Chapter 28: One Shot to Destroy a Nation! Civil Strife Among the Barbarians

On the ramparts.

When Duncan offered to take command of the ballista, the Duke of Tintagel agreed without a moment’s hesitation. It was well known that the Roman legions were the true masters of ballista warfare. Duncan carried the unmistakable air of a seasoned regular soldier, and his request implied a degree of confidence that promised results.

The Duke had gathered nearly every farmer in the vicinity; together with several hundred irregulars, their total strength reached some fifteen or sixteen hundred men. After all, Britain was merely a peripheral province of the Empire. The scale of warfare here was far smaller than on the continent, typically involving clashes of thousand-man regular units, occasionally bolstered by auxiliaries and peasants to inflate the numbers into the tens of thousands for the sake of reputation.

In the early days, when the province was first abandoned, a single Imperial legion had been enough to suppress the surrounding barbarians. Later, when the Empire withdrew its troops, the Britons had written multiple letters pleading for aid. The Gaulish province had dispatched reinforcements three or four times, pushing back the Irish barbarians, but eventually, the strain of defending Germania Minor became too great. The Imperial legions, exhausted by constant movement between campaigns against the Picts and the continent, had no choice but to abandon Britannia entirely. It was evident that the Empire had done its best.

Yet, this vast Empire was now in its twilight, unable to protect its fringes. (The background of the King of Knights is set in the era when the Kingdom of Camelot lost the Empire’s protection, forcing her to draw her sword to fight.) Amidst the torrent of history—the Scourge of God, barbarian invasions, the collapse of the Empire, religious strife, and wars between pantheons—King Arthur was merely a small figure struggling desperately to protect Britain. Duncan did not mind taking some of that heavy burden off the Knight King’s shoulders.

The ballistae were relics from that earlier era. The early British legions had been trained by Imperial officers, and Sarmatian mercenary cavalry had stayed behind, training the later Largs heavy cavalry—one of the precursors to the Knights of the Round Table. Sarmatian cavalry were legendary in this era, the elite foreign mercenaries of the Empire. In early legends, their women were said to be beautiful, yet they were often required to kill an enemy as a rite of passage; they could not marry without a proven record of martial merit.

During the reign of Trajan, the Empire defeated the Sarmatians, forcing them to surrender 8,000 cavalrymen as hostages for peace. These riders were sent to serve in Britain, becoming the early Sarmatian legions. Their dragon-head standards, contus lances, and scale armor became the standard configuration for the early Imperial cataphracts. King Uther’s cavalry inherited these Sarmatian traditions, including the distinctive dragon-head standard. His nickname was "Uther the Dragon Lord." (This is also the origin of the Imperial Dragon Banner in Mount & Blade.)

"If only I had a unit of heavy cavalry, I could find a way to break their lines and strike down their commanders—that would be far more effective than waiting like a sitting duck behind a ballista."

Duncan possessed the advantage of a god’s-eye view. If he were to lead a powerful force of Imperial cataphracts, he could charge wherever the enemy’s morale cracked, pinning down their commanders and wiping them out in a single stroke. Heavy cavalry were the hammers of the battlefield, capable of smashing enemy lines to pieces. As long as the main legion could hold the front, Duncan could lead his cavalry to strike at any exposed weakness, and replicating the feats of Alexander the Great would not be difficult. He could carve a path from Europe all the way to Mesopotamia! Of course, only heavy cavalry could pull off such a feat in this era; light cavalry charging a line was akin to suicide.

The good news: the enemy was not yet attacking.
The bad news: the Saxon barbarians had learned some of the Empire’s siege techniques.

Britain possessed almost no proper cities; the so-called castles were merely early military fortifications. Only the Kingdom of Camelot had a fortress approaching the standards of the early Middle Ages, which was why it was hailed as the most impregnable place on the island.

The Raven Queen, Triss, appeared on the wall and whispered, "The reinforcements requested by the Duke of Tintagel did not arrive. It seems they have defected to King Uther."

