Crushing the Rotten and Rotting! Breaking Through the Enemy's Thousand-Man Army!

Chapter 39: Crushing the Enemy! Breaking a Thousand Troops!

Though Horsa was dead, the battle did not end immediately.

He still had several elite units under his command. Even with their chieftain slain, they continued fighting desperately, even trying to organize a retreat.

At a time like this, the difference between elite troops and ordinary units became glaringly obvious!

Those second- and third-rate Saxon Spear and Shield Infantry, Saxon Pirates, Saxon Light Infantry, and the like suffered an almost instant collapse in morale, fleeing the battlefield in a chaotic swarm. Meanwhile, the Saxon Chieftain Warband, which had been locked in a bloody melee beneath the city gate, actually managed to gather quite a few men. One group stayed behind to cover the retreat while the others slowly withdrew.

They even gathered their remaining cavalry and snatched Horsa's headless corpse back!

True warriors.

They still remembered to retrieve their commander's body at a time like this. They were a group of men utterly fearless of death, forcing even Duncan, fresh from a fierce battle, to lead the General's Guard away rather than clash with them head-on.

Duncan let them have their way.

He had the General's Guard withdraw from the battlefield to rest while he himself rode alone, switching horses as he galloped. With Noden's Bow in hand, he shot down five or six elite Chieftain Guard members in succession. After suffering more than ten elite casualties, the enemy finally managed to hoist Horsa's headless corpse onto a horse, then fled in panic with their chieftain's body.

They wanted Horsa's corpse?

They had to trade their lives for it!

Duncan's objective had been clear from the beginning, and the fact that these Chieftain Warband soldiers and Chieftain Guard members truly dared to pay with their lives made him regard them more highly.

The enemy had already broken on a massive scale.

Nearly all their units had raised white flags, with special negative statuses such as "terror," "ghosts and gods," and "encountered a powerful enemy" appearing over their troop markers.

But one enemy unit was still fighting on.

—Saxon Elite Axemen!

It was unclear whether this unit had finished its battle cry and entered a berserk state. Despite suffering nearly thirty percent casualties, they still fought desperately, inflicting considerable losses on Kevito's British Legion.

Duncan rode over.

He drew Noden's Bow into a full moon, and an arrow tore through the air, striking the most conspicuous enemy unit directly.

—Decapitator Isolde (Two-Star Silver-Gray) (Blood of the Giant) (Gladiator Champion) [Thor Warrior]!

Blood of the Giant?!

This was the second enemy Duncan had encountered who seemed to possess the power of a special bloodline. The previous one had been the Ascetic Order Sanctuary, whose marker had read "Blood of the Holy Grail."

This guy was practically a humanoid killing machine. With a casual blow, he could grievously wound an enemy, even cleaving British Legion infantrymen to death together with their shields!

His strength was astonishing!

Duncan's arrow struck him in the chest. Decapitator Isolde let out a muffled grunt, snapped the shaft, then roared and swung his heavy decapitating axe, driving back more than ten men in succession. He actually charged wildly toward Duncan.

Brave, certainly, but not very bright!

He had definitely gone berserk.

How could Duncan possibly be caught while on horseback? Unhurriedly, he nocked another arrow and drew his bow. The arrow whistled through the air, and an Armor-Piercing Arrow punched through Isolde's armor and pierced his lung, making the Barbarian Warrior stagger. He soon began to slow down.

Rapid fire.

Duncan drew and fired five arrows in succession before finally killing him. Arrows filled his chest, and with his last breath, as though briefly returning to life, he let out an unwilling roar before dropping to his knees and collapsing.

Duncan stepped forward, picked up the decapitating axe, chopped off Decapitator Isolde's head, then held it high and charged toward the Saxon Elite Axemen.

This time, Horsa's last elite legion completely collapsed as well.

Soldiers from the town poured out to hunt down the enemy, while Kevito, panting heavily, led his men in pursuit. Cavalry were best for hunting down routed troops. When two-legged men chased two-legged men, everyone ended up exhausted, and they might even get counterattacked.

Unfortunately, Duncan had very little cavalry under his command, while Duke of Tintagel was poor as well. His cavalry reserves had nearly been spent.

Among Britannia's many factions, only Great Dragon Lord Uther had a unit of Dragon Banner Cavalry under his command.

The results of this battle were extraordinarily brilliant!

If there was any regret, it was that they had no decent light cavalry to pursue the fleeing enemy, allowing many Saxon elites to escape.

Nearly half of the General's Guard had been killed, and Duncan did not let them continue the pursuit.

Gil had died.

The young British knight squire had been knocked from his horse by a Saxon Chieftain Guard member. He was only found when they gathered the bodies, his corpse already trampled beyond recognition by warhorses.

"Give him a proper burial!"

