Outrageous Rumors!

The wind whispered.

After Duncan shot the Germanic Barbarians' priest dead with a single arrow, he gradually began to feel something different. He seemed to faintly sense the stirrings of magic power.

Under God's Eye View, a small section of blue Mana Bar appeared in the projected image.

"So short?"

Compared to Duncan's Health Bar, which was more than twice that of an ordinary person, his newly unlocked Mana Bar was only a tiny sliver, easy to overlook without careful inspection.

"Does everyone have very little magic power? Or am I the only one with this tiny bit?"

After entering the forest, Duncan stopped to sense it for a while. With his eyes closed, he really could detect magic power flowing through his body. But the moment it came into contact with the outside world, that power seemed to become sluggish and inert, like a guttering candle in the wind that would go out the next second.

"Can I cast spells? No! It seems I don't even know any spells yet."

Duncan tried to mobilize the magic power inside him. An invisible breeze seemed to sweep past, lifting the fallen leaves a meter into the air. Then his Mana Bar was completely depleted.

That was far too weak!

If this was the spellcasting ability of an ordinary priest, then Witches really were dangerous supernatural beings. At the very least, they could still perform some passable tricks.

Duncan felt that it was not that he was inadequate. There had to be something wrong with this world.

Right.

It was all the world's fault!

"Runic Script Mastery (Occultism): Mystical knowledge originating from the Norse Pantheon. Unlike ordinary writing, the Runic Script mastered by priests possesses a certain supernatural power. You can now understand and master some simple Runic Script."

In Norse Mythology, the All-Father—Odin—hung himself from a tree for nine days and nine nights in pursuit of greater wisdom, contemplating the mysteries of the universe. When he descended from Yggdrasil, he grasped the secret of Runic Script.

Runic Script could be regarded as a type of spellcasting material—runes.

Raven Queen Triss had said that true magic required rituals, tools, external forces, and other such factors.

For priests of The Church, the most essential thing was devout faith. Yet most of them lacked spellcasting ability as well. Even the monks of the Ascetic Order had to rely on certain Holy Relics to cast true spells. In Duncan's view, this was probably the difference between priests and warlocks: a priest's power largely originated from faith in a Deity.

Eastern Sorcery was much the same. Part came from one's own magic power, while part was borrowed through rituals. Such as Taoist rituals that invoked deities at an altar.

As long as he had unlocked the Mana Bar, everything else would be easier from here on.

Duncan had originally possessed only an ordinary person's physique. Now, he was even tougher than a Barbarian Berserker.

He checked the Strategic Map in God's Eye View and was surprised to find that the freed slave captives had not gone far. Some had even stopped at the edge of the forest.

"We can't just leave like this."

The burly warrior with a fierce expression and a whip scar on his face said, "The ranger who saved us may not be out of danger yet. We have to stay here and cover his retreat."

A Sarmatian Rider.

After their own tribe and clan had been destroyed, they had become part of the Empire and served it for more than two hundred years.

These men were dutiful mercenaries, with a reputation far better than that of the barbarian Foreign Legion.

The British Legion infantryman hesitated. "He said he didn't need our help."

The Sarmatian Rider shook his head. "Then you go first. I'll stay behind alone. If the Saxons pursue him, I can still be of some help."

This man had guts!

The fleeing slave captives hesitated for a while, but four or five of them actually decided to stay with him.

A light breeze passed through the mountain forest, making quite a few people shiver from the cold.

By the time Duncan approached their position, most of the slave captives had already left. The British Legion infantryman had unexpectedly stayed as well. Gripping a short spear, he climbed up a tree and gazed at the distant firelight. "There's a fire."

"The Saxons are in chaos. They probably won't be able to stop that ranger."

At that moment.

A deep male voice sounded from the darkness. "Why haven't you left yet?"

The Sarmatian Rider vigilantly tightened his grip on his battle axe. Only after seeing Duncan's outline in the darkness did he let out a breath of relief, lowering his head respectfully. "We were afraid those barbarians might pursue you, my lord. We planned to stay and lend you a hand."

Duncan stepped out of the shadows and could not help giving him another look.

He had spirit!