The era of the kings in Britain resembled a feudal system where local lords and nobles held immense autonomy. Anya also hurried over, her expression slightly nervous. "Can we hold?" she asked. "If not, we should find a way to retreat."

Despite her confident demeanor yesterday, she had become visibly anxious at the sight of the massive Saxon army. She was, in the end, merely a noblewoman—high-minded but inexperienced, panic-stricken in the face of war. If this place were lost, the Duke of Tintagel would be forced into exile in the mountains to conduct a guerrilla war. King Uther himself was currently being driven into the Welsh territories by the Saxon hordes. Strategically speaking, if Duncan could win this battle, establishing a foothold on the island would be far easier.

Duncan pondered for a moment. "There is still a chance."

This was a defensive siege. If it were an open-field battle, he would have already retreated with the witches. The Raven Queen, Triss, held an almost blind trust in Duncan. Seeing him appear confident, she nodded. "I will make preparations. If we cannot hold, I will find a way to get us out." She was likely preparing some form of ritual magic.

Duncan thought for a moment. "Do you have any illusion spells?"

Triss nodded softly. "What is your plan? I can try."

Duncan pointed to the ballista nearby. "Find a way to use an illusion to hide this for me." He wanted to catch the enemy off guard with a surprise shot. Duncan was staking everything on his god’s-eye view and the ballista.

Triss answered immediately, "No problem. Let me prepare."

Anya spoke up: "Shall I try to persuade the Duke of Tintagel to hand over the command of the army to you?"

Surrender the command? That would be difficult. Duncan mused, "No need. Just convince him to put the archer units under my command."

Anya replied instantly, "Understood."

The witch hurried away and found the distraught Duke of Tintagel. She spoke a few words, and under Duncan’s god’s-eye view, the markers for the hundreds of archers turned green. Anya’s diplomatic skills were impressive, reminding Duncan of the Roman noblewomen in *Spartacus*; such political matrons always had their ways.

—Welsh Archers (One Star).
—British Shooters.
—Militia Auxiliary Archers.

Although the Duke of Tintagel was left with only irregulars, there were still capable units. The Welsh archers—the precursors to the English longbowmen—came from the forested mountains of Wales, a region known for producing excellent marksmen. It was a pity they were not yet equipped with the English longbow. There were only twenty-six of them; Duncan kept them by his side while the other archers were spread across the ramparts.

The army pressed forward. When the Saxon barbarians prepared to assault, their numbers were even higher than expected, swelling to nearly six thousand. While the core barbarian fighting force remained the same, they had brought a vast number of slaves and auxiliaries, driving them forward to push the siege engines.

—British Slave Army (Low Morale).

After the Saxon invasion, they had slaughtered countless Britons, killing adult males and seizing the women. Since the invasion began, the population of Britain had been reduced by roughly a third. In the future, only the Welsh territories would remain populated by the Britons; the region of England would undergo a near-total demographic transformation.

"Shoot!"

The British slave army had no morale; they were mere cannon fodder meant to deplete the defenders' ammunition. They were easily broken, only for the barbarian soldiers to slaughter them and drive them back up again. Soon, the ground outside the walls was covered in corpses. Duncan didn’t know how many he had killed—dozens, perhaps. There was no significant improvement to his status, as the combat skills of the cannon fodder were too low. After he shot down a dozen of them, a unit of the slave army broke, causing others to flee in panic.

—"Intimidation (Special Ability): You have forged your reputation upon the bleached bones of your enemies. When you gaze upon them, they feel fear; when you appear on the battlefield, your very presence shakes their morale."

It was only when the slave army completely collapsed that Duncan realized he had gained a new special ability. It had been earned by the heads he had reaped. The battlefield had been a massive boon to his growth; through the accumulation of quantity leading to a qualitative change, Duncan’s basic combat styles had all turned into deep blue markers.

