Chapter 44: The Barbarian Foreign Legion! (Bonus Chapter for Two Thousand Average Subscriptions)

Isle of Wight.

The Isle of Wight was largely undeveloped at this time. The Saxon pirate garrison here numbered only two to three hundred men, and they possessed virtually no elite troops to speak of.

The only somewhat troublesome aspect was a small military fortress built by the Empire located upon it.

From a god's-eye perspective.

Duncan observed the enemy, and a single glance told him this battle was already won.

Because across the entire Isle of Wight, there was only a single two-star unit, marked as 'Saxon Pirate Leader'. Everything else was essentially vanilla, with only three one-star combat units in total.

"All militiamen, the old, the infirm, and even wounded or disabled pirates?"

Swish.

Duncan seized an opportunity and loosed an arrow, directly striking down the two-star pirate leader on the battlement. He then sent Saxon pirate captives to persuade the defenders to surrender. In barely half an hour, the Saxon pirates surrendered. They had little choice; the walls of this small military fortress were barely three meters high—about the height of a single story—and could be easily scaled.

"Leave a hundred men behind to guard the captives."

Duncan decisively led his army back toward Southampton. The battle had gone far too smoothly, and by afternoon the troops were reassembled, preparing to besiege Portchester Castle in Portsmouth.

This was a military fortress repaired by the Roman Empire in the third century, formerly used to guard against Saxon pirate incursions.

"This is going to be a tough fight..."

Duncan looked at the military stronghold ahead and decisively ordered a siege without launching an assault. He lacked siege equipment, and his confidence in forcing a direct breakthrough was not particularly high.

Towns could be taken by breaching the gates, but military fortresses were notoriously difficult.

Because this military fortress was not particularly large in the first place, any slight disturbance would draw an immediate reaction. Moreover, with the enemy holding high walls, even Duncan would risk being trapped and overwhelmed if he attempted to infiltrate. The fortress also featured numerous firing towers on all four sides, meaning a frontal assault would exact a heavy toll and cost many lives upfront.

Severus observed for a moment and said in a deep voice, "Shall we try to persuade them to surrender?"

With around a thousand men inside?

Could they be persuaded to surrender?

Duncan pondered for a moment before replying, "Wait for now. Wait until the main force assembles."

"Create a psychological pressure of overwhelming odds against them."

"Then we persuade them to surrender!"

Duncan carefully observed the enemy troops from the god's-eye perspective and noticed they were all afflicted with three negative statuses: 'Morale Shaken', 'Consecutive Defeats', and 'Facing a Formidable Enemy'. Some of the enemies who looked directly at Duncan even exhibited negative states like 'Terror' and 'Ghostly Dread'—likely deserters from earlier routs who had already developed deep psychological scars from Duncan.

His own troops arrived one after another, and even the recruited Saxon auxiliary troops were driven up before the fortress.

These Saxon auxiliary troops had gone hungry for a full day and were only given a full meal right before reaching Portchester Castle. Most of their equipment had been stripped away, leaving the auxiliaries with only shields and weapons. The British legion followed closely behind them, with a small squad of elite督战队 (enforcers/discipline enforcers) pressing forward at the rear.

Duncan had captured a fair number of prisoners by now, and simply keeping them under control was no small task. Had he launched a direct assault, he certainly would have used the auxiliary troops to lead the charge and deplete the enemy first.

Were it not for his soaring reputation and legendary status even among the Germanic barbarians, assimilating these captives would have been an immense headache.

Just at that moment.

The auxiliary commander previously appointed by Duncan hurried over. Panting and full of reverence, he dropped to one knee and said, "My lord."

"Let me go and persuade them to surrender!"

You?

Duncan looked down at the elite Saxon spearmen-and-shield bearer before him. He did not even know this fellow's name yet. Under Duncan's oppressive aura, the auxiliary commander gritted his teeth, raised his head, and said, "Most of the men garrisoning this fortress are Jutes."

"They may not be willing to fight to the death."

With both brothers Hengist and Horsa now dead, the Jutes were left without a leader, forced to pledge allegiance either to the chieftains of the Angles or the chieftains of the Saxons.

If the Jutes failed to choose the right side, annihilation awaited them sooner or later.

Duncan sat atop his warhorse, looking down at the man for a moment before speaking in a deep voice, "What is your name?"

The elite Saxon spearman-and-shield bearer replied, "Garavan, my lord."

Duncan nodded. "If you can persuade them to surrender, in the name of the Lord of Southampton, I shall knight you!"

Garavan's face lit up with joy, and he immediately led some men forward to demand a surrender.

Duncan waited in place for a moment.

Swish!

A volley of arrows flew from the city wall, striking Garavan's shield directly. It seemed the attempt at persuasion had failed.

Garavan and his men retreated in disarray.

Yet a hint of joy actually lingered on the fellow's expression. He hurried back to Duncan's side, glanced left and right, and said in a low voice, "My lord. It's done."

Hmm?

If Duncan's eyes hadn't deceived him, this fellow had almost been shot dead by archers moments ago. Why was he suddenly claiming it was done?

Garavan spoke in a low voice, "My clansmen are inside the fortress."

"Just now, when I approached the wall, I communicated with them using secret hand signals."

"Tonight, they will definitely find an opportunity to open the city gates."

So confident?

Duncan wore a skeptical expression. He checked via the god's-eye perspective and was surprised to find that a small number of neutral targets had indeed appeared among the enemy forces—all of them marked as one-star units.

——Elite Saxon Spearman-and-Shield Bearer (One-Star) [Neutral].

Amidst a sea of red hostile markers, these three to five neutral-marked units stood out remarkably.

