Mountain Flood! Britain Island

A night of violent wind and torrential rain.

At first, a gentle breeze swept through the valley, echoing among the rolling peaks where the mountain folk lived in seclusion. As the night wind intensified, it sounded like choked sobs and swallowed cries. Thin clouds drifted away like gauze, revealing a full moon as white and round as a disk, bewitching the mind. A bolt of lightning streaked across the night sky. Beneath the vast darkness, the valley stream ran lush and green, its waters rushing onward.

Perhaps there had been too much slaughter in the human world these past years, and even the heavens wished to nourish all living things with a storm.

Amid rumbling thunder, wild winds howled and echoed through the valley, growing ever fiercer until they became hoarse, mournful wails. Wind Blade sliced like blades, like fingertips scratching across a wooden board. A violent storm swept through the secluded valley, pouring rain upon the earth and drawing a long, low sigh from the drought-parched ground. The vitality of all things mingled with heaven and earth. Rainwater gradually gathered among the peaks and valleys, first forming trickling streams. After several bursts of wind and rain, the waters converged into rivers. At last, the gale shrieked as though piercing the night, and countless rivulets gathered into a mountain torrent that surged downward amid the trembling mountains.

A broken current burst from the peaks of a ravine, plunging down like a waterfall for hundreds of feet.

How magnificent nature was!

The whimpering wind shrieked and wailed, while the oncoming mountain flood hung like an inverted Milky Way, sweeping across the entire valley where the mountain folk lived in seclusion. In the end, the thirsty earth absorbed most of the water. By the time the flood reached the camp, it merely knocked down a stretch of fencing and soaked several sheepskin tents.

Under the moonlight by the windowsill, Raven Queen Triss had watched the wind and rain for half the night. A rosy flush clouded her exquisitely beautiful face, which bore a faint look of contentment and languid ease after witnessing nature's splendor.

She rose and pushed open the door. When she looked back again, the storm outside had gradually softened, though it still seemed ready to rage once more.

The night passed without incident.

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

He pushed open the window to air out the smell from last night. The tallow candle had burned all night, leaving the room thick with an odor like mutton. Soft murmurs and moans came from the bed covered in fine sheepskins. Seemingly displeased by the direct sunlight, the figure turned over and curled up in the corner like a maggot.

Duncan paid it no mind. He stretched his limbs and felt utterly refreshed. The exhaustion that had accumulated over many days vanished, as did the gloomy mood left behind by carving his way through more than half of Europe.

Crack! Crack!

His joints popped.

In the dawn light, the muscular lines of his back were as sharply defined as if carved by a blade. Broad-backed and narrow-waisted, he raised his arms in a mountain-lifting pose. Countless muscle lines converged like eyes, while veins coiled like horned dragons. Under the sunlight, he was even more striking than a statue from Ancient Greece.

Hesitant footsteps sounded at the door. Raven Queen Triss's gaze froze. Her long, swan-like neck bobbed slightly, and a blush spread over her cheeks. Yet her voice remained calm as an ancient well. "Since you're up."

"Then let's begin the morning lesson."

"Today, I'll teach you to read and write Latin, as well as the knowledge of the Socratic School."

Inside the room.

The beauty curled up in the corner like a maggot, who had been secretly peeking out, suddenly shuddered all over. Like an ostrich, she shrank back inside, her delicate body even trembling faintly.

Duncan nodded, threw on his coat, and as he left the room, said to the female slave behind Raven Queen Triss, "Heat some water."

"Then bring it in."

He gestured for Raven Queen Triss to wait for him, then walked to a mountain stream and washed himself bare-chested. The mountain flood from last night had not caused much damage. Only a few mountain women were repairing fences and drying sheepskins. From afar, they saw the sheer masculine force radiating from him and could not help stopping to stare. His body, like a statue from Ancient Greece, made the village women gasp and cover their mouths.

The Blood of the Holy Grail had begun to take effect.

Or perhaps Duncan's physical abilities had risen sharply from all the killing along the way. Now, he could ride at full gallop with over a hundred jin of weight in one hand as though it were nothing, without even needing both hands to control the reins.

With his current physical condition, ordinary fierce horses probably could not support his full combat prowess. Only a famed steed like Red Hare could allow him to unleash all his potential. Many of his killing moves were beyond the limits of ordinary human strength. If Adrenaline Burst were activated, an ordinary warhorse might not even outrun him on foot.

Raven Queen Triss was already waiting in the hall.

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

His Human Form had been a farmer and a blacksmith's apprentice. He knew a few words, but had learned very little.

Although Duncan had memories from his previous life, he did not wish to waste Raven Queen Triss's goodwill. Naturally, he studied earnestly. Most of the abilities he had gained were combat techniques, and learning a little medieval philosophy now and then could also refine his temperament.

Around noon.

At last, under the attendance of the female slave, Anya shyly and awkwardly came downstairs. She looked weary and languid, yet her complexion was excellent. She shone with beauty, bright and captivating enough to rival Raven Queen Triss herself. But her gaze drifted uneasily, and fear filled her heart. The moment Raven Queen Triss swept her with a calm glance, her legs began to tremble instinctively.

