Spreading Renown! Legendary Points Ferment!

Along the coastline.

Kevito stepped onto the soil of Britain Island with an excited expression and saluted Duncan. "My lord, the first batch of two hundred men has all arrived."

He was now wearing the scale armor of the Roman Field Army, an iron helmet on his head, a large shield in hand, a gladius at his waist, and javelins on his back. He looked much sturdier than when they had last met. There was even an extra layer of fat around his belly. He must have been eating and drinking well lately, while keeping up with his training. His physical condition had recovered to its former state.

The first batch of recruited private soldiers all looked to be in good health, no longer as sallow and gaunt as they had been at the start.

Duncan nodded and patted him on the shoulder. "Very good."

"Come with me."

With that, he headed toward Clegane. At the sight of that Sarmatian Knight, Kevito's heart skipped a beat. The Sarmatians held an indispensable position in the Imperial army. They were outstanding mercenaries and a cavalry force the army could not do without.

Rome's cavalry had always been a weak point in its early days. Only after absorbing the Sarmatians did its cavalry forces grow powerful.

Duncan looked at Clegane and said in a low voice, "This is Kevito, commander of the private legion. You will assist him in training this force from now on."

Hearing Duncan's words, Kevito could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. He had thought his position was being taken from him again.

Clegane nodded solemnly. "Yes, my lord."

He came from elite cavalry stock. Though he was also skilled in fighting on foot, he could not be used to command infantry. He was merely helping with their training for the time being. The Sarmatians were best used to form cavalry units.

—Exile Private Legion (High Morale) (A New Beginning) (Trained) (Poor Discipline)!

Under God's Eye View.

This reorganized legion carried several labels. Training roughly had three grades: untrained (rabble), trained, and well-trained. Discipline likewise had three grades: undisciplined, poor discipline, and strict discipline. Above those were elite units, though they were not considered regular troop types. Their counterparts were Spartan Heavy Infantry, Roman Praetorian Guard, Imperial Eagle Legion, and so on.

Generally, units with high training levels did not have particularly poor discipline.

Barbarian Berserkers were the exception.

This mixed legion had over two hundred men, along with the traditional Celtic warriors recruited by Severus.

The burly guard following behind Duncan was one of the Celts who had migrated from Gaul.

—Gaulish Vow Warrior (Two-Star)!

This was the only Two-Star unit recruited by Severus. His name was Cú Chulainn. Geis was something that often appeared in Celtic Mythology, translated as a strange taboo, prohibition, or vow. It carried considerable weight in Celtic Mythology, yet was also its most secretive aspect.

There was a weapon called the "Sword of Promised Victory." Cú Chulainn was a Celtic warrior who had made a vow.

When the early Empire conquered Gaul, it was these Gaulish Vow Warriors who inflicted considerable losses on the Empire's heavy legions. They were top-tier infantry units with certain special abilities.

Duncan turned to Kevito beside him and ordered, "If I remember correctly, there are still more than thirty men among the Exiles who were originally Gaulish warriors, right?"

"Hand them over to Cú Chulainn. He will reorganize them into an assault infantry unit."

The Exiles were an extremely mixed lot.

People of different ethnicities had been thrown together, their shared identity being "bankrupts." Most could be reorganized into an Imperial private legion, but a small number who possessed barbarian heritage could be mixed into special units.

Duncan remained busy until noon before settling these men near a village by the coast.

In the afternoon.

The rider named Gil arrived with a group of men. They brought some supplies, scraped out from between Duke of Tintagel's teeth. He was also recruiting native warriors, planning to launch a counterattack and reclaim part of the lost territory.

Britain Island did not actually lack food. Its population was small, only two to three million at its peak, and likely just over one million now. After the Empire abandoned the province, many Romans had migrated away, and the Saxon Pirates' invasion had killed many more.

Britain Island was now sparsely populated and vast. Surrounded by sea on all sides, its fishing industry was also decent, so there was no need to worry about starving to death. It was merely short on other supplies, especially iron weapons and armor. For that, they would have to wait for Anya's caravan.

