Chapter 27: A Formidable Foe Approaches! The Decisive Moment (New Year's Special)

The first light of dawn broke.

Following a flurry of rapid hoofbeats, an attendant rider returned with the predictably dire news: the Saxon barbarians had launched a full-scale invasion and were preparing to press their advantage by attacking the Duke of Tintagel’s territory.

The Saxon barbarians built their strength on plunder; they would systematically raid and pillage repeatedly before finally occupying the land. They were not particularly skilled at siege warfare. Currently, their primary objective was London, while other regions were subjected to looting, the spoils of which would entice more Saxons to join the invasion of the British Isles.

The Saxons, Angles, and Jutes were allies who frequently joined forces to slaughter and pillage the Britons. Greed was a powerful motivator. This was how the Saxons were slowly encroaching upon the British Isles, piece by piece.

Outside the castle, as a small squad of barbarian cavalry appeared on the horizon, the Saxon messenger arrived by midday.

— Saxon Noble Knight (One Star).
— Jute Guard Rider.

Under the Duke of Tintagel’s livid glare, the messenger tossed the heads he had been carrying on his horse to the ground outside the castle gates. There were five heads in total: two were British legion commanders the Duke had appointed, and three were knights who had sworn him fealty.

Duncan stood on the ramparts, listening to the Duke’s attendant exchange words with the barbarian messenger. They spoke in Old English, a rapid, garbled conversation that concluded with a clear, threatening gesture. Duncan felt he could understand some of it, but not all—perhaps because he hadn't slain enough Saxon barbarians yet.

Triss, the Raven Queen, whispered the translation: "The Saxon messenger demands that the Duke of Tintagel admit defeat and pay a tribute of approximately fifteen thousand gold coins. Otherwise, the Saxon army will destroy everything here."

Setting aside whether the Duke of Tintagel could even produce such a vast sum, his fawning attempts to recruit Duncan’s party yesterday made it clear that this British Duke had no intention of bowing to the Saxons. The combat prowess of the Britons was mediocre, yet they had managed to resist for nearly a thousand years, even as they retreated into Wales.

As expected, the negotiations ended in acrimony. By dusk, the main Saxon army had encamped ten miles outside the castle.

Duncan left the city to scout with the Duke’s mounted attendants. Anya had reached a preliminary agreement with the Duke, and to "express her sincerity," the Roman noblewoman had loaned out her personal guard and lover to assist the Duke’s few remaining light cavalry in scouting the enemy. In the current situation, the Duke of Tintagel needed to seize every available resource.

The situation was worse than anticipated. The Saxon reinforcements had arrived, swelling their ranks from a thousand to nearly three thousand. It appeared they had pulled troops from other sectors, intending to deliver a crushing blow to the Duke and drive him into the mountains of Cornwall.

Unlike the previous skirmish, two prominent figures were now marked within the barbarian ranks:

— Hengist【Leader】【King】【Favored by Odin】【Legendary】(Two-Star Gold)!
— Horsa【Leader】【Chieftain】【Favored by Odin】【Legendary】(Two-Star Gold)!

"Hengist and Horsa?" Duncan muttered. "Barbarian leader units? I don't believe I've heard of them."

Using his "God’s Eye" perspective to observe the camp across the river, Duncan noted the two marked leaders, surrounded by numerous barbarian noble knights and priests of the Germanic pantheon.

Hengist and Horsa were the leaders of the Saxon invasion of Britain. Initially, they had served as mercenaries helping the Britons defend against the Picts—the early, unconquered wildlings of Scotland whom the Romans regarded as savages and who had long plagued the Romanized Britons. Upon discovering how weak the Britons truly were, the brothers decided to seize the land for themselves. They defeated the British armies and established the Kingdom of Kent.

The enemy was currently performing a blood sacrifice. This horrific ritual, originating from Scandinavia, was known as the "Blood Eagle." The priests would carve the shape of an eagle into the victim's back, slice open the skin to expose the spine, sever the ribs from the vertebrae, and pull them outward; finally, the lungs were drawn out to form the shape of wings. It was also known as the "Blood Raven" offering, typically reserved for captives who dared to resist. Another ritual involved hanging corpses, as Odin had hung himself from the World Tree for nine days and nights.

Duncan nearly retched. He had seen many die, but this was his first time witnessing such a savage and primitive sacrificial rite.

"Compared to the Roman and Greek gods, the rites of the Germanic deities are far bloodier," Duncan thought. The ancient Greek gods were mostly just fond of debauchery, not bloodthirsty sacrifices. (Zeus, in particular.)

These two must be the barbarian leaders who founded the Kingdom of Kent.

"So many tags," Duncan noted. He had only seen "Warrior of Thor" before; seeing "Favored by Odin" compelled him to focus his attention.

