Elf Ranger - Duncan!

Time flew by.

Before he knew it, Duncan had been transported to the Medieval Era for nearly a month.

Anya had reached a partnership with Duke of Tintagel. She planned to rebuild her family business on Britain Island and was now preparing, under Severus's escort, to contact her fleet and bring over the Exiles she had taken in.

There would not be too many at first—just a Private Legion of a little over three hundred men.

The powerful backing Duke of Tintagel had imagined was actually the combined resources of two people. Anya did indeed have a fleet in North Africa, but her private armed forces had originally belonged to her late husband. After he died unexpectedly in battle, she had lost those forces as well, leaving her only able to hire a few mercenary guards at a high price.

That retired Imperial Guard had been utterly smitten with her because she was wealthy and beautiful, but Anya had no interest in him at all.

Of these two sources of support, one belonged to Anya—her wealth, her trade caravans, and her connections. The other belonged to Duncan. In a single battle, he had taken in several hundred Exiles, most of them young and able-bodied. With training and reorganization, they would become a private armed legion.

In the Empire, this many men could not stir up much trouble. They would probably be suppressed before they even gained momentum. But on Britain Island, once mixed together and reorganized, they could still field a force of nearly a thousand men.

Duke of Tintagel was an old fox as well.

He could not bear to divide up his own territory, so under the name of an alliance, he directly marked out a piece of land already occupied by the Saxons and gave it to Duncan and the others.

At the height of his power, his territory had expanded to the vicinity of Winchester. So with a grand wave of his hand, he gave them Southampton, which was occupied by the Saxons.

He might look utterly sincere in wanting to recruit Duncan, but when it came time to grant actual land, he would probably only hand over one or two small villages.

The fertile lands of Britain Island were all in the east, around London. He himself did not have much good land under his control, let alone any he was willing to give away.

It pained him more than cutting flesh from his body.

Talking about feelings was fine. Talking about land was not.

"That old fox wants us to reclaim his lost territory for him."

Anya gritted her teeth in anger. From Cornwall to Southampton, every place along the way had been conquered by the Saxons. If their group managed to retake the Port of Southampton, they would have essentially recovered nearly all the territory Duke of Tintagel had lost.

Duncan did not mind in the slightest. Instead, he said with a hint of delight, "It's fine."

"As long as we have a legitimate cause."

To Duncan, the most important thing was their status as allies and the legal right to claim a piece of land, even if it was still under Saxon control.

Lost territory?

No problem. They just had to find a way to take it back.

In Duncan's eyes, taking the Port of Southampton meant conquering less than one-fifth of a province's territory—the equivalent of capturing a few prefecture-level cities. He still had a chance to pull it off in one sweep. It was roughly like saying that if you captured more than half of HEN Province, nearly all of England would be under your control.

Southampton was an important port in England.

Geographically, it was the pointed area of the small island on the British map closest to Europe. It later became one of Britain's major ocean-going ports and naval bases, as well as one of the country's ten largest ports.

That island was called the Isle of Wight, which reminded Duncan of Leg of Wirt from a certain game.

Severus said in a deep voice, "Even if we take it?"

"How do we hold it?"

"Although the Kingdom of Kent is in internal turmoil right now, I doubt we can hold it with our strength alone."

According to news that arrived yesterday, the Kingdom of Kent seemed to have fallen into unrest. Both uncle and nephew wanted to sit on the throne.

Duncan rose calmly. "We don't need to hold it."

"And there's no need to rush to take it."

"We train the troops first."

He turned to glance at Raven Queen Triss and said solemnly, "The Exiles do not yet have sufficient combat strength. After we reorganize them, they will still need training and practical battle preparations."

"When the time is right, we'll push all the way to Southampton in one wave."

In his previous life, he had been an old Mount & Blade player.

It did not matter if you had no territory at the start. As long as you had money, food, and people, once you trained up an army, you could raise troops and seize land whenever you wanted. Not all Exiles were farmers, either. They had originally been warriors in the Gaulish tongue; they had only rebelled because they could no longer survive.

Where would the money and food come from?

At first, they would rely on Anya's resources. Later, they would sustain war through war—rob the bastards. The Saxons had plundered the Britons, so he would lead his troops to plunder the Saxons.

With the world in such chaos, who was afraid of whom? Everyone was risking their lives with their heads on the line.

Severus hesitated. "Are they really willing to follow us?"

Duncan said confidently, "Don't worry. I'm absolutely certain."

The Exiles were people who were nearly unable to survive.

Raven Queen Triss seemed to have guessed Duncan's plan. She rose in shock. "You mean to..."