Gil dismounted and hurried over. His gaze toward Duncan was full of reverence as he lowered his head. "Lord Duncan, the Duke has recruited over a thousand men again and is preparing to retake the Devonshire region."

"He sent me to bring supplies as a reward for the legion."

Though Duncan had brought only a little over two hundred men, he already counted as a minor warlord in present-day Britannia. In the early days, Britain Island had more than a dozen kingdoms of varying sizes. In truth, they were merely chieftains of native tribes. Even if they dragged out everything they had, they would likely only muster one or two thousand men, most of them trained no better than militia.

Duke of Tintagel had suffered a defeat and urgently needed to restore his prestige. Taking advantage of the civil unrest in the Kingdom of Kent, he wanted to reclaim some of the lost land. Cornwall was rather poor, much like Wales—both were remote, impoverished mountain regions.

If Duncan had not shot and killed the King of Kent earlier, he would likely have suffered a crushing defeat already.

"Counterattacking so soon?"

Duncan's expression darkened as he said in a deep voice, "That's too hasty. How much fighting strength can those temporarily recruited native soldiers have?"

The natives referred to Celts who had not been fully Romanized. The natives around London had already been Romanized.

Gil lowered his head. "Scout riders discovered that the Saxon garrison in Devonshire is withdrawing."

"Reclaiming that land should not require much fighting."

The farther east one went on Britain Island, the more mountains and forests there were. Cornwall was a mountainous region, but farther west lay mostly plains. In the early days, the Empire built paved roads throughout the Province of Britannia, established more than a dozen tribe-level administrative districts and over thirty towns, all to facilitate urban administration and troop movements.

One tribe was roughly one small kingdom, with territory about the size of a county.

After taking Devonshire, advancing further toward London would mean facing large-scale legion battles, and it would also be easier for the Saxon Barbarians to mobilize their forces.

However, the plains would be harder to defend after being taken.

The finest land on all of Britain Island lay around London and the River Thames. The Empire had developed that region for centuries, and all the major towns were concentrated there. There was even a university in London, though not the kind we understand today. It was an adult school built by the Empire, serving only the nobility and intended to facilitate the Assimilation of Britain Island's native ruling class.

First assimilate the nobles, then have the nobles lead the assimilation of the commoners.

"Could it be because I killed so many of them that they're withdrawing across the board?"

Duncan felt that was a possibility.

After all, the barbarians did not have many troops either. Abandoning some remote areas would make defense easier.

If Duncan kept killing a dozen or so men every day, their garrison's morale would collapse on its own before long.

The enemy only had a few thousand proper soldiers. Including militia and auxiliary troops, they probably numbered just over ten thousand.

If Duke of Tintagel wanted to retake Devonshire, he could go ahead. Duncan was not prepared to act for the time being; the Exiles he had recruited had yet to be fully organized. He needed at least four or five hundred men before he could fight a pitched battle.

The Exiles were stationed in an abandoned village called Thiram.

Duncan had Kevito and Clegane help train the troops, while he himself prepared to recruit more men from among the Britons and expand the force into three hundred-man companies.

Soldiers were valued for quality, not quantity.

With his current means, he could not afford to support too many men.

Night fell.

A sudden burst of hoofbeats sounded outside the garrison camp. Then Kevito hurried in, his expression delighted. "My lord."

"Someone outside wishes to see you."

Hm?

Duncan rose to his feet, with the Gallic guards following close behind. Several riders had arrived outside the camp. The leader's skin had a bluish tint, as though it had been smeared with some sort of dye, resembling terrifying totemic tattoos.

—Hornland Noble Rider (One-Star).

—British Hunter.

—Cantiaci Auxiliary Infantry.

Cantiaci meant Hornland, referring mainly to the native Britons living around the Kent Region. They later spread to other places. They were the unluckiest branch of the Britons, because the Kingdom of Kent had been established right on their ancestral homeland.