—【Favored by Odin】: The target has conquered the Kent region of the British Isles and established a Germanic kingdom there. Their offerings to Odin have drawn the attention of the polytheistic gods, significantly increasing their influence and appeal among the Germanic barbarians. (Duration: three months; must be maintained through continued sacrifice.)
—【Legendary】: The target possesses legendary status among the Germanic tribes. They are viewed as the leaders who successfully invaded the British Isles, and tales of their exploits are circulating throughout Germania. (Killing the target allows for the acquisition of this legendary status.)

Both brothers were Two-Star Gold units; their strength must be formidable. Regardless of the size of their kingdom, the founders would not be weak, and they appeared to carry multiple special status effects.

"Leader units with legendary status?" Duncan felt a surge of ambition, but after weighing his own strength, he realized he had no effective way to deal with them. Not to mention the noble knights guarding them, even the accompanying Germanic priests were a handful.

As the last camp of the European polytheistic system, the "Norse Pantheon," these barbarian priests possessed supernatural abilities. They could inspire nearby soldiers on the battlefield, perform divination, and cast minor witchcraft.

"This battle will be difficult."

If the Duke of Tintagel hadn't suffered a crushing defeat yesterday, he might have maintained a numerical advantage. Duncan could have led a British legion, using his "God’s Eye" and his own personal combat skills to clash with the regular barbarian army. But now, the British legions were nearly decimated, and those captives who dared to resist were being used for blood sacrifices. The remnants under the Duke’s command could not withstand the assault.

"In the Middle Ages, personal martial prowess struggles against overwhelming military superiority."

Two Two-Star Gold units. Plus, several Two-Star Silver-Gray units—Warriors of Thor, Warriors of Tyr, high-ranking barbarian warriors—all well-equipped and highly skilled.

"At least there are no powerful spellcasting units." The barbarian priests Duncan observed were at most One-Star Silver-Gray. It seemed the Norse Pantheon’s main attention was elsewhere, perhaps on the front lines of the Germania river defenses, clashing in the shadows with the Church’s monastic orders for the ultimate dominion over mortal faith.

The enemy across the river seemed to have spotted them. After a warning shout, a dozen riders were dispatched to drive them off—likely barbarian scout riders.

"They dare to come?" Duncan looked at his uneasy light cavalry companions. "You lot, flank them and draw their attention. Leave the rest to me!"

Since they were here, he had to shatter their morale. Otherwise, tomorrow’s battle would be even harder.

— Saxon Pirate Riders.

The enemy forces had two types of markings: regular soldiers and "pirates." These dozen riders were pirate-born. They converged with another squad of barbarian light cavalry, totaling about thirty riders as they began to encircle them.

The captain of the scouts, a young man named Jill, was not a formal knight but came from a noble background and possessed decent combat skills. He hesitated, but decided to follow Duncan’s order to draw the enemy in. He had witnessed Duncan force back a dozen barbarian noble knights single-handedly.

"Come on," Duncan muttered. "Time to practice."

Duncan had survived many battlefields. He scanned for special status units or nearby priests, then spurred his horse forward to meet the Saxon pirate riders head-on.

*Whoosh.*

An arrow flew. The captain of the Saxon pirate riders fell, dead before he hit the ground. The suddenness of the act left the other Saxons stunned.

*What kind of enemy is this?*

The captain had died inexplicably, a single shot through the forehead. The pirates scattered in fear, their horses slowing, faces filled with terror. They didn't know whether to pursue or retreat.

Duncan, unhurried, nocked another arrow. Since he was here, he would take at least five or six heads. The Saxon barbarians likely possessed combat techniques he hadn't yet acquired.

*Double kill!*
*Continuous shot.*
*Triple kill!*

Duncan charged directly at them. His horsemanship far exceeded the Saxons', reaching the level of elite Hunnic cavalry; in a mounted duel, he had nothing to fear.

On the open plain across the river, a bizarre scene unfolded. The Saxons had sent thirty riders to drive off a few scouts, yet it was Duncan who was now chasing a dozen Saxon pirate riders, even finding the time to intercept another incoming unit.

A full quiver depleted. Six heads secured.

Duncan’s quiver was a custom-made ranger’s model, holding only six to twelve arrows. It was designed to keep them fixed so they wouldn't rattle during movement, allowing for lightning-fast draws. He usually kept a few armor-piercing arrows, but given the technological limitations of this era, he hadn't prepared enough.

Mongol armor-piercing arrows were heavy, as were those of longbows, and required specialized production. English longbow arrows were typically 90 centimeters long, whereas standard arrows were 50 to 70 centimeters. A heavy, meter-long arrow could pierce straight through a man. Even the Mongols didn't carry many heavy arrows for mounted archery, as it hampered their mobility.

