Night deepened.
A rustling suddenly came from the dense woods. Then a burly figure emerged, wearing a gray hooded robe over pale gray, leather-trimmed chain mail, brown bracers, black mittens, straps around his waist, and gray leather trousers.
Beneath his hood were cold, merciless eyes. When he narrowed them slightly, his pupils changed like a cat's, taking on an almost vertical shape, though they looked more like the dragon eyes of legend.
The formidable figure seemed to possess an exceptionally keen sense of smell. A cloth sack hung at his waist, seeping dark red blood. Judging by its outline, it held a head.
"The scent of sorcery."
The fierce-looking man drew his longsword and crouched to examine the corpse on the ground. Surprise crossed his face. "Killed in one blow? A Farron Throwing Axe?"
"A veteran."
He found a pouch on the ranger's corpse. It contained food that looked a little like barley flour. He pinched some into his mouth to taste it, then quickly ate half of it, washing it down with water from his flask. Only then did he leave the woods and race down the country path. Far more agile than a barbarian berserker, he avoided every obstacle along the way by instinct alone.
He ran at full speed.
The nimble figure finally stopped where a flock of crows had gathered. With one hand on his sword hilt, he warily scanned his surroundings before crouching as though searching for something.
But he seemed to find nothing.
Unwilling to give up, he took the cloth sack from his waist and pulled out a horrifying head with a savage face and black, bristling hair. He cracked its skull open with his longsword and scooped out a small lump of dark yellow, grease-like material. After fiddling with several bottles and jars, he drank the resulting mixture. His eyes instantly became vertical dragon pupils, and he followed traces invisible to mortal eyes until he reached the riverbank.
"Raven Queen—Triss."
He instantly turned toward a flock of crows perched in the nearby treetops. His expression grew intensely grave as he muttered, "To think I'd track down one of the founders of the Witch Coven."
The ground trembled faintly.
The thunder of galloping warhorses came from the distance. There seemed to be several hundred riders.
The formidable man hesitated briefly before choosing to withdraw and avoid them. His individual prowess was astonishing, but he was no match for an army. Three or five ordinary warriors meant nothing to him, but a dozen would give him trouble. Against even a small, organized detachment of soldiers, he would very likely be surrounded and killed.
If he faced those hundreds of cavalry head-on, they could simply trample him into pulp.
The moon rose, pale red and ominous.
The caravan abandoned its cargo and pressed on through the night, finally reaching a place to shelter before it became too dark to travel.
Duncan dared not lower his guard. He closed his eyes and dozed lightly. After resting for only three hours, the group set off again at first light. Some of the wounded had already fallen unconscious and lay in the wagons, barely breathing. No one knew how much longer they could hold on.
Finally, on the afternoon of the second day, the caravan spotted a small town in the distance.
After asking around, they learned they had reached the northern province of Pannonia.
Duncan had only been fleeing for three days, but the other refugees in the caravan had been on the run for five full days. Many burst into tears at having survived.
The guards took their leader into town and urgently searched for an apothecary to treat him.
Some wounds had only received rudimentary bandaging and were now festering with pus. The guard captain had suffered severe blood loss. Without prompt treatment, they would likely be attending his funeral feast within a day or two.
After conquering the northern barbarians, the Empire had also absorbed some of their cultural traditions.
The northern herbalists were in a league of their own within the Empire, their medical skills far surpassing those of other regions. Their predecessors had been the priests of the Celts—the druids of legend. Among the many barbarian tribes, the Celts had now declined, and most of Gaul had been thoroughly assimilated by the Empire. Their knowledge of herbal medicine, however, had survived through physicians.
When the Empire spoke of barbarians now, it primarily meant the Germanic People. The West Germanic People were civilized barbarians who had been conquered centuries ago and had formed a ruling bloc of five major tribes. The North Germanic People lived in cold regions. They were a branch of the wild barbarians and frequently raided the Empire's borders.
There were many other branches of barbarian tribes as well. The Empire's cultural traditions were exceedingly arrogant, treating most surrounding tribal peoples as uncivilized savages.
Among the Empire's current Barbarian Mercenaries, the Franks were the best fighters.
At its height, the Empire had once mobilized thirty-six legions, nearly three hundred thousand troops, to wage wars of conquest against the surrounding barbarians. Most civilized barbarians integrated into the Empire had adopted its culture during that period. Under Constantine I, large numbers of barbarians had also migrated into the Empire and gradually become the backbone of its armies. Once assimilated, they became the military's mainstay.