This group was small, only twenty-seven men: six cavalrymen and twenty-one infantrymen. Their equipment was crude, and some were dressed in rags, scarcely different from savages. Only half of them wore leather armor.

The noble rider at their head wore chainmail. His eyes settled on Duncan, seemingly surprised by his appearance, and he could not help scrutinizing him closely by firelight.

The rumors about Duncan had been growing increasingly exaggerated lately. He was practically being celebrated as a legendary hero.

"You're Duncan, the one who shot and killed the King of Kent?"

The noble rider looked somewhat arrogant, and he seemed a little unconvinced. Duncan's build did not look as exaggerated as the rumors claimed; Cú Chulainn and Clegane standing beside him looked more like the warriors of native legend.

Put simply, they were broad-shouldered, thick-waisted, powerfully built, and ferocious in bearing, like savage beasts.

Such men better fit the natives' image of heroes.

—Intimidation (Special Ability)!

In the firelight, Duncan narrowed his eyes slightly. His gaze was abyssal and profound as an oppressive killing intent emerged. An invisible chill seemed to sweep through the surroundings, making the blazing campfire flicker unsteadily.

The noble rider's warhorse was startled, and he too was overwhelmed by Duncan's bearing, tumbling from the saddle in panic.

In that instant, he seemed to hallucinate, seeing heads rolling through the darkness and blood flowing like a river.

When he looked up again, his expression was already somewhat flustered, but he still stiffened his neck and said, "My lord is not quite as the rumors described."

Duncan laughed when he heard that and asked, "What did the rumors say I was like?"

The noble rider hesitated. "The rumors say that my lord is mighty and imposing, like a Giant. That you can subdue a fierce horse barehanded, wrestle tigers and leopards to death, possess unfathomable archery skills, and eat an entire cow in one meal."

Had the rumors really become this absurd?

Duncan smiled. "Why have you come?"

The noble rider looked hesitant. Gritting his teeth, he said, "We heard of my lord's legend and came to pledge ourselves to you, to resist the invading Saxon Barbarians together."

"However..."

"The rumors were too exaggerated. I still wanted to see for myself, otherwise I would have no way to convince my men."

He continued, "We have over three hundred men as well."

"They are staying in the River Valley for now."

So he was an exiled minor lord. No wonder he had a touch of arrogance; he actually wanted to test Duncan's strength.

Just as Duncan was about to rise, Cú Chulainn stepped forward. The barbarian warrior, his chest marked with a tattooed totem, dropped to one knee and said, "My lord, leave it to me."

When the other Celtic warriors saw Cú Chulainn step out, their expressions could not help but fall, and they withdrew again.

News that Clegane had been granted a knighthood had long since spread throughout the camp.

Naturally, the others were eager as well. Although Duncan had yet to reclaim his territory, the title of knight had already set Clegane apart from the rest. Kevito, in particular, was consumed with envy and resentment. If he had known, he would have come to Britain Island with them.

I was here first!

Though the Celtic warriors led by Cú Chulainn were fewer in number, they had ambitions of their own. They were natives, and they yearned even more to win glory upon this land.

Clegane was now waiting to form a small cavalry unit, then return to his homeland with his men and find a way to recruit more Sarmatian Riders who had integrated with the natives. He had fellow townsmen too, companions he had grown up with. Recruiting a few attendant riders in the name of a knight would be no problem at all.

Returning home without glory was like walking through the night in splendid clothes.

First establish himself through military merit, then return home to show off, while bringing a few men back to bolster his personal guard.

A seamless plan, and it would also strengthen his own faction.

Outside the camp.

Duncan glanced at him and gave a slight nod.

Cú Chulainn looked excited. Without even drawing his weapon, he waved the scabbard at his opponent in challenge.

This was far too humiliating!

The Hornland Noble Rider was furious. Drawing his sword and raising his shield, he charged at Cú Chulainn's burly figure. He did have some skill—his stance showed that he had trained since childhood—but most of it was in horsemanship. His fighting on foot was only average.