The Saxon barbarians seemed to realize that the slave army alone could not take the walls. As their flanks began to maneuver, their true combat units began to advance.

Siege rams, ladders, and siege towers. The slave army pushed these engines forward again. Britain had no towering, solid walls, so the siege towers didn't need to be very high; six meters was sufficient. Fortunately, the barbarians lacked trebuchets, or this battle would have been impossible to win.

Duncan began to move, a unit of Welsh archers following him.

—Saxon Spearman-Shieldmen (Morale Shaken) (Encountering a Strong Enemy).

The special ability forged by slaughter seemed to be taking effect. When Duncan appeared on the right side of the ramparts, the barbarian soldiers hiding behind the siege towers were marked with "Morale Shaken." A barbarian officer roared, trying to boost their spirits. About three minutes later, the "Shaken" marker vanished, but "Encountering a Strong Enemy" remained. It seemed that once Duncan had reaped the heads of a hundred "true warriors," every enemy he encountered would carry that marker. Well, even if the "strong enemy" was just one man.

The Duke of Tintagel led a small unit of the British legion forward. He had to fight for his life now! If the commander did not lead from the front, there would be no morale to speak of.

The Saxon barbarians sounded their horns and launched attacks from three directions simultaneously. The Duke of Tintagel was clearly ill-prepared, acting in a flustered manner as he sent his militias and farmers to hold off the enemies climbing the walls. Enemies were already swarming up. The main gate below shook violently as the ram struck it; the British militia below gripped their weapons with trembling hands.

—British Mixed Legion (Morale Shaken) (Returned from Defeat) (Outnumbered).
—Town Militia (Morale Shaken) (Outnumbered).
—Mixed Peasants (Morale Shaken) (Untrained).

*Damn it!* Why was the morale so low? Duncan observed the battlefield, his expression turning grave. "Why is their morale so low? Is it because the Duke of Tintagel already suffered a major defeat?"

Duncan kept shooting down enemies to inspire morale, but he hadn’t expected that in the first melee, several hundred-man units would be on the verge of surrendering and raising the white flag. The British mixed units all carried the "Returned from Defeat" marker.

"Truly, a cowardly commander leads a cowardly army!" The Duke of Tintagel was at least half to blame for the low morale.

Duncan stopped conserving his energy. He picked up his Northern war bow and commanded the Welsh archers behind him to focus their fire on the locations marked as enemy officers.

Rapid fire! One kill, two kills, three kills! His stamina bar dropped in small increments before slowly recovering. He hadn't used his full strength earlier; the slave army wasn't worth the effort.

Arrows hissed through the air! The Welsh archers unleashed a volley, instantly killing the centurion of the Saxon spear-shieldmen.

—Saxon Spearman-Shieldmen (Morale Broken) (Officer Killed) (Encountering a Strong Enemy).

In this focused strike, over thirty enemies were killed or wounded. The century immediately routed, giving the other units on the wall a moment to breathe. But soon, a rain of arrows struck back.

*Thwack!* A Welsh archer beside Duncan was headshot instantly; one arrow struck his eye socket, another his neck. The men nearby panicked and raised their shields for cover.

—Saxon Forest Hunters.
—Saxon Elite Forest Hunters (One Star).

Under the cover of shield-bearers, the Saxon archers had joined the fray. These barbarian hunters possessed skills superior to ordinary bowmen. Their numbers were massive, and their volley completely suppressed the defenders, killing dozens. If not for the protection of the walls, they would have likely shattered the militia units.

"If we win this," Duncan thought, "in a Total War, this would at least be an Epic Victory."

Dozens of meters away, the Duke of Tintagel’s helmet was struck by an arrow. Breaking into a cold sweat, he scrambled to pick up his shield and retreated behind his personal guard.

A gap appeared in the southwestern defense line. Duncan moved with lightning speed, picking up a javelin. His strength erupted; like a legendary figure from Ancient Greece, he hurled the javelin in a blur of motion. It whistled through the air, piercing the chest of an elite barbarian warrior and knocking his corpse off the wall.