Most of the Empire's legions that could still fight were now commanded by barbarian generals.
The true heirs of the Empire were the barbarians!
Over the centuries, corruption from top to bottom had steadily weakened the Empire. It had long since lost the ambition and valor with which it once conquered the continent.
It looks like this might be Earth in a parallel universe.
Duncan saw a church's cross as soon as he entered town. Polytheism had already left the stage of history, and Catholicism was now the Empire's state religion. The Church had originally launched the witch hunt, but at first it had not targeted witches specifically. Instead, it had attacked all pagans, including followers of the Empire's former orthodox polytheism.
In the century and more since the Edict of Milan had been issued, monotheism had gained absolute dominance. Polytheism had gradually faded away, until even the last altar dedicated to its gods was demolished.
Many heirs to the priestly traditions left over from the polytheistic era had been condemned as warlocks and witches who practiced sorcery. This was the origin of the witch hunt that had begun ahead of its time.
Put simply, it was more like imposing a single faith, destroying shrines and temples, and rooting out every last remnant.
From that time onward, rumors of supernatural powers had also grown increasingly rare.
The group found an inn to rest in.
Everything here was still quite different from the Earth Duncan remembered, but he needed to gather more information to understand it better.
Almagun bustled around, waiting on him so attentively that even Duncan could hardly bear to watch. He tossed him two silver coins and told him to find a physician to treat the arrow wound in his backside first. The wound had reopened, and his backside was still bleeding, yet he gritted his teeth and continued hovering around like a lackey.
After entering his room to rest, Duncan began sorting through his spoils.
He could not carry much, so most of it was money. During the reign of Augustus, the Empire had established a three-metal currency system of gold, silver, and copper. The most common coin was the silver Denarius, with several smaller silver denominations later minted for use as subsidiary currency. Early Denarius coins bore various designs, but later ones uniformly featured Augustus's portrait, with a Triumphal Arch on the reverse. These were also the most common silver coins currently in circulation.
Six gold coins, fifty-six silver coins, and assorted copper coins.
One gold coin had come from the Gloomy Knight, three from the routed barbarian soldiers, and two from the ranger. One bore the face of a heavily bearded man wearing a crown. Duncan did not know which country had issued it, but it might have come from Mesopotamia.
Most of the silver coins were Denarii. He had found a few coins from other countries on the ranger.
Clink, clink.
Duncan put the coins away. They were everything he owned now.
The food had improved considerably since they entered town. The staple was dry bread, something like a baguette, which originated in Fran. It came with smoked meat and vegetable soup, plus a short piece of sausage. Lodging and three meals cost two silver coins a day. Apparently, silver coins did not have much purchasing power either.
After all, an imperial infantryman's annual pay was only around 225 Denarii.
The Empire had been plagued by war in recent years. In fact, many soldiers had received little pay at all, and when fighting broke out, hardly anyone was willing to risk his life for the Empire.
The silver content seems pretty low. This Empire is doomed sooner or later!
Duncan picked up a silver coin, examined it, and casually tossed it back into his money pouch. He had not been a Rome fanatic in his previous life. If the Empire was doomed, so be it. He would not even mind giving it a push. Right now, barbarian armies were all that kept it standing. The moment the barbarians quit too, the Empire would collapse in an instant.
Night fell.
Duncan sat cross-legged in meditation and entered God's Eye View, pondering what other functions of his cheat he had yet to uncover.
As he understood it, after his transmigration, his soul had been bound to that empty Dimensional Space. His human form was the key to entering the real world. If that body died, he would be left sleeping in the void for an unknown length of time. He might even sleep there forever.
Duncan felt that his soul was still that of an ordinary person. For now, his human form was probably an extremely important tool.
His consciousness entered the void.
In God's Eye View, every inhabitant of the town was marked. The most conspicuous was still the witch staying in the room next to his at the inn. Her skull marker stood out far too much, like a roaming world boss.
The other units were scattered across the map. Quite a few had one-star markers, and there was also a two-star unit labeled "Retired Centurion."
Duncan was curiously examining the town through God's Eye View.
Then, suddenly.
At the edge of the map, a conspicuous unit bearing a Golden Three-Star Mark appeared. He was dressed for practicality in a hooded robe and chain mail, with a longsword on his back. Silently, he climbed over the wooden wall and entered the town.
—Witcher (Dragonblood) [Neutral unit]!
Whoa!
Those three gold stars on him really stand out.