Duncan looked at her and smiled faintly, then calmly spoke two words that carried immense weight.

"Distribute the land!"

What did he need so much land for? To become a great landowner of the Medieval Era?

Distribute the fields. Distribute the land.

Give them a true status that let them live like human beings—free citizens. Let them no longer be slaves or serfs, but live openly, with dignity and respect!

Land annexation and slavery had become extremely severe in the later years of the Empire.

If people still had a place to live, where would so many rebels come from?

The moment Duncan spoke those two words, everyone else fell silent. Everyone present understood the weight of "dividing up the land." Even the Gaulish warriors Severus had recruited looked at Duncan with blazing eyes after understanding his words.

Who nowadays did not want to be a free man with land, a house, and a wife? But the times would not allow it. Even those with martial strength might not possess a single plot of land of their own.

Anya could not help raising her head, a question forming in her heart.

If all the land was divided up...

What about you?

The great nobles of this era had built their fortunes on vast estates. More often than not, the lord was the largest landowner.

Duncan smiled but did not answer.

That was the limitation of the era. There was no need for him to say too much.

The candlelight flickered.

Looking at Duncan's resolute expression, Anya gritted her teeth and said, "Then I'll set out tomorrow and send people to summon the fleets from North Africa."

"I'll find a way to transport a batch of food and weapons here."

For now, the startup funds still had to come from Anya. Duncan had people under him, but the Exiles were a bunch of paupers too.

After pondering for a long while, Raven Queen—Triss suddenly said, "I have a way to recruit an elite force."

Hm?

Where would an elite force come from?

Seeing Duncan's puzzled gaze, Raven Queen—Triss said gravely, "The Temple Guards who once served the Roman Gods."

"There aren't many of them. Around twenty or thirty."

Something like the Ascetic Order?

Duncan's expression shifted, and he immediately said, "That couldn't be better."

By that calculation, with the recruited Exiles and some trained farmers mixed in, Duncan would have nearly five hundred men when he raised his forces.

The night deepened.

Anya was leaving tomorrow, so she had gone to rest early.

Duncan was considering the next step of his plan. When he saw Raven Queen—Triss standing before the window, gazing at the moon, he walked over and casually draped a coat over her shoulders.

A Witch's constitution was only a little stronger than an ordinary person's. Last time, Triss had shivered from the cold.

Duncan looked at Triss's beautiful profile beneath the moonlight, as flawless as white jade porcelain, and softly asked, "What are you thinking about?"

Raven Queen—Triss gently turned her head and leaned half against his shoulder of her own accord. "That prophecy from back then," she said faintly.

"You don't believe in prophecies, do you?"

Duncan slowly nodded. He truly did not believe much in such things.

Raven Queen—Triss turned to stare into his eyes. They were deep as an abyss, making the Witch's heart waver slightly. "The prophecy has changed again," she murmured.

Hm?

Duncan looked puzzled.

After hesitating for a moment, Raven Queen—Triss softly said, "That prophecy was the final guidance the gods gave me. There was a nation beyond the sea that could shelter us."

"But now, things are a little different."

Duncan hesitated. "What's different?"

Raven Queen—Triss raised her hand and gently caressed Duncan's sharply sculpted profile. There was no joy in her voice, only a trace of worry. "Diana has answered my prayers again."

Hm?!

Had the signals of the Ancient Roman and Ancient Greek Pantheons connected again?

But Raven Queen—Triss's next words made Duncan fall into thought. The Witch muttered, "But only when it concerns you does the goddess give me even the faintest response."

The last mortal to receive such attention from the Ancient Roman and Ancient Greek deities had been Renegade Julian.

The Emperor of the Empire who had supported the restoration of the Polytheist faction.

Raven Queen—Triss was truly worried about his safety. The Ancient Roman and Ancient Greek Pantheon faction had been destroyed for so long that she had already given up on it.

All she wanted was to find that overseas nation and seek out a place for everyone to live.

Renegade Julian had died under mysterious circumstances.

Despite the protection of so many Polytheist Priests, the Emperor of the Empire had suddenly died. At the time, some had even speculated that the javelin was the disguised holy relic, the Spear of Longinus.

After receiving the goddess's faint response, Raven Queen—Triss's first reaction had not been wild joy, but concern for Duncan's safety.

They had already lost.

Now, when the coffin lid had long since been nailed shut on the Ancient Roman and Ancient Greek Pantheons, they were suddenly paying such close attention to Duncan. How could Raven Queen—Triss not feel a trace of worry?

Duncan immediately understood what Triss meant.