Last night's storm had shattered the heroine's dream with three lashes from Raven Queen Triss, but Anya would not give up so easily!

"Eat."

Raven Queen Triss remained expressionless as she indicated that Duncan's Ancient Greek philosophy lesson was over for the day.

Anya felt as though she had been granted a pardon and even took the initiative to help the female slave bring over the food.

Severus was not in good spirits today. His gaze occasionally fell on Duncan's, and they exchanged awkward smiles. It felt as if his blood and qi were blocked, while his old abdominal wound throbbed faintly. He could only sit to the side and wait for the meal.

I'm wounded. Focus on eating. Eat seriously. Eat properly.

There was not much happening in the mountain folk's settlement. Kevito could not possibly lead people out to raid estates all the time, so by afternoon, some people were training in the open space. Their fighting style resembled the gladiators of Ancient Rome somewhat, rather than the methods of a regular legion.

This had to do with the Exiles' heritage. In their early years, they had relied on gladiatorial training. Coupled with the fact that they usually fought small-scale skirmishes, their methods were closer to those of wandering fighters.

On an actual battlefield, they would be better off simply hacking and slashing with sword and blade. Roman battle formations used shields primarily for defense and the Gladius primarily for attack—they could beat these people until they cried for their fathers and mothers.

During Spartacus's rebellion, there had been so many excellent gladiators. In one-on-one fights, they could casually crush Roman soldiers, but once battle formations were deployed, they were still beaten into total collapse.

The most typical example was the prototype for Assassin's Creed: the Assassins. Against Mongolia's iron cavalry, they were practically being slaughtered like weaklings, utterly unable to bring their individual strength into play.

Military combat techniques were actually simple and unadorned.

Duncan was quite interested. He glanced at Raven Queen Triss and asked, "Want me to teach you some fighting techniques?"

Raven Queen Triss readily agreed.

Although Duncan's strongest fighting power came with the enhancement of God's Eye View, even in his normal state, the abilities he had taken had become bodily instincts. Every movement and stance was something that could not possibly be mastered without more than a decade of hard training. What he taught Raven Queen Triss were merely basic combat techniques—nothing more than breaking down the most fundamental moves, such as chopping, slashing, thrusting, and lifting, for her to learn.

Raven Queen Triss learned extremely quickly. It seemed she had some foundation from the past.

Before long.

Quite a few mountain folk gathered around. They did not dare look too much at Raven Queen Triss, and most of their gazes fell on Duncan. Some even picked up wooden swords and followed along, practicing those basic forms.

To this day, Duncan did not know any profound combat forms. All his fighting ability lay in those most basic techniques.

"Pick a few people to train."

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

Kevito was quite excited. He looked around, saw that many were eager to try, and stepped forward first, then called over several of his close subordinates.

He thrust his sword.

Duncan casually shifted his footing, immediately causing Kevito's thrust to miss. With Duncan's current combat skill, it would take at least a true expert to force him to use Roll to evade.

Clang!

As Kevito swung his sword down, Duncan raised his own to block. The instant he parried, he surged forward with a shift of his feet, like a butterfly, appearing directly at Kevito's side. The wooden sword in his hand was already pressed against Kevito's neck, leaving even a faint red mark.

That was without force. Had he put his full strength into it, the wooden sword could likely have cut open Kevito's throat.

An uproar rose from all around.

Duncan's counterattack had been exceedingly simple: parry, shift, advance, blade sweeping across—the most basic rising sword form. Then Kevito was already a "dead man."

Their physical attributes, combat skills, and reaction speeds were not even on the same level.

"Again."

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

The six men were eager to make a move.

Soon, someone let out a loud roar, seemingly to bolster his courage, and swung at Duncan, his wooden sword sweeping toward Duncan's waist.

Clang.

The wooden shield blocked it. Duncan countered with a thrust, and one man clutched his abdomen and crouched down with a cry of pain. Another brought his sword down in a chop, but Duncan suddenly surged forward and swung his shield. With a bang, the man fell flat on his back, nearly passing out.

Chop, slash, thrust.

The shield blocked.

There were no flashy movements at all—only the most basic combat forms. Without using God's Eye View, Duncan knocked all six men to the ground, though Kevito's desperate final strike had still grazed his arm, leaving a shallow red mark.

Cheers erupted all around.

The watching Exiles cheered both for Duncan's extraordinary combat skill and for Kevito actually managing to injure Duncan.

"Sure enough, without God's Eye View, my abilities are just standard stat-sheet attributes."

Even with all these combat proficiencies, dealing with six people at once was already rather strenuous.

Of course, if he were clad head to toe in armor, the outcome would have been completely different.

Duncan reached out and pulled the fallen Kevito to his feet. In a deep voice, he said, "We'll be staying here for a few days. During that time, I'll train your combat skills."

"Gather all the young and able-bodied men in the mountain stronghold."

Kevito looked delighted, but when he heard that Duncan would be leaving, he could not help feeling disappointed.