The area erupted in shock! The enemy’s first elite unit in full heavy armor had been killed. Duncan had skewered the lead barbarian warrior with a single javelin throw. Standing on the wall, he actually dared to counter-attack?

—Shield Bash!

Duncan grabbed a shield from a corpse and swung it violently, smashing it into an enemy's head. His arm tingled slightly, but the hulking barbarian warrior was knocked backward, only to be swarmed and hacked to death by the surrounding defenders.

—Combat Style: Decapitation!

The Oathkeeper carved a cold arc through the air. A Saxon axeman who had just vaulted onto the wall froze, his headless body standing for a moment before blood sprayed like a fountain.

*Roar!* Duncan let out a howl toward the heavens! His voice was like thunder! This incredibly bloody scene shocked the enemy and allowed the demoralized friendly troops nearby to regroup.

"Kill!"

A roar of cheers erupted from the walls like a landslide. The peerless warrior! Duncan had restored morale with his own strength! Even the Duke of Tintagel, huddled behind his guards, peeked out, steadied himself, and led his personal soldiers to drive the enemies off the wall.

"Melee is easier to inspire morale with than long-range kills," Duncan realized. By charging into the fray himself and cutting down over a dozen men, he had stabilized the southwestern line and wiped away the "Morale Shaken" markers.

Under the god’s-eye view, the projection seemed to change.

—"Inspiration (Special Ability): Your valor greatly boosts the morale of others. When you are on the battlefield, friendly units will find the courage to continue fighting because of you."

Duncan’s own status markers changed, topped by two special states: "Intimidation" and "Inspiration." Killing his way to this point, his very existence seemed to have taken on peculiar, supernatural properties. Almost visibly, the soldiers around him grew eager for battle.

"No wonder the great warriors of antiquity dared to charge into enemies several times their size with only dozens or hundreds of men!" Morale was paramount. Wherever Duncan went, morale soared! He had single-handedly rescued a defense line on the verge of collapse.

But the enemy’s offensive did not cease. Under the cover of the Saxon forest hunters, waves of elite soldiers approached the battlefield. This was a cruel, bloody meat grinder.

Not far away, the Saxon King, Hengist, stared fixedly at Duncan’s position, his expression one of profound shock. He asked his subordinates, "Who is that man? Since when did the Duke of Tintagel have such a valiant knight?"

He had been waiting for the moment the enemy was exhausted to launch an all-out assault, but Duncan’s arrival had forcefully repelled three waves of Saxon attacks, keeping the battle in a stalemate. Even the militia whose morale had been near collapse were fighting to the death because of his personal valor! If Britain had possessed such a powerhouse earlier, they would never have been able to establish the Kingdom of Kent.

"They are exhausted!" Hosa rode up to his brother and pointed to the northwest side of the walls. "That area is full of rabble—militia and farmers. If we concentrate our elites, we can take it in one wave."

Although Duncan’s martial prowess was stunning, the two brothers were not panicked. The battle had raged on, but the elite Saxon troops had not yet been fully committed. Their siege doctrine favored waiting until the enemy was drained before launching a final, decisive strike. That way, casualties would be lower.

As they spoke, surrounded by barbarian chieftains and noble cavalry, the two brothers moved closer to the front line, seemingly observing for weaknesses in the defense. This distance was far beyond the range of standard bows; there was no need to worry about archers. The Duke of Tintagel’s side had too many peasants and militia. If a single gap appeared in the wall, it would be a total collapse.

"Here it comes!"

Duncan began to move, locking onto his target, waiting for the moment they slowed down.

*Now!*

Looking down from his god’s-eye view, the enemy leader was marked. The Raven Queen Triss’s illusion spell faded. Amidst the bewildered gazes of those nearby, a ballista appeared abruptly on the ramparts. The javelin-like bolt was already loaded, and the distance to the enemy was barely three hundred meters.

Aiming crosshairs locked!