Clang!

Crash!

In a one-on-one fight, the strength of a Two-Star Powerhouse was fully revealed. Cú Chulainn caught the noble rider's one-handed sword with his scabbard, then slammed into him bodily and effortlessly sent him sprawling. Before he could even raise his shield, he was thrown flat on his back. The moment he lifted his head with an unwilling expression, the scabbard was already pressed to his throat.

This man had an unstable stance. He might have been stronger on horseback.

"With skills like that, you dared challenge Lord Duncan?" Cú Chulainn's expression carried a trace of disdain.

He was a traditional Gaulish Vow Warrior, an Elite Heavy Infantryman of the first tier. He could trade blows with Imperial Elite Praetorian Guards, and in the era before Christ, he would have dared charge head-on into a Spartan Heavy Infantry phalanx. Moreover, he was one of the few top-tier Gaulish infantry types capable of cutting through a Spartan formation.

Honestly, a Hornland Noble Rider was simply no match for him. Even if one charged straight at him on horseback, he was capable of killing the rider in return.

Severus had not recruited many people, but their overall strength was formidable.

Of course, the true elite troops had yet to arrive. The old Polytheist Temple Guards recruited by Raven Queen—Triss were the real main event.

Duncan stepped forward and took the ashamed and furious Hornland rider's hand, pulling him to his feet.

He glanced at Cú Chulainn beside him. Cú Chulainn immediately withdrew respectfully, all his earlier arrogance and disdain gone, and returned to the ranks of the Celtic warriors.

This guy was quite the actor.

Duncan patted the Hornland rider on the shoulder. "What is your name?"

The rider answered respectfully, "Talon Surrey."

After pondering for a moment, Duncan said, "Bring the people from River Valley over here. Reorganize them and train them anew. Before long, my fleet will transport more food and weapons from North Africa."

He still had to rely on Anya to get started.

Rich women really were the best.

Only a third of Talon's troops actually had combat capability. The rest were at militia level and could only be mixed into the Auxiliary Legion. After Duncan reorganized his forces, fewer than three hundred could truly be considered regular infantry. Another two hundred or so were auxiliary soldiers, incapable of fighting hard battles.

Everything that had happened today seemed like a sign. When another dozen or so people arrived on the third day, Duncan finally realized something was off.

"Is my reputation really that impressive?"

"Why did several hundred people suddenly come to join me? There are even Welsh Archers?"

The morning of the third day was even more extraordinary.

Most of those who had come in the previous days were displaced people who had lost their land and seen their homes ravaged and occupied by Saxon Pirates. They were mainly exiled Cantiaci, Brigantes, Venta, and others—native tribes and branches of the Britons. After their defeat, they had been forced to flee into the mountains, all longing to reclaim their homeland.

But when Duncan saw more than a dozen One-Star "Welsh Archers" that day, he finally realized the immense effect Legendary Points had on him.

Wales had not been occupied by the barbarians. They had come purely because of Duncan's reputation!

That was King Uther's territory.

The captain of the Welsh Archers looked equally bewildered. Facing Duncan's question, he answered honestly, "I don't know either..."

"The Druid Priest said that if we wanted to fight the Saxon Barbarians invading us, we should come here and join Lord Duncan!"

"So we came together."

What they mainly wanted was to earn merit and make something of themselves. Life was hard for mountain folk, and they too wanted to rise through military accomplishments.

A Druid?

Avalon in the Mist?!

Duncan immediately thought of the fairies who guarded Avalon. During this time, he had also heard some outrageous rumors about himself, many of which seemed somehow connected to Avalon. Because of this, natives who still maintained their traditional faith had flocked to join him, swelling the legion's numbers to nearly six hundred.

The Legendary Points Duncan possessed seemed to do more than enhance Dimensional Space. The influence they brought in the real world was also gradually revealing itself.

In barely half a month, his name had spread throughout all of Britain.

Was Avalon helping me?