He smiled and asked thoughtfully, "What are you planning to do next?"

The captives present exchanged glances. Before the British Legion infantryman could speak, the Sarmatian Rider said in a deep voice, "Revenge! Reclaim our homeland!"

"Whoever can lead us against the Saxons, we'll follow them!"

He had been thoroughly disappointed in Duke of Tintagel.

More than three thousand men had fought barely a thousand enemies, yet suffered such a crushing defeat that they had nearly been wiped out.

This defeat directly caused many people to side with King Uther.

No matter what, Great Dragon Lord—King Uther—could really fight. At least he could trade blows with the Saxons instead of losing battle after battle.

Duncan pondered for a moment. "I'm recruiting men to prepare for a counterattack on Southampton."

The Sarmatian Rider's eyes lit up at once. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee. "In the name of my ancestors' dragon banner, I, Clegane of Hamp, am willing to follow you, my lord!"

He ignored everyone else present and directly turned into a green-marked unit.

At once, the other captives present were somewhat at a loss. They did not know who Duncan was. Even if Duke of Tintagel was no good at warfare, they would still have preferred to seek refuge with King Uther.

Interesting.

Duncan looked down at Clegane, who was kneeling before him. There were five or six whip marks on the man's body, and bullet-hole scars on his bare chest. He looked like a battle-hardened rider.

Though he was clearly wounded, he remained as fierce as a vicious wolf.

The Sarmatians really were formidable!

As if recalling something, Duncan ignored the others' hesitation. With a ringing clang, he drew Oathkeeper from his waist. Beneath the bright moonlight, the Damascus steel blade inspired dread, its gleaming edge brimming with killing intent. Duncan laid the sword flat across the shoulder of the one-kneed Sarmatian Rider.

"Humility, mercy, courage, sacrifice, honor!"

Duncan spoke only five words. Then, his abyss-deep gaze fixed upon Clegane. That piercing stare filled the fierce rider with awe, yet he still bravely lifted his head and straightened his chest, his back ramrod-straight. His expression was excited, and he trembled slightly, as though he had realized something.

Duncan swept his gaze around, then raised a hand and slapped him across the face. The crisp smack carried far through the night. Solemn and dignified, he said in a deep voice, "I am Duncan, from Imperial Pannonia."

"Lord of Southampton."

"Ally of Duke of Tintagel! The leader who answered the alliance and came to aid the Britons against invading barbarians! The man who shot and killed the King of Kent at Tintagel!"

"In the name of God and the gods, I dub you a knight!"

In the shadowy woodland.

The other captives stood frozen in place. The British Legion infantryman in particular wore an expression of shock and bitter regret.

The flood of information was too much to take in at once.

He was a lord?

An ally Duke of Tintagel had found? Reinforcements who had come from the Empire in answer to a plea for aid? He had even shot and killed the King of Kent?

No wonder the barbarian soldiers in Devon Town had been so uneasy.

Before the others could react, Clegane had already risen excitedly and taken his place behind Duncan, like a guard knight protecting his lord.

Whether the others believed it or not, he did.

A badass who dared to enter a Saxon-occupied town alone had no reason to deceive them over something like this.

The British Legion infantryman hurriedly dropped to one knee. The other captives came to their senses as well and followed suit, kneeling on one knee and looking expectantly at Duncan.

But that was all.

Clegane had been the first to swear loyalty to Duncan, and he was exceptionally brave and fierce. That was why he had been dubbed a knight. To Duncan, the other captives were merely ordinary soldiers, not worth knighting. After all, knighting someone meant giving them a substantial piece of land.

Before Southampton had even been taken, he could not let his own lands become insufficient to distribute.

Duncan looked at the other captives and said calmly, "Since you are all willing to follow me, go with Clegane to Cornwall."

"My fleet will soon transport food and weapons from Carthage."

Then he looked at Clegane beside him, who stood with his head held high, and instructed him in a deep voice, "I have an Imperial Private Legion in Gaul, numbering around three hundred men. Some of them are temporarily recruited soldiers."

"Now that you have been dubbed a knight, reorganize and train them in my stead."

The Sarmatians were the legion instructors of Britain. In the Empire's military tradition, they trained cavalry and occasionally infantry as well.