Duncan took a deep breath. In an instant, the bolt whistled through the air. The enemy camp fell into a panic, and they almost immediately turned their horses to retreat.

*Bang!*

The heavy bolt, like a javelin, tore across the battlefield. At this moment, Diana of the Roman pantheon was watching! Artemis of the Greek pantheon was observing!

*Thud!*

The enemy tried to escape, but it was too late.

In the next second, the King of the Kingdom of Kent, Hengist, fell from his horse. The heavy ballista bolt had punched through his chest, pinning him and the man behind him, and impaling the horse behind them as well.

The entire battlefield fell into a deathly silence! Everyone stood frozen in shock, only for a cataclysmic roar of chaos and cheers to erupt a second later. In the unseen realm, Duncan’s performance had been superhuman!

The barbarian chieftain’s guards scrambled to hold the King’s body and retreat. As a two-star gold hero unit, the ballista bolt through his chest hadn't killed him instantly, but he was spraying blood and was on his last breath as he was dragged away.

"The enemy King is dead!"
"The enemy King is dead!"

On the walls, the Britons let out desperate, ecstatic cheers. The situation on the entire battlefield reversed in an instant. The attacking barbarian army, their morale shattered, was soon completely driven back.

On a nearby tower, the Raven Queen Triss finally breathed a sigh of relief. She had been kneeling and praying, clutching the emblems of both Diana and Artemis. This time, Triss had also gambled, forcibly prying open a corner of the coffin lid that the Church had nailed shut over the ancient Roman and Greek pantheons.

Duncan felt his chest warm slightly—that was the talisman Triss had given him. Meanwhile, the witch Anya was breathing heavily; she didn't know what had happened, but hearing the roars of victory, she realized Duncan had turned the tide of the entire war.

*As expected of the man I’ve chosen!* Anya glanced secretly at Triss, feeling that she had already gained the upper hand.

The Saxon barbarians began to retreat. In the rear of the army, Hosa grabbed the witch doctor emerging from a tent, his face ashen. "How is the King’s condition?"

The witch doctor looked terrified and shook his head slightly. That meant there was no hope. The ballista bolt had passed through his body and lungs; unless a miracle occurred, he was dead. He was merely hanging on by a thread.

Hosa’s expression was grim, his thoughts hidden. Although the two brothers had invaded Britain together, there could only be one King. His brother serving as King was something the men could accept, and he himself had been willing, but now his brother was dying. Who would be the next King of the Kingdom of Kent? Hengist only had one son, Aesc, who had some reputation. In this newly established kingdom, only he and his nephew were qualified to inherit the throne.

The sudden death of a founding monarch! The chain reaction this would cause was terrifying. Other barbarian chieftains would likely start getting ambitious. Working together to plunder was one thing, but if you were to become my King, that was a different matter.

A shift occurred in the air above the battlefield. Unnoticed, a Valkyrie in a silver-winged helmet appeared over the field. She glanced toward Duncan’s direction before flying directly toward King Hengist’s position.

The Valkyrie had manifested. It seemed she was there to claim the soul of the barbarian leader, the founding monarch of Kent.

The barbarians retreated. With the King dead and morale shattered, Hosa had no interest in staying and ordered a full withdrawal. The most important thing now was to decide the succession. He had worked hard with his brother to carve out a territory in Britain; he was clearly unwilling to hand it over to a nephew who lacked martial merit.

*Why shouldn’t I sit on that throne?*

On the battlefield, the silver-winged Valkyrie lingered for a long time. After taking the warrior’s soul, she took one deep look at Duncan and vanished into thin air.

Duncan noticed a new marker on his person.

—"Odin’s Gaze: Odin only admires the most valiant warriors. You have caught His attention, and the Chief God of the Polytheistic Norse Pantheon, Odin, has taken an interest in you."

The Valkyrie has sung of your renown in Valhalla.
You have unlocked the Legendary Status of the Polytheistic Norse Pantheon.