorganized, he could see an extra mark for discipline. If there was a 'Discipline' tag, it meant the unit's military literacy was relatively high, not just a rabble with weapons.

Training, discipline, and morale. These were the only components of the tactical command page in the projection. Achieving these three conditions meant he would have a legion that could serve as a primary combat force.

"In the end, it all depends on the soldiers I recruit." Duncan had never truly commanded an army; the battle with the exile rebels could only be considered a minor skirmish. If they were to face a regular army, the exile rebels would be crushed. If he were to use the exiles to build an army, they would need to be reorganized, concentrating the capable units to form new combat structures.

"Another approach is to build an elite unit. Picking out those strong individuals marked with one or two stars and mixing them into a legion would also yield immense combat power." But on the battlefield, individual strength was diminished, and armor became especially important. Everyone was fragile; without armor and shields, even a two-star expert would die from a few sword strikes.

"Let's see what Anya arranges next. If she can get the Duke of Tintagel to invite us to help, the exile legion reorganized at the stronghold can be brought over legitimately."

In the battle against the exile rebels, Duncan had defeated a private noble legion. The supplies captured at the time were mostly food, but there was enough field equipment to arm over thirty men. The quality of the Imperial field army's scale mail was quite solid, and combined with the weapons and equipment the exiles already possessed, mixing together a mercenary force of about two hundred men was not a problem. The number of exiles in the western part of the Empire was massive, and as the barbarians invaded, there would only be more. Because the barbarians also needed slaves.

As long as Anya could secure a piece of land, even if only in name, they could easily migrate people over. He wouldn't dare say more, but recruiting ten thousand people would be effortless. Duncan’s foundation was still too weak. Within the Empire, this small number wouldn't make much of a splash, but on the island of Britain, having a few hundred or a thousand troops could influence the entire situation. By then, he could just round up some cannon fodder and claim to have ten thousand men. In historical wars, there was a lot of inflation regarding army sizes; the proportion of true professional soldiers was never high.

Duncan's current stage was still focused on improving his personal strength. If the opportunity arose, he could consider helping the Duke of Tintagel repel this Saxon invasion. The Duke of Tintagel had suffered a crushing defeat today; the main Saxon force would likely invade in full within the next day or two.

"The smaller the battlefield scale, the more advantageous it is for me right now."

Under his God's Eye, Duncan’s consciousness controlled his human avatar to rest. Suddenly, his brow furrowed. In the projection, a unit marked as 'Familiar' appeared outside the castle.

—Familiar - Night Owl (One-star) (Animal Form) [Neutral].

Hmm? Duncan hadn't expected to encounter another supernatural unit so soon. He got up and grabbed his war bow, hesitated for a moment, and then quietly knocked on the door of the Raven Queen, Tris.

Leave professional matters to the professionals. Duncan had enough self-awareness for this. Even as a monarch, he could probably only act like Liu Bang—putting everyone to their best use. If he had to do it himself, cutting people down was likely the only thing he excelled at. He might be okay at leading troops into battle, but managing military logistics and local administration would likely be too much. He was better suited to be a fierce general like Xiang Yu.

This time, dealing with the Duke of Tintagel, Anya’s methods were clearly more seasoned than his.

The door opened. The Raven Queen, Tris, smiled sweetly. Seeing Duncan with his war bow, her expression changed instantly. "What happened?"

Duncan whispered, "There's a situation outside. I saw a night owl that isn't quite right; it has circled this place several times already."

The Raven Queen, Tris, stood up and said in a solemn voice, "Take me to see it."

Duncan’s spirituality was extraordinary, especially his perception of danger; the Raven Queen, Tris, trusted it implicitly.

"It's not a Druid." The Raven Queen, Tris, held a rune stone in her palm; her eyes seemed to pierce through the night, seeing the familiar. She stated, "It is a familiar summoned by a wizard. It is not a creature that belongs to the real world."

She explained softly, "Only a very powerful wizard can summon creatures that do not belong to reality. On the island of Britain, I fear only one wizard can do this."

Merlin!

When the Raven Queen, Tris, was in Paris, she had also contacted Anya through some unknown means. Duncan hadn't been clear on how she did it back then, thinking she was just controlling wild birds.

Creatures that don't belong to the real world? Are there other planes? That made sense. The Valkyrie he saw today through his God's Eye was clearly not within the scope of the real world. This was the island of Britain, with Avalon in the mist. Supernatural power was clearly more common here.

The Raven Queen, Tris, explained, "Merlin is a Cambion, half-human and half-demon; he was born with powerful magic. Only he can summon familiars."

Duncan understood, yet didn't. He subconsciously looked at Tris in front of him. Merlin was half-human, half-demon, so what about her? She was also born with powerful supernatural abilities.

The Raven Queen, Tris, seemed to guess Duncan’s thoughts at that moment. Her expression was slightly hesitant, but she still whispered, "I have the blood of a Banshee."

She couldn't help but observe Duncan’s expression as she said this. Banshees. Their reputation in this era was not good, and her bloodline leaned more toward a Nightmare Banshee, known for being adept at seducing men. That was why she had become a priestess who took a vow of chastity, serving the virgin goddess of the polytheistic faith.

This was a full disclosure. The Raven Queen, Tris, wanted to see Duncan’s attitude toward her background, whether he would fear or harbor taboos against the legendary Banshee. But Duncan’s expression was subtle—even a bit excited. This discovery made the Raven Queen, Tris, blush slightly.

The familiar circled the castle once and soon disappeared into the pitch-black night. It was unknown what Merlin was observing through it.

At the same time, in a region of the island of Britain near Wales, an aged wizard appeared in the wilderness.

"Gorlois is not dead." Merlin’s expression showed a trace of regret. He sighed slightly, knowing that the predicted future had changed again. He was a wizard very skilled in prophecy. Or rather, he himself was following the possible future in the prophecies, waiting for the birth of King Arthur.

Merlin had prophesied the death of the Duke of Tintagel. The best-case scenario, of course, was for him to die at the hands of the Saxons; that way, King Uther wouldn't have to do it himself. As long as King Uther married the Duke’s widow, the unification of the Britons could be completed.

But he didn't die.

Then he could only wait for the second prophecy: the Duke of Tintagel dying accidentally in his power struggle with King Uther. A wizard skilled in prophetic magic easily becomes deeply trapped in his own numerous prophecies.

Prophecy-freaks die by prophecy!

What Merlin was doing now was trying to realize the prophecy he hoped to see. Igraine was already pregnant with the future king of the island of Britain. The next step was to ensure King Arthur was successfully born and raised. Because Merlin had already foreseen the death of King Uther.

The Duke of Tintagel would die. King Uther would also die. After years of chaos, the island of Britain would welcome a greatest king. This was the future from the prophecy he wanted most.

But now, all prophecies were in disarray. Someone was going to flip the table!

A remote province of the Empire—why bother with so much trouble? Duncan was simply preparing to slaughter his way through.