Judging by the perspective Duncan had used when playing Medieval Total War, this man was at least an elite unit, strong enough to take on a small squad of soldiers alone. As for the witch in the caravan, she was undoubtedly a hero unit. Her unfathomable strength made her the most powerful supernatural individual Duncan had encountered so far.
It seems these supernatural units all belong to the neutral faction.
Do they keep their distance from the secular world?
Duncan examined him carefully through God's Eye View and confirmed that he carried only one sword, rather than both a Silver Sword and a steel sword.
He's incredibly capable!
The man made a circuit of the town, moving just like someone in Assassin's Creed. With a running leap, he caught the eaves, rotated a hundred and eighty degrees, and used his powerful core muscles to swing himself up. In mere moments, he was on the roof.
Such a difficult maneuver was simply beyond an ordinary person.
The witcher gradually approached the inn, but hesitated in an alley. Duncan zoomed in and adjusted the brightness, catching him weighing his money pouch in his hand. Then the man turned and ducked into the shed next door, lying straight down on a pile of hay in the livestock shelter.
It was almost dawn now, so paying for a room would be poor value. Judging by his actions, Duncan guessed he wanted to save money, though it might also make watching the area easier.
The Denarius has depreciated so much that even witchers are broke? Duncan felt like laughing.
Just what you'd expect from the Empire.
A faint sound came from next door, and the witch's marker moved. She left her room and stood in the corridor, pausing for several seconds. Then she stood briefly outside Duncan's door before silently heading out of the inn.
Should I follow her and take a look?
The witch had already left the inn. After a moment's hesitation, Duncan followed.
With God's Eye View, he did not need to stay too close. As long as she remained within the map's visible range, he could keep track of her. The witch probably had no way to detect him either.
Duncan controlled his character with his mind and followed stealthily from the spectator view, keeping roughly a hundred and fifty meters between them.
In the livestock shelter, the witcher bearing the Golden Three-Star Mark rolled up from the hay.
Are his senses really that sharp? Duncan instantly went on high alert.
But through God's Eye View, he saw the witcher hunch over and stealthily follow him, keeping about fifty meters behind. His movements were extremely cautious, as though he feared Duncan would notice him.
They were following one another in a chain.
The witch's footsteps made no sound at all. She moved like a drifting ghost. Without his cheat, Duncan would never have noticed her. The witcher had not picked up her trail, but he had detected Duncan's footsteps, indirectly putting him on the witch's track.
What is she going to do? Duncan wondered.
The witch left the town and entered the dense forest. Without God's Eye View, Duncan would have lost her long ago.
After they had traveled an unknown distance, moonlight spilled down from above.
A towering oak appeared ahead.
Through God's Eye View, Duncan saw that the witch had removed her face covering, revealing a face so beautiful it was almost uncanny. She looked less like a human than one of the legendary seductive banshees that drained men's vitality. The exposed skin of her neck and collarbones was so pale it almost reflected light, with a cold, porcelain whiteness. Even the most pampered noblewomen of this era rarely had skin like that.
"Lady Priestess, save me!"
Just then, a hazy figure appeared in the open woodland ahead, taking the shape of a beautiful woman. Her features gradually sharpened as she stepped out of the oak's shadow and dropped to her knees before the witch, pleading, "Please save me!"
Huh?!
Duncan's pupils widened slightly.
—Forest Banshee (Dryad) [Neutral]!
The forest banshees of Greek mythology, also known as dryads or goddesses of the forest, were young, beautiful nature spirits of relatively low rank. They lived on mountaintops—Oread Mountain—beside springs and rivers—Naiad River—or within woodland trees—Dryad Forest. They symbolized the irrational, animal side of human nature. Legend held that every oak housed a spirit, and these spirits conveyed divine oracles to humans through forest banshees.
Another supernatural unit.
But she only had a one-star marker, so her fighting ability was probably nothing special.
The witch frowned slightly and shook her head. "I'm not a priestess."
"The age of priests is over."
Just as the forest banshee's face filled with pitiful despair, the witch spoke softly again. "What danger have you encountered?"
At the witch's words, the forest banshee seemed to grasp at her last lifeline. Her voice was mournful. "Witch Hunters!"
"The Church's Witch Hunters."
"They want to wipe us out!"
"A very powerful Witch Hunter has come here. He will never spare me!"
"My lady, save me."
Hearing the forest banshee's words, Duncan instinctively glanced back at the witcher following him. After entering the forest, the man had lost the trail and fallen a hundred or two hundred meters behind. But he seemed skilled at tracking and had gradually caught up again.
He appeared to be following the wrong position, however. He skirted around Duncan and headed straight toward the witch.
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