Duncan glanced at him, then looked away and surveyed the entire battlefield.

Though they had won this battle, the price they paid was not small.

Cú Chulainn had taken three sword wounds yet continued fighting valiantly, personally cutting down five men from the Saxon Chieftain Warband. By sheer force of will, he had held the city gate's defensive line. By the time the British Legion rescued him, he was already grievously wounded and unable to rise. The Gaul warrior braced himself on his sword with both hands, kneeling on one knee beneath the city gate, blood soaking through his armor.

If Duncan had not slain Horsa, he likely would have died under the combined assault of the Saxon Chieftain Warband.

After informing Kevito to join the battle, Clegane had ridden alone to catch up with Duncan and the others. Guarded on both sides by three Sarmatian Riders, he charged and slaughtered his way through the enemy. He was stabbed in the abdomen, bleeding without stop, but tore off his battle robe, crudely bandaged the wound, and charged into the enemy ranks again. By the time Duncan killed Horsa, only he and one other Sarmatian Rider were still alive.

The other man had been grievously wounded and lost an arm. A Saxon Chieftain Guard member had severed his right arm with a longsword, but he held his blade in his left hand and made a desperate final stand, stabbing that elite Chieftain Guard member to death.

Kevito had suffered the lightest injuries.

He had joined the battlefield later as fresh reinforcements and had only been hit by a few arrows by accident. It was nothing serious, all flesh wounds. Half a month of rest would be enough.

Duncan had only suffered minor injuries as well.

It had to be said, Duke of Tintagel's damn Lord's Armor was truly excellent. Duncan had taken three arrows and was completely fine. As long as his vital areas were protected, with his current formidable physique and this suit of heavy lordly armor, he could probably keep fighting even after taking more than ten arrows.

Duke of Tintagel had been too badly wounded to get up earlier. The two most serious arrows had struck his buttock and lower back.

Severus and Kevito began gathering the troops and clearing the battlefield.

Severus had not been injured in this battle. Since he was already missing two fingers, he had not charged at the very front. Nor was this the right situation to use Polymorph. His attention had remained on Duncan; if anything unexpected happened, he could provide aid at any time.

Battlefield treatment still depended on him. Druid herbal medicine was ahead of this era.

Exeter.

The British Legion escorted the captured enemies over. A sea of dark heads filled the area. All had already disarmed and surrendered, kneeling in rows upon the blood-smeared mud.

Duncan swung down from his horse, murder in his eyes. Picking up a Cross Axe, he walked before a Saxon warband retainer.

"Surrender or death?"

He used the Cross Axe to lift the chin of the defiant warband retainer. The man glared at Duncan, his face filled with resentment and fear. This man was like a ghost or god, cutting down Horsa amid tens of thousands and leaving even the proud Germanic Warriors trembling in terror.

His expression twisted with conflict. He wanted to surrender, yet could not let go of a Germanic Warrior's pride.

Splat!

Without a moment's hesitation, Duncan expressionlessly swung the Cross Axe and drove it straight into his skull.

Thud.

The corpse fell.

Duncan pulled out the Cross Axe and approached the second man, a Saxon Elite Axeman. The man glared at Duncan and rasped, "I will never submit!"

Splat!

He never got the chance to say another word. Duncan swung the Cross Axe and split his skull open.

The sight made everyone present shudder.

Devil!

Too brutal!

Only the military merchants who had hurried over at the rear of the crowd looked regretful, muttering under their breaths, "They were all prime slaves. At worst, they could have been exchanged for ransom."

"Why kill them all like this?!"

Expressionless, Duncan walked before the third man, a Saxon Elite Spearman.

"I am willing to surrender!... I am willing to pledge loyalty to you, my lord!..." The Saxon Elite Spearman's voice trembled as he lowered his head, shaking as he prostrated himself on the ground.

Duncan nodded calmly and moved on to the fourth man.

That man was hesitating, his face conflicted.

Splat!

Duncan swung the Cross Axe and cleaved straight into his skull.

The sight scared another man beside him so badly that he pissed himself. Before Duncan could even come over to question him, he frantically dropped to his knees, burying his head deep as he said, "I am willing to surrender!..."

The temporary parade ground fell deathly silent.

Duncan questioned them one after another. At first, there were still those unwilling to surrender. He did not waste words on them, simply splitting their heads with one blow of his axe while his attendants dragged away the corpses.

At first, every few men included someone who would rather die than submit. Then, every dozen or so, someone would stubbornly refuse and be cleaved apart on the spot. By the end, no one even dared to hesitate or put up a brave front. Before Duncan reached them, they were already frantically kneeling to declare their submission.

Among the several hundred Saxon prisoners, Duncan questioned every one of them and personally split more than twenty skulls on the spot!

Most of those who died later had merely hesitated or tried to act tough for a moment, and then lost their chance to surrender.