Whenever a Dragon Banner appeared on the battlefield, there would surely be an elite cavalry unit nearby.

From now on, the cavalry could fly the Imperial dragon banner.

"Yes, my lord!" Clegane answered without hesitation, pounding his right fist against his chest.

Phew.

Only after Clegane left with the other captives, all wearing disappointed expressions, did Duncan have time to continue studying his pitifully short Mana Bar.

His Human Form had started out as a blacksmith's apprentice.

He had long imagined this scene. He just had not expected to use it here.

It counted as buying a fine horse to show one's appreciation of talent.

In this era, knighting someone came with real authority. It was not like the Middle Ages, where knights were everywhere—many with nothing but the title, including foot knights. A knight dubbed now had to be given land. It was roughly equivalent to a noble rank in the Qin and Han dynasties, directly tied to land. The holdings might not be large, but they were enough to make one a minor landowner.

Duncan did not intend to move too fast, either. His plan was to divide society into knights, freemen, and tenant farmers, reducing the influence of slavery as much as possible.

In the current age, abolishing slavery was simply impossible. It was enough to minimize the number of commoners exploited into slavery.

"Just as I thought."

"I'm no different from the people online in my previous life—I want to be emperor, but I don't want to spend every day buried in government affairs and managing the country."

"Put bluntly, I just want to be a carefree imperial prince with an emperor's authority who doesn't have to handle anything."

Now that Duncan had truly begun building his power base, he was instead grateful to have Triss, Anya, Severus, and the others at his side. If he had to do everything alone, he had no idea how many trivial matters would keep him busy.

He had brought two quivers of arrows with him on this trip, around one hundred and twenty in total. He had left them near a tree hollow in the mountains, and now he needed to go replenish his arrows.

Morning light spilled down.

The town called Devon was in chaos, with traces of a recent fire still visible in the distance.

Blood Axe Nidron's eyes were bloodshot with rage as he watched his soldiers carry out the corpses of their tribesmen one by one. At the very front lay the barbarian Priest, with one arrow through his throat and another through his forehead, killed on the spot. The other bodies were much the same, struck in vital areas by arrows. Two had been beheaded by Farron Throwing Axes, their skulls split open.

"That Imperial knight!"

Duncan had been far too conspicuous on the battlefield. Someone remembered that knight with peerless archery.

Bloodaxe Nidron said in a deep voice, "Is he alone?"

The Centurion beside him said, "Most likely."

"But he released some of the prisoners and slaves."

He came whenever he pleased and left whenever he pleased.

That man was like a monster—sneaking in unnoticed, killing a number of people, then immediately withdrawing, impossible to catch even a trace of.

Anything short of a high-walled fortress could not stop him.

Bloodaxe Nidron's expression turned incomparably grave. Looking at the terrified, wavering soldiers, he did not know what to do for a moment.

The man had come alone to kill his way to their doorstep!

All he could do was roar, "Strengthen the watch!"

"Double the patrols at the watchtowers!"

His instincts told him that man might come again tonight.

After only one night of killing, rumors had already spread through Devon Town. Whether among the Britons they had conquered and enslaved or the migrating Germanic Barbarians, people spoke of a nightmare-like phantom ranger who had slipped in soundlessly, slain many Saxon soldiers in a blaze of revenge, and then calmly departed beneath the cover of night.

With the King of Kent's sudden death not long ago, many factors combined to make the rumors grow ever more outlandish.

The Britons' version was even more absurd.

They said that ranger was an elf, which was why he could appear and disappear like a ghost. He was the Elf Prince of Britain Island, the son of Oberon, the Fairy King, and Titania. The Saxons' invasion and slaughter of the Britons had become so unbearable that even the legendary fairies and spirits could no longer stand by.

So they had sent this Elf Prince, transformed into a human, to help them resist the invasion of the Saxon Barbarians.

Of course, that absurd rumor had another version. It said the ranger came from Avalon in the Mist and was the descendant of some fairy from Avalon. Some even claimed he was descended from Queen Medb, the queen of ancient Irish legend, renowned for her valor in battle and her many lovers.

