Arthur looked around without hesitation, then stated his purpose:
"In the name of Vortigern Pendragon's heir, I order you to swear fealty to me."
Arthur's words naturally stirred waves of shock and opposition.
But in the next instant—
Intense terror, the biting chill of ice and snow, and Dragon's Might descended.
It was the authority Arthur had inherited from his great-uncle. The fear that they could be killed at any time, anywhere, made every Saxon chieftain realize that Arthur was telling the truth.
That Dragon's Might and terror reminded them of the fear of being ruled by the White Dragon, and the humiliation of being driven by outsiders.
"No objections?"
Arthur swept his gaze over them. "Then come forward in turn, state your names, and kiss my ring."
The Saxons looked at one another. Though they wavered, none stepped forward as Arthur had ordered.
"Even if you are the Dragon King's heir, that doesn't mean we have to obey you!"
At last, one chieftain gathered his courage and shouted:
"We followed the Dragon King's will and came all the way to Britannia. The Dragon King promised us wealth and land, but all we received was death and suffering!
Now that he is dead, why should we let another Celtic man from Britannia ride roughshod over us?!"
His words won the support of many Saxons:
"That's right!"
"Yes! We don't want to be fooled again!"
"Get lost, Celt! For the Dragon King's sake, we won't kill you!"
"What do we do next, Your Highness?"
At Arthur's side, Galahad asked quietly. At the same time, Gareth and Mordred tightened their grips on their weapons, ready to escort Arthur out at any moment.
But Arthur did not retreat.
"Bluster without substance."
Arthur judged them calmly. "Just like a wolf pack. A new alpha only needs to display overwhelming strength, and the rest of the wolves will obediently listen, baring their bellies in submission."
Arthur's words left Gareth feeling somewhat conflicted. But this was not the time to worry about the girl's feelings.
He drew his sword and called out loudly to the Saxons, "Because I can kill every last one of you."
Above their heads, dark clouds gathered at the fastest possible speed, heralding the arrival of thunder and storm.
Author's Note:
Updated! La la la!
And to those readers who say I only update once a day—obviously it's twice! One update at midnight, one at six in the morning.
Robbers?
The Saxons' fear of dragons deepened.
Back then, Vortigern's terrifying rule had not targeted the Celts alone. The Saxons who had defected to him suffered the same. Even now that he was dead, the mark of fear remained deep within the soul of every Saxon who had set foot in Britannia.
Yet even so, the Saxons still did not yield.
Of course, neither did they continue voicing their opposition.
They waited. They continued waiting, to see what Arthur could say that might move them.
"I know what you are thinking." The Dragon Child looked around and spoke loudly.
Enhanced by magecraft, his voice ensured that every one of the tens of thousands of Saxons present could hear him:
"You are afraid. Afraid of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Because you are no match for them. You believe that marching south again and fighting them would be seeking your own deaths.
At the same time, you are unwilling to keep waiting in the northern lands, aren't you?"
Arthur's lips curved into a pleased smile.
"This place is cold and barren, barely capable of sustaining anyone! The Picts who once lived here are nearly extinct."
"Of course, taking ships back to the Germans' lands is no solution either. The situation there is even worse than in Britannia's northern highlands.
You cannot advance, cannot retreat, and cannot wait. You think you are doomed, don't you? Well?!"
As Arthur spoke, the crushing pressure made the Saxons' expressions grow even darker. Everyone seemed to hunch over further.
The Celts of the British Isles regarded the Saxons as barbarians and invaders.
Many Celts found it difficult to understand.
The situation in the British Isles was clearly terrible. The land grew more barren with every passing year, while the forests and fields yielded less and less. Under such conditions, why did the Saxons still keep coming here as if their lives meant nothing?
Why, when Vortigern promised that they could come to the British Isles, were the Saxons willing to endure the White Dragon's terrifying rule and fight the Celtic people of Britannia to the death for it?
—Naturally, because their original homeland was even more damn miserable than Britannia.
Gaia's goal was the destruction of the Celtic people of Britannia.
As a means of carrying out that goal, the climate weapon did not affect the Celts alone. It also struck the Germans' lands, and even more severely. Otherwise, it should not have been the Germans invading the Celts; it should have been the other way around, with the Celts invading the Germans.
After explaining the Saxons' predicament, Arthur raised one finger.