It was not easy to find someone powerful to rely on in these chaotic times.

Duncan naturally had other plans for them, but those required extensive preparation. Moreover, without a fleet, he could not transport the Exiles to Britain Island. More people meant more mouths to feed, as well as all the other necessities of life. He still did not know what Britain Island was like, so he had to scout it out first.

Britain Island in the medieval era could absolutely accommodate tens of thousands of Exiles and allow them to recover and rebuild.

By the time all the fuss was over, it was already afternoon.

Duncan surveyed the mountain stronghold and, through God's Eye View, arranged for people to build defenses. In truth, this only meant making a few minor deployments at several strategic points, so they would have more time to react if they encountered battle.

Not everyone among the Exiles was a rebel.

Kevito sent people to nearby towns to gather information, then find a way to contact the merchant ships Anya had prepared.

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

Raven Queen Triss moved through every corner of the mountain stronghold. Her beauty was breathtaking, making people afraid to look directly at her. In merely one afternoon, after speaking with the Exile mountain folk, more than ten people had turned into green-marked units.

Some mountain women even tried to kneel and pay their respects whenever they saw her, addressing her as "Priest."

Ancient Roman rituals rarely involved kneeling. Aside from the Deities they worshipped, Romans more often made offerings to their ancestors. Behind the statues and shrines receiving offerings, ancestral tablets were often placed as well, allowing the ancestors to share in the rites.

Raven Queen Triss did not like being worshipped on bended knee.

However, barbarian rituals had a custom of kneeling, and it took some effort before those ignorant mountain folk finally stopped trying to kneel whenever they met her.

Many people here were believers in Polytheism.

Only followers of The Church generally began to gradually abandon ancestor worship and ancestral rites. Under beliefs truly shaped by traditional Roman culture, many households had small family temples, where they worshipped household Deities tied to specific beliefs, as well as the souls of their ancestors.

Back when followers of The Church were persecuted, one of the accusations against them was "refusing to make offerings to their ancestors," an act of grave disrespect in Ancient Rome.

To accommodate the religious policies of the Roman Empire at the time, the early Church had once incorporated many rites resembling traditional Roman sacrificial rituals into its ceremonies. Yet these customs were eventually denounced as Heretic by Church leaders.

There was a reason why Polytheism, with its chaotic system of beliefs, had been able to unite in persecuting Catholics.

The Exiles were all people who could barely go on living.

They did not care that much about faith. Whoever could keep them alive was whoever you wanted them to believe in.

Duncan's group stayed there for three days.

Finally, after getting in touch with the ship Anya had arranged, the five of them disguised themselves and headed for a nearby town's harbor. The Saxons were not only invading Britain; they were also invading Lesser Germania. The difference was that no one cared about Britain, while Lesser Germania had to contend with the Franks and the Imperial Border Guard.

At present, Lesser Germania had not yet fallen completely. At the very least, the Empire still had several military towns there.

Blue seas and clear skies.

On the eighteenth day since his transmigration, Duncan's group crossed more than half of Europe and finally boarded a ship bound for Britain Island.

The Province of Britannia had long been abandoned.

The Empire had withdrawn its last garrison legion decades ago, so Britain Island was effectively left unmanaged. It had become a chaotic war zone. The Saxons had carried out a migration and invasion lasting over a century, gradually squeezing the traditional Celts' living space until they were ultimately reduced to Wales and Scotland.

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

Together with the Knights of the Round Table, he drove back the Saxons invading Britain Island through twelve battles. However, after his death, the Saxons once again gained an overwhelming advantage.

Duncan now intended to investigate the situation in the British Isles.

A flock of seagulls flew overhead.

Raven Queen-Triss stood on the deck, gazing toward distant Britain Island with an inscrutable expression, lost in thoughts unknown. From time to time, her gaze shifted to Duncan—and once it landed on him, it never moved away again.

Anya, on the other hand, looked excited. She was, after all, merely a Roman noblewoman and had rarely even left the Italian Peninsula. Now, she curiously looked out at the land, seeming to find everything novel.

Two-Star Blank.

As the weakest Witch Duncan had encountered so far, Anya had tried several times to go to his side and link arms with him in a display of intimacy. But after Raven Queen-Triss swept her with a glance, she instinctively stayed obediently where she was.

"We'll reach Britain soon," Severus said in a low voice.

Druids originated from Celtic culture.

Now, on the European Continent, the Germanic Barbarians were rising, the Huns were closing in step by step, and the Celts were gradually weakening. After Gaul embraced Imperial culture and transformed, true Druids had become exceedingly rare.

He certainly wanted to preserve the Druid inheritance. If The Church had not insisted on wiping them out and judging people of the old era in the name of "Heretic," he would not have been forced to take such a desperate gamble.

"Britain..."

Duncan gazed at the distant land and murmured, "Has King Arthur been born yet?"

The breeze carried a faint scent of blood.

A sailor cried out, "Saxons! Saxon Pirates' warships!"

Since they had crossed the sea to invade Britain Island, the Saxons were naturally skilled sailors.