Amid the chaotic rumors, the Britons unanimously linked Duncan with figures from myth and legend.

Because they had suffered for too long.

The Germanic Barbarians had ravaged them for decades. With such an incredible figure suddenly emerging, it was hard for them not to associate him with the myths of Britain Island.

Of all the rumors, the most popular and widely accepted was that Duncan came from Avalon and was the prince of Oberon, the Fairy King—a fusion of two equally ridiculous tales.

As for Duncan actually being from the Empire?

That did not matter.

Britain Island had an even more ridiculous rumor: that Oberon, the Fairy King, was actually the son of Gaius Julius Caesar, the Empire's leader. When Caesar conquered Britain Island, he supposedly encountered a goddess from the Mythological Era in the wilderness. This goddess, worshipped by the natives, made Caesar fall in love at first sight, and thus gave birth to the legendary Fairy King, Oberon.

Official history might not be true, but unofficial history was always wild enough!

Caesar had always been a romantic figure. Had he not been seduced by Cleopatra when he conquered Egypt? So why could the fairies of Britain Island not have captured his heart?

Naturally, the Empire did not recognize this rumor, because Caesar's legitimate heir was Octavian.

What the hell was Oberon, the Fairy King?

Night fell.

Duncan found a large tree to lean against and pretended to doze. Only after the night had deepened did he leave the woods.

He still did not know about the ridiculous rumors surrounding him. He merely intended to harass the enemy, pick up a few more heads along the way, and further improve his basic combat skills. With his current physical abilities, he had little to fear fighting guerrilla battles alone unless he encountered some legendary figure. As long as he did not get greedy and avoided the enemy's main force, escaping would be easy enough.

Duncan would probably still have some trouble fighting a Mammoth War Elephant one-on-one. He was roughly only at sixty percent of an Elf Prince's strength.

After all, the combat skills and agile movements displayed by the Elf Prince in some scenes were beyond human, even more exaggerated than a three-star Witcher's.

"I wonder how strong those legendary monsters are."

"Beowulf probably had to risk his life against giants too, right? I still need to level up some more!"

Duncan was not intimidated by ordinary people, but anything related to giants made him somewhat wary.

The Trolls of the medieval era were not the kind from the games of his previous life. They were mythical monsters with a certain blood relation to giants.

Strictly speaking, they should have been translated as "giant monsters."

Cave Giants, Ogres, Trolls, Thor Giants, and so on all referred to the same type of creature.

They were the prototype for the Trolls in Dungeons & Dragons. They were difficult to kill, and their legendary image closely resembled the special-unit Ogres from Heroes of Might and Magic.

Even in Dungeons & Dragons, such creatures had a challenge rating of at least 8, making them harder to deal with than many adolescent dragons. (Comparable to Cave Trolls.)

If Duncan truly had to fight one, he would probably need Raven Queen Triss to lend a hand.

Besides, Beowulf had not fought alone in the legends. He had brought an entire squad of elite soldiers with him.

A dark and windy night was perfect for killing.

Duncan looked at the patrol guards in Devon Town, whose numbers had more than doubled, and did not panic in the slightest. He quietly waited for midnight, when the enemy would begin to grow weary.

As long as the enemy did not retreat, he would keep harvesting heads.

He could always withdraw to the Cornwall region anyway.

But tonight was somewhat different. When Duncan began killing at midnight, an invisible figure suddenly appeared in midair.

--Valkyrie.

This was Duncan's first time seeing her somewhere other than a battlefield. The Silver-Winged Valkyrie floated silently above the town, as though waiting for Duncan to help boost Valhalla's numbers.

"No."

"Has my reputation really reached Valhalla? Even Valkyries are specifically waiting here for me?"

Duncan was astonished, but his hands never stopped moving. One arrow killed a patrolling soldier, then the Farron Throwing Axe smashed the next enemy's head. He leaped down, Oathkeeper flashing with cold light as it cleanly beheaded a Saxon infantry axeman.

Under God's Eye View, the Valkyrie's phantom circled directly above him.

As soon as Duncan left, the Valkyrie flew down and took away a Barbarian Warrior's soul. Ever since meeting Duncan, Valhalla's numbers had been soaring.