He lowered his head to gaze at the Witch before him, whose face was as exquisitely beautiful as the bright moon. His burning gaze made her cheeks flush faintly, like a shy young girl. In the end, Duncan could not resist giving her a light kiss and said in a deep voice, "Let nature take its course. Don't worry too much about it."

Duncan was still carrying the "Odin's Gaze" status.

Too many debts were no burden.

At most, he would gain another Diana's Gaze or Artemis's Gaze.

Raven Queen Triss's words made him realize something: perhaps the Ancient Greek Pantheon and Ancient Roman Pantheon had not been completely destroyed. Their factions had fallen, and the surviving gods had been cut off from faith and worship in the real world.

As long as someone could restore their worship, they could pry open their coffin lids and restore their rule in the real world.

Of course, they still would not be a match for The Church.

The sleeping Diana might have placed her bet on Duncan, hoping he could help restore her faith and worship in the real world. That was why she had answered prayers related to him.

"Looks like the Ancient Roman and Ancient Greek Pantheon factions want to use my power to make a comeback?"

That was the conclusion Duncan reached after thinking it over.

He was like the next Renegade Julian, becoming the last hope of this fallen pantheon faction.

Whatever. As long as it was useful, he would use it.

Duncan still wore the Signet of Diana and carried the "Odin's Gaze" status. Unless some true god descended into the real world in person, he was not worried in the slightest.

Perhaps his confidence affected Triss before him. The Raven Queen could not help rising onto her toes to kiss him lightly, then said softly, "I'll visit Merlin tomorrow."

Duncan said in a deep voice, "Do you want me to escort you?"

Raven Queen Triss shook her head slightly. "No. After entering Britain Island, I've recovered quite a bit of my power."

"This land is different from other places. The power of the Mythological Era has not completely faded away."

Just like Severus had regained the Druid's supernatural abilities here?

Or was Avalon in the Mist located here?

Duncan had yet to unlock his mana bar, so he could not sense anything different.

It was time to find a way to unlock his mana bar.

Not having unlocked his mana bar only meant he had not killed enough! If he killed more enemies capable of casting spells, perhaps it would work!

He acted as soon as he decided.

The next day, Duncan headed straight for the area occupied by the Saxons. He brought plenty of equipment and rode a warhorse, preparing to farm a wave of kills in these war-torn regions.

Strictly speaking, after escorting Raven Queen Triss to Britain Island, he had completed the first stage of the mission.

Now, he needed to find a way to establish a foothold on Britain Island.

It was time to go on a solo rampage!

A lush, verdant forest.

Duncan emerged from the southwest, while his warhorse leisurely followed behind, grazing.

Under his God's Eye View, a small town lay several kilometers away. It was marked as Devon Town, and through the Strategic Map, he could clearly see several hundred hostile marked units.

"It should be a town occupied by the Saxons."

Duncan glanced at the sky and decided to act after nightfall.

The night deepened.

Under God's Eye View, Duncan adjusted the projected image. Night became as clear as day, and he quietly made his way over.

The population here was probably around two to three thousand.

Most were marked as neutral. Only the soldiers bore hostile markers, while ordinary Saxon civilians were also marked neutral, meaning they would not suddenly attack on sight.

A circle of wooden walls surrounded the town, more like fencing than proper fortifications. Watchtowers stood at the entrances on two sides, with patrolling guards stationed atop them.

—Saxon Militia Spearman.

Whoosh!

An arrow tore through the air.

Duncan quietly drew his bow and fired, striking the barbarian soldier in the watchpost directly in the head.

"About three or four meters high."

He estimated the height and distance, then began accelerating into a run. He suddenly leaped up, grabbed hold of the fence, and spun three hundred and sixty degrees. His powerful core strength allowed him to vault onto the wooden wall with astonishing agility.

He had learned this move from Witcher George. He had not expected that, with his current physical condition, he could pull it off too—though not as smoothly or skillfully.

"The hunt has begun!"

Duncan landed without a sound. He swept his gaze across the map, cleared the watchtowers, and headed straight for a spot near the camp.

The Farron Throwing Axe spun once in his palm.

Bang!

It split directly into a forehead.

Duncan rushed forward and dragged the corpse of an Anglo Axeman into the dark alley beside him.

On the map.

A cluster of densely packed markers crowded together, all uniformly labeled "British Prisoners and Slaves."

They were being held in a place resembling a livestock pen.

There were roughly twenty Saxon Barbarians nearby. Some had already gone to rest, while others were keeping watch.

Whoosh!

An arrow sliced through the air.