Duncan incorporated these Welsh Archers and organized them into a ranged unit of nearly a hundred men. They had brought all their own supplies, including rations, weapons, leather armor, and arrows.

British Hunters were considered second- or third-tier archer troops. After reorganization, they became "British Auxiliary Archers."

Of the more than three hundred people Talon, the Hornland knight, had brought, most were farmers, herders, and militiamen. They were directly mixed into two companies of a hundred men each and, after reorganization, became "British Coastal Militia."

"Logistics are getting a little tight."

When Kevito arrived carrying the account books, Duncan realized that with so many mouths to feed and horses to provide for, his reserves were nearly unable to hold out.

Anya, where are you?

I miss you so much!

Six hundred people might not sound like much, but supporting them was still difficult. Daily food, upkeep, and training alone cost roughly a hundred gold coins per month. That was without paying military wages. If the troops were maintained according to Imperial Legion standards, the expense would multiply several times over. An Imperial Field Army company of one hundred men cost nearly a thousand gold coins a year to maintain.

The Imperial Field Army was known for its exorbitant military expenses, far exceeding those of other factions' forces.

Of course, those were all regular troops, the main combat forces. The Imperial Auxiliary Legion simply did not cost that much. Imperial troops were paid roughly once a quarter, and a standard field army unit cost around three hundred and fifty gold coins to maintain. Spread out, it was not actually that much—if anything, their lives were somewhat tight, and they had to rely on spoils and rewards to get by.

Barbarian troops received only half the Imperial pay, but they had loot from raiding and land allotments.

Duncan's recruits did not need to be paid for the time being, but their daily upkeep was unavoidable. Feeding five or six hundred grown men every day was no small expense. Given Duncan's nature, he could not possibly make them live on bran and gruel. At the very least, they needed one meat meal a day—even if it emptied his coffers, he had to provide it.

With so many mouths to feed, nearby British residents had even been drawn over, forming a small market outside the camp. Fishermen also brought in their catches to earn some household money.

Duncan also had to prepare weapons and equipment for them. After all the miscellaneous expenses, his purse was nearly drained, yet many still had no armor and could only use crude shields.

The bag of gold Anya had left behind was gradually spent clean.

"We can't wait any longer!"

"We'll train through real combat."

Once Duncan realized his purse was nearly empty, he did not hesitate to decide on a proactive strike.

Send out the scout cavalry to gather intelligence!

Clegane and Talon each led a squad of scout cavalry, twelve men in total. That was all the cavalry Duncan had. He would probably have to build up his stock of warhorses by taking them from others—he truly could not afford to buy them.

Those Indigenous Chieftains and lords all had their own mounted guards, while Duncan had only a squad of Celtic warriors who fought on foot. Compared to them, his resources were still far poorer.

Duke of Tintagel had already retaken most of Devonshire, even capturing Exeter.

His forces were now locked in a standoff with the enemy near Dorset.

To put it plainly, Duke of Tintagel had been advancing triumphantly, reclaiming the territory of an entire county. He was now probing the Saxon Pirates in the neighboring county, with both sides looking for an opportunity to wipe the other out in one stroke.

A day quickly passed.

Just as Duncan was preparing to make a move—

"A fleet!"

"A fleet is coming!"

Cheers erupted from the direction of the coast. Duncan immediately rose to his feet and hurried toward the shore.

Anya's fleet!

Dear Witch Anya had finally returned.

There was no proper harbor nearby, so docking took a little time. Anya's fleet consisted of six cargo ships and three small boats, all with relatively shallow drafts, mainly used for trade across the Mediterranean Sea. The coast around Britain was still controlled by the Saxon Pirates, so the journey here had been somewhat dangerous, but fortunately they encountered no trouble.

Anya stood on the deck in a luxurious Roman noblewoman's court gown, looking like a proud peacock!

The Church had grown increasingly influential in recent years, and traditional Roman clothing had changed as well. Anya had brought out the attire of noblewomen from the Empire's earlier days. It resembled the aristocratic gowns from Spartacus, slightly revealing and making her look breathtakingly beautiful and graceful.