Across the river, Duncan saw movement in the barbarian camp. Several Two-Star Silver-Gray units appeared, accompanied by priests. He immediately signaled for the others to retreat.

He couldn't win this. Those barbarian elite units were noble warriors clad in heavy armor. His war bow couldn't reliably pierce them, and it would take too many arrows to kill a single one. He had to be wary of any hidden trump cards.

As the scouts withdrew, the looks the others gave Duncan had changed.

Reverence.

It was written clearly on their faces. In these turbulent times, a man’s martial prowess could attract not only women but other men as well.

"How are we going to fight this?" Duncan wondered. "With the hundreds of broken, conscripted remnants the Duke has left?" The Duke of Tintagel was even drafting peasants. Anyone who had played a grand strategy game knew the combat effectiveness of peasants—thousands could be easily routed.

A single frontal collision, and the peasant levies would raise the white flag. Duncan looked at the panicked soldiers on the walls, his expression darkening. Even the Raven Queen Triss's magic could not influence a war of this scale. Besides, her previous outburst had come at a cost, utilizing a rare ancient Roman sacrificial stone. Such a trump card was not to be wasted here.

Defenses were being prepared on the walls. The "castles" of this era were essentially Roman military forts, incomparable to the fortifications of the later Middle Ages. The walls were neither high nor sturdy enough. While they had the advantage of terrain, the gap in military discipline between the two sides was vast. The barbarians had spent years warring across the empire and clashing with the Huns; every adult male was a well-trained infantryman. It was no exaggeration to say that a hundred of them could slaughter a thousand peasants.

As Duncan pondered, he suddenly noticed the Britons dragging out an aging piece of siege equipment. It must have been left behind when the Roman legions withdrew. It was covered in dust, but it appeared functional.

— Ballista!

*Hmm?*

*Wait!*

*Can I use this? Does it benefit from my calibration buff?*

An idea sparked in Duncan’s mind. He rode into the city and reached the ballista’s position. Under the "God’s Eye" perspective, as he took control of the machine, a targeting reticle gradually materialized.

*It works!*

He could actually use the targeting reticle to operate the ballista!

Duncan calculated the distance and signaled his men to assist. He adjusted the aim to a target roughly five hundred meters away.

*Thrum.*

A bolt, as thick as a spear, tore through the air and struck exactly where he had aimed, with an error of less than a meter. The shaft buried itself deep into the earth. The power was immense! If fired into a battlefield, it would pierce straight through a man.

The ballista had been invented by the Greeks but perfected by the Romans. At the height of the Empire, a standard 5,000-man legion was equipped with fifty ballistae. They had devastated the Parthian cataphracts—the top-tier heavy cavalry of that age. Even a light ballista could impale both horse and rider. If firing stone projectiles, they could crush and scatter corpses.

However, the ballista’s flaws were obvious: slow to move, slow to deploy, slow to fire. Everything about it was slow. To unleash its power required tactical finesse and a bit of luck.

"I think I know how to turn the tide!" Duncan mused. "Now, it all depends on whether the enemy gives me the opportunity."

Decapitation. Their only chance for victory was to kill the barbarian king. Duncan estimated he would have only one chance; once exposed, the opportunity would vanish. Given the ballista’s slow fire rate, the targets would be long out of range.

But if that shot hit... never mind a Two-Star Gold leader, even that Three-Star Witcher might be killed instantly.

The only drawback was that operating a ballista was far harder than drawing a bow. Duncan would still face errors, and hitting a moving target was even more difficult—it would come down to his intuition in the moment.

The Kingdom of Kent had only just been established, and its internal stability was fragile. The barbarian king desperately needed a decisive victory to cement his authority. King Uther was too powerful, making the Duke of Tintagel the "soft persimmon." The barbarians weren't stupid; they knew how to pick their targets.

The Heptarchy of the British Isles, which opened with the founding of Kent, was the prototype for the seven kingdoms in *Game of Thrones*. These seven nations were founded by the Jutes, Saxons, and Angles. Together, they comprised about 130,000 square kilometers—roughly the size of Fujian Province.

To Duncan, Britain was merely a "starter village." There were no massive empires capable of fielding tens of thousands of regular troops, and no chance of encountering the main force of the Huns, who would have turned him into a pincushion. This was a localized war. The Saxons had tried to invade Gaul but were defeated by the Franks. Thus, the losers took to the sea.

"I wonder if I can find an English longbow?" Duncan sighed. True English longbows wouldn't be invented for many years to come. If he had one, slaying heavy cavalry would be much easier.

Since he had no bow, he would use the ballista.

Duncan began to familiarize himself with the controls, seeking the right feel. The reticle’s deviation was greater due to the long range and wind interference, requiring a bit of luck.

...

PS: Happy New Year, everyone. May all your wishes come true. A bonus chapter, 5,000 words.