Garavan hurriedly urged, "My lord, trust me this once!"

"I stake my head on it!"

"If there is any unusual movement tonight, my lord must immediately send men to seize the gate."

Had he lacked the god's-eye perspective, Duncan would never have believed him, seeing as the fellow had nearly been perforated by arrows just then.

But now, Duncan did not mind waiting a little longer.

Night fell.

Garavan appeared quite composed on the surface, but inwardly he was exceptionally nervous, having wagered his very head on the endeavor. If there were no reaction whatsoever tonight, Duncan might well have him beheaded as a sacrifice to the banners come tomorrow morning.

Yet Duncan knew the matter was already secure.

Because after nightfall, those neutral-marked units gathered quietly for a brief moment before transforming into green-friendly units.

Immediately afterward, they split up to act separately, turning another twenty or thirty individuals into neutral units.

The time approached midnight.

From the god's-eye perspective, these neutral units quickly assembled in secret. After cutting down a few remaining loyal Saxon spearmen, all of them transformed into green-friendly units.

"Attack!"

"Seize the gate!"

Before these inside men had even finished their move, Duncan immediately ordered the attack. As a unit of cavalry surged at full speed into the city, the British legion following closely behind quickly seized control of the East Gate.

Garavan led a dozen-odd men charging forward to provide support. After cutting down a dozen enemies, they rendezvoused with the inside men, and those Saxon spearmen dropped to one knee to signal their submission.

Duncan's renown on the British Isles was simply too great!

This was a case of those who understand the times being brilliant heroes. Furthermore, he was of Roman descent, and Romans had a long-standing tradition of recruiting barbarian mercenaries. Had Duncan been a traditional Celtic lord, surrender might not have come quite so easily.

As everyone knew, the orthodoxy of the Empire lay among the barbarians, and barbarian mercenaries guarded the very last glimmer of the Empire's glory!

By this point, the enemy had suffered a massive rout.

Duncan led a cavalry squad to charge and shatter a hastily assembling Saxon commander's forces, quickly capturing the greater part of the military fortress.

Only then did he have the leisure to look over Garavan and the men behind him.

Remarkably, five or six of these individuals were one-star units.

This meant that even though they were not born of noble warrior stock, they had endured harsh training to become one-star elite spearmen, likely backed by veteran fathers and a certain degree of familial martial tradition.

Duncan reined in his horse and praised, "Very well."

"You have performed admirably. True to my word, I shall bestow knighthood upon you!"

At that moment, however, Garavan shook his head, led his men to drop to one knee directly before Duncan, and the barbarian elite even slit his own palm with a dagger, swearing a blood oath: "My lord!"

"Allow us to become the Foreign Legion pledged in loyalty to you!"

"In the name of Odin!"

"We shall be your sword and shield! Your most loyal followers!"

What is this?

They want to be my barbarian mercenaries?!

Romans were Romans, and Britons were Britons.

On this point, Garavan drew a clear distinction.

They had not been defeated by the feeble Britons, but by one of the Empire's fiercest newly risen lords. Given the unruly nature of barbarians, they respected Duncan as an individual, yet they felt no respect for losing to the British legion, and held the Duke of Tintagel in utter contempt.

Had Lord Duncan commanded them directly, he could have slashed his way straight across the entire island of Britain!

History possessed its own traditions.

Since the late third century, barbarian mercenaries had guarded the Empire's borders, defeating its formidable enemies time and time again.

Their reputation was poor, and they loved to pillage, but their loyalty was far from low!

At least it was better than the later Praetorian Guards.

According to the traditions of the Empire's military reforms, an eagle-standard legion was invariably accompanied by a substantial number of barbarian mercenaries. Since they, the Jutes, were also a branch of the Germanic barbarians, why couldn't they seize the opportunity to become Lord Duncan's barbarian mercenary legion?

Britons?

They were merely defeated foes beneath their feet.

Garavan's purpose was clear: to hell with the so-called Duke of Tintagel, who had nearly been hacked to death by them several times.

Barbarians revered only the fiercest warriors!

What they needed to do was draw a clear line against the Britons, shed the lowly status of auxiliary troops, and become an independent armed force directly under Duncan's command.

——The Barbarian Foreign Mercenary Legion!

With centuries of tradition behind it, and Duncan being of Roman descent, this lord could not possibly fail to understand the implications.

"This fellow is a talent!"

At that exact moment, Duncan realized the same thing. He looked down at Garavan before him, deliberated for a moment, then drew the Oathkeeper from his waist, laid it across the man's shoulder, and spoke in a deep voice: "In the name of the Northern Gods!"

"I accept your allegiance!"

"Very well."

"From this day forth, you are the commander of the Foreign Mercenary Legion."

"I grant you permission to recruit reliable men from among the captives."

As Duncan's words fell.

The status of Garavan and his men shifted instantly. No longer captives, no longer mere auxiliary troops, they had become the 'Barbarian Foreign Mercenary Legion'!

These men formed an independent third armed force.

They had no ties whatsoever to the factions of the British Isles, cared nothing for the Duke of Tintagel, and pledged allegiance to Duncan alone!

In this gamble, Garavan had won.

He leaped straight to the rank of a legion commander, standing on equal footing with Krevito, Creggan, and the others.

The Germanic barbarians were truly unruly; they held the feeble Britons in absolute contempt. Yet pledging loyalty to an imperial lord, a supremely powerful military commander, was something they could accept wholeheartedly.

Garavan had staked everything on his allegiance to Duncan as an individual.

The boomerang of history struck true once more: the true orthodoxy of the Empire did indeed lie with the barbarians!