After The Church was established as the state religion, Imperial fashion changed. The arenas were shut down, the Olympic Games were halted, and social customs gradually became more conservative.

Everyone used small boats to ferry the cargo from the ships ashore. There were military supplies such as shields, javelins, and Gladii, as well as provisions like grain, cloth, and dried meat. The cargo ships had been packed to the brim.

Anya stepped onto the shore, lifted her chin proudly, and gave Duncan a seductive smile. "I sold off all my holdings in North Africa at a low price."

"From now on, I can only rely on you."

"This is the first batch of supplies. It will probably take some time before the estates and land in Rome can be sold."

She had truly emptied out her entire fortune.

Though Anya had all the bad habits of an aristocrat, she also possessed decisiveness and courage far beyond that of most men.

These supplies relieved Duncan's urgent needs. The only slight regret was the lack of armor. Even Anya had no way of obtaining the standard armor and protective gear of the Imperial Field Army.

However, one of the ships carried leather armor, enough to equip quite a few men at a pinch.

Duncan said nothing. He merely clasped Anya's hand tightly, their fingers interlocked, then raised her hand high for the others to see. Before long, waves of cheers rang out.

Amid the cheers, Anya's beautiful face flushed slightly with excitement. She seemed to greatly enjoy being the center of everyone's attention.

"I brought you some people too."

On the way back to camp, Anya leaned close to Duncan's ear and whispered, "They used to be Imperial camp followers."

"You can sell any unwanted loot to them."

—Camp followers.

—Imperial hired guards.

Duncan had already noticed them, because their guards were dressed like Imperial private mercenaries, and some carried hand crossbows.

The Empire had risen through war.

As early as before the Common Era, whenever Imperial legions marched out, large numbers of camp followers would trail behind them. They could purchase spoils at discounted prices and transport supplies the legions needed from elsewhere, replacing many of the duties normally performed by civilian laborers.

Naturally, all of it was for profit.

Being a camp follower was an enormously profitable trade, though it meant risking one's life for money. The spoils they purchased could earn more than double their cost when transported elsewhere, while the loot converted into cash was usually distributed throughout the legion according to military merit.

Everyone benefited. So long as the legion's commanders did not embezzle, once the spoils were distributed, the soldiers of a victorious legion would all have bulging purses.

Rome often gained enormous profits from its foreign wars. The war against Carthage brought immense reparations and secured its dominance over the Mediterranean Sea. In the war against Macedonia, reparations alone reached as high as 120 million, followed by massive annual tribute—roughly equivalent to three years of national tax revenue at the time.

From before the Common Era until now, camp followers had gradually developed in this way. They even helped handle the spoils after the barbarian Huns raided the Empire.

As long as there was money to be made, they dared to do anything!

Inside the camp.

With Anya's return, the trade association clerks she brought immediately took over the army's logistical work. Few Britons could read or do arithmetic, but Romans generally had a higher level of education. Anya's trade association maintained trade routes between Carthage in North Africa and Alexandria in Egypt, so managing logistics for five or six hundred people was no problem at all.

Before leaving the tent, Anya's little finger suddenly curled around Duncan's palm. A subtle expression of asking for a reward appeared on her beautiful face.

After all the rushing about, hardship, wind, and sun lately, Anya was starving.

The Raven Queen, Triss, turned a blind eye. She merely watched Anya sway away with a full-moon curve to her waist and hips, her gaze distant and unreadable.

Her meeting with Merlin had not gone very smoothly.

Or, to put it more bluntly, Merlin was a centrist who leaned toward The Church. He did not want to get involved in this troublesome matter, nor was he obligated to lend her a hand.

When Duncan saw that the Raven Queen, Triss, did not mention Merlin at all after returning, he knew the trip had not gone well. Whether Merlin helped or not did not matter to him; the man had never been part of Duncan's plans to begin with.

In such a chaotic age, one could only rely on oneself!