Clang!

Before everyone's eyes, Duncan drew the Oathkeeper Sword from his waist. Holding it level above the Saxon Elite Spearman's head, he declared in a deep voice, "In the name of God and the gods!"

"I, lord of Southampton, the man who slew the King of Kent, the leader of the British Legion who killed Horsa, accept your surrender!"

"You will not become lowly slaves. I respect your honor as warriors, and you will receive the treatment of auxiliary troops!"

"From today onward, you will be their captain."

Duncan ignored the Saxon Elite Spearman's astonished and delighted expression, simply waving his hand as he ordered, "Take them away!"

"Give them some food and water."

They could not be allowed to eat their fill, but neither could they be starved to death. Their weapons and armor were all removed, and everyone was confined under concentrated guard to await further reorganization before being driven onto the battlefield as auxiliary troops.

The Medieval Era did not have such a strong concept of national identity.

A typical example was the Hun mercenaries. When the Empire fought the Scourge of God, they even helped fight Hun elite cavalrymen. The Saxon Barbarians had emerged from a clan-based society, with the resources of their tribes concentrated in the hands of the upper nobility.

To put it simply: you have fields, land, grain, houses, horses, and servants. You spend your days reveling with a bevy of beauties, while most of the tribe's wealth belongs to you. Then when war comes, you give me a shield, a spear, and a ragged leather vest, and send me charging to the front as cannon fodder.

When that time comes, we'll see whether I chop you down or not!

That was more or less the idea.

Among the Exiles Duncan recruited were Saxons as well, though they all came from the lowest of low backgrounds—untouchables even among the barbarians. In peacetime, they farmed fields and tended horses for noble warriors; in war, they were handed scraps of equipment and made into the lowest-ranking Saxon Spearman-Shieldmen.

Never mind whether they were Saxons or not—these Saxon-born Exiles were each fiercer than the last when it came to cutting down barbarians!

As long as he could give them a decent life, they could swing their axes so fast on the battlefield that they left afterimages.

Loyalty!

They had lived worse than stray dogs. Never mind Saxon chieftains—even if it were Augustus, Emperor of the Empire, they would still dare raise their blades against him.

That was how Duncan absorbed them into his ranks.

As for whether they could be relied upon, that would require observation. They had only just surrendered after being captured, so he needed to balance favor with intimidation and screen them carefully.

—Valkyries!

Unlike the previous times, three Valkyries appeared at once this time.

One wore a Winged Golden Helmet, while the other two wore winged silver helmets.

The three Valkyries raced busily through the skies above the battlefield. Mortals could not sense their presence at all. They pulled up the souls of warriors who had died in battle one after another, then vanished into the horizon.

There was no doubt that Valhalla's numbers would explode today!

"Was one person no longer enough?"

"So she called in two helpers?"

Duncan gave them a few glances through God's Eye View before returning to his own work. The soldiers had suffered heavy casualties, and he needed to visit and comfort them as well. He could not eat and sleep alongside them like those famous generals of antiquity, but he at least had to put on a show, while taking the opportunity to win over the troops under Duke of Tintagel.

Though this battle had been an epic victory, the casualties were still considerable. The Britons had too few elite troops, and at critical moments, they could only use lives to withstand the enemy's fierce assault.

If not for Duncan's morale boost, the British Legion would likely have collapsed long ago.

The setting sun was blood-red.

The three Valkyries remained busy until nightfall before they finished gathering the souls of the fallen warriors. As for Duncan, it was not until midnight that he finally had time to rest a little and eat something.

"There are supposed to be nine Valkyries in the legends, right?"

"Are the others somewhere else?"

Duncan watched the Valkyries vanish through God's Eye View. The last one, the Valkyrie in the Winged Golden Helmet, hovered in midair and cast a deep look in Duncan's direction before disappearing above the clouds.

For some reason, Duncan felt that the Valkyries' attitude toward him had changed again!

At first, the Valkyries had been rather indifferent toward him. Later, they paid him more and more attention, then they had practically begun following his movements. Now, they had even called in helpers—perhaps one of them was already struggling to keep up alone. Duncan was racking up Valhalla's numbers like crazy, and perhaps he had also gained a little favor with the Valkyries.

Well, maybe. He did not dare be sure, considering he had been killing people who believed in the Norse Pantheon.

The Norse Pantheon was a relatively loose divine faction. Their attitude toward the mortal world was subtle: they did not care much about ordinary people, placing greater value on warriors who died in battle. They followed an elite path, and Valhalla was the core of that core. The earliest barbarians to invade the Empire—the Ostrogoths, Visigoths, Franks, and other Germanic Barbarians—had all been turned by The Church, and many had converted to Christianity.

They harvested the dead promptly, lest they convert to The Church in the future.

The Valkyries were all exceedingly diligent.