The bishonen's tone was seductive.
"I can solve this problem. Gentlemen of the Saxons, I can solve your problem!
I can give you stable lives. I can stop you from wandering from place to place. Your children, your wives, your parents—and of course, yourselves! I can keep you alive!!
As for why I dare say that, tell them, Mordred. Tell them my other identity!"
The latter half of Arthur's words was directed at Mordred. She immediately stepped forward.
"Standing before you is the great King Arthur's eldest son, heir to the King of Britannia whom the Knights of the Round Table serve! He is also Britannia's rightful heir!"
That declaration stunned the Saxons once more.
"Y-you can represent King Arthur and acknowledge our right to live in Britannia?" A Saxon chieftain stepped forward excitedly and asked tentatively.
"Only some of you."
Arthur answered calmly:
"I will not settle all the Saxons in Britannia.
I want you to follow me south, toward the warmer and more fertile Continent of Europa!
I will unite more tribes, defeat Rome, and conquer Gaul! Then Hispania, Italy, Greece! Every warm and prosperous land!
As followers of the Dragon of Britannia, you deserve the spoils that are rightfully yours!
Wealth, money, livestock, land!
Now choose. Will you choose death, or swear fealty to me?!"
As Arthur's voice fell silent, the Saxons looked at one another. One of the oldest and most respected chieftains stepped forward.
"If that is so."
He removed his sword, then dropped to one knee and held it up in both hands.
"Then of course, we choose to swear fealty to you!"
That night, while the Saxons packed their belongings and prepared to follow Arthur south, a discussion was underway within the tent of the next generation of Knights of the Round Table.
"You know this, don't you?"
At Arthur's side, Galahad said calmly, "Britannia's food shortage is already a serious problem. Without imports from the continent, the deficit cannot be filled.
And now you have taken in tens of thousands of Saxons. Will this really be all right?"
"There are two paths before us."
Arthur said, "One is to let the Saxons join us. The other is to kill them all. Which path should you choose?"
"Can't we just leave them alone?" Mordred asked from the other side.
"What difference would that make from killing them?" Arthur asked in return.
"You really do love making trouble for yourself." Mordred muttered, but she raised no further objections.
As for Gareth, after a brief period of worry and confusion, the Wolf Girl fell into fervent worship of Arthur.
"Ah, what a great boy he is. He is willing to shoulder the lives and safety of tens of thousands. Even if they are enemies, he grants them mercy and salvation. That radiance of humanity is the very proof of a great king!"
Of course, that was not the case.
At least, not entirely.
After Gareth and Galahad had both left, Arthur slipped away again and entered Mordred's tent.
"There is something I need to tell you, Mordred."
"I am only telling you this, so do not tell anyone else, all right?"
Arthur took Mordred's hand and spoke to the girl as though sharing a secret.
"There is another reason I accepted these Saxons as subordinates—that is, I want to accomplish something great."
"Something great...?"
"My identity as King Arthur's son brings me glory and status. But it also brings immense pressure and responsibility.
My father is a great and righteous king.
Then, as his son, I must achieve merits worthy of my identity, so that I will not disgrace Father King.
Beyond that, I want to achieve even greater accomplishments than Father King. I want to become a better and greater ruler than Father King.
That would be the finest tribute and repayment I could offer Father King, wouldn't it, Mordred? What do you think?"
Arthur's words brimmed with excitement and delight.
"Recruiting the Saxons is only the first step.
Did you think I was joking when I spoke of marching onto the continent?
I was not.
What I want to establish is an achievement that endures for all ages, not one limited to Britannia alone. It is all of Europe—the entire world! I want the whole world to cheer the name Artorius. That is my goal, Mordred."
He placed his hands on Mordred's shoulders.
"On this great and difficult road, I hope to have your support. Can you do that, Mordred? Can you be my companion and challenge this world with me?"
Author's Note:
Children were always easier to incite. Child soldiers were always crueler than adult armies.
I Need You
As a Homunculus, Mordred's actual age was still only that of a child.
And as a child, Mordred's emotions were easily stirred.
Just like now.
"I am needed!"
"I am acknowledged!"
"Arthur invited me to do something so great!"
"He wants me to become his companion!"
Just thinking about it filled Mordred with excitement and joy.
Before you continue