A barbarian soldier on watch clutched his throat and collapsed. The arrow had nearly pierced his windpipe, and blood gurgled out.

Rapid fire.

The commotion drew over three patrolling barbarian soldiers. Duncan did not hesitate, firing several arrows in quick succession. Only the sounds of bodies hitting the ground could be heard in the darkness; in the blink of an eye, they were all corpses.

Clang!

He drew his sword and rushed forward. The instant a nearby door opened, the Oathkeeper Sword flashed with cold light and severed a barbarian axeman's head on the spot.

Blood sprayed wildly.

The heavy stench of blood alarmed those in the livestock pen ahead, and pairs of terrified eyes looked over.

"Shh!"

Under the firelight, Duncan raised a finger.

Seventy or eighty people were crammed into the livestock pen. Yet not a single one dared make a sound, all of them looking as though they did not even dare breathe.

These British slaves wore only thin, tattered clothes, all of them shackled together.

Clang!

The Oathkeeper Sword cut through one man's shackles. His target marker read "British Legion Infantryman."

Duncan tossed him an axe and said in a low voice, "Find the keys."

"Unlock the shackles."

"Lead the others out through the west gate. I've already dealt with the sentry post there."

In an instant.

Inside this reeking livestock pen, more than half of the British slaves became units marked in green.

The British Legion infantryman trembled slightly as he gripped the battle axe, his voice hoarse. "Who are you?"

Duncan smiled and turned away. "Call me the Ranger."

"I'll set a fire to cover you and buy you time to escape."

"Don't hesitate!"

"Leave now."

Among the crowd, a fierce-looking man with several whip marks across his face stood up and said in a deep voice, "What about you? Aren't you coming with us? I can stay and help you!"

—Sarmatian Rider (Prisoner).

Duncan did not stop. "Don't worry. If I want to leave, no one can keep me."

"Follow the river into the forest, then flee toward Cornwall."

More than ten minutes later.

A fire suddenly erupted in the southwest of the village. Immediately afterward, a group of prisoners who had seized weapons led dozens of slaves charging toward the western gate.

Duncan stood on a rooftop, like a merciless hunter beneath the pitch-black night sky.

From a distance of one hundred and fifty meters.

With a forty-five-degree arcing shot, he killed on the spot a barbarian soldier who had spotted their group escaping.

Thud.

The British Legion infantryman, who had just been prepared to fight for his life, froze for a moment and looked back. But he could see nothing. The night was pitch-black, flames rose in the distance, and the entire village had descended into chaos.

He knew that the Ranger who had saved them was helping them again.

Who exactly was he?

How could he dare storm a town occupied by the Saxon Barbarians all by himself?

"Go!"

The rescued prisoners and slaves did not hesitate. They forced open the gate and plunged into the wilderness beneath the night, never looking back.

On a rooftop near the barracks.

Duncan moved as lightly as an elven ranger, sliding down from the roof along the eaves. Then he nocked an arrow and drew his bow, shooting dead a One-Star target marked "Saxon Elite Axeman" as it hurried out in panic.

The man had been startled awake from his sleep and had not even had time to put on his armor.

"It's chaotic now."

He had thrown the entire town into turmoil. Once he confirmed that the enemies had all poured out, he sprinted away, leaping up to grab the eaves. He then raced across the neighboring rooftops, jumped nearly six meters, landed across the street, and rushed straight toward the target behind the barracks marked "Priest."

Creak.

A heavy door opened, and the room exuded the mingled smell of blood and herbs.

Numerous mysterious symbols emerged in the firelight.

A great many tools for divination and sacrifice lay in the center, including bones inscribed with Runic Script, though what they represented was unknown.

—Durga (Priest unit).

The Saxon Barbarians' Priest pushed open the door and called out to the panicked servants. Just as he was about to say something, an arrow suddenly tore through the air and pierced straight through his throat.

Whoosh!

A second arrow came flying, embedding itself in his forehead.

"That should do it."

Duncan still had two arrows left unused. Blending into the chaotic crowd, he glanced back at the squads of barbarian soldiers urgently assembling, then left without looking back.

He wanted to see how many days these Saxon Barbarians could hold out. In any case, he would never linger in battle—he would retreat as soon as the enemy gathered, and retreat if he encountered anyone formidable. Those ramshackle wooden walls could not stop him at all.

No more, no less—sixteen heads.

Duncan was not greedy. After climbing over the fence once more, he made straight for his warhorse and plunged into the dense forest.

Meals had to be eaten one bite at a time.

Things had to be handled one at a time.

He would come again tomorrow!