Midnight, the bright moon like blood.
No one knows when, but a light mist rose in the middle of the night, the moon casting a faint crimson through the fog, as if foretelling the ominous slaughter of war.
The camp was brightly lit inside, while outside, a team of Celtic warriors guarded the main camp, with several more teams patrolling the night.
Duncan sat cross-legged on a sheepskin mat, bare-chested, his muscles outlined under the flickering candlelight like a mythological statue from ancient Greece. In front of him, a young female slave dressed in simple attire knelt, her expression full of reverence and awe as she respectfully presented a jar of honey wine to Duncan.
The female slave held the honey wine above her head, sneaking a glance at Duncan’s abdominal muscles.
Duncan reached out and took it, tilting his head back to drink heartily, a bit of the honey wine spilling, flowing down his rock-hard pectoral muscles.
While Duncan was drinking the honey wine single-handedly, Severus was behind him, assisted by two other female slaves, tending to several wounds on his back. Severus used a small knife to scrape open the blood scabs, tearing away pieces of clothing stuck in them, then re-dressed the wounds, applying herbs and finally having the two female slaves wrap Duncan with clean bandages.
Duncan wasn’t seriously injured; most were only superficial wounds.
He drank half of the jar of honey wine without changing his expression while Severus re-bandaged him. With his astonishing physical condition, these wounds would be mostly healed in about a week.
Severus glanced at the female slaves before leaving, exchanging a look with Duncan.
The look meant whether to let these female slaves stay and serve.
"Dismiss," Duncan waved his hand.
He wasn’t very hungry anyway; Anya had been up and kicking in the past few days, so he wasn’t hungry at all now.
Severus probably got a stereotypical impression from the Exile camp last time.
After a fierce battle, Duncan indeed would vent a little, but now he needed to recover from his injuries, and he had no such thoughts at all.
The Duke of Dingtiger had already been sent to Cornwall to recuperate.
Currently, Duncan was the highest commander here. This battle was just the beginning; they must take advantage of the Saxon’s defeat to reclaim the fallen territories in one swift move, ideally capturing Hampshire directly, thus placing Southampton and White Island under his control.
From a god’s eye view, a projection showed a new epic triumph.
—"The Battle of Exeter [Epic Battle]: Hosa, leader of the Jutes, pretended to be defeated to lure the enemy, defeating the Duke of Dingtiger in Dorset, then advanced with the army, besieging Exeter.
In dire straits, the severely wounded Duke of Dingtiger decisively sought your aid.
You led sixteen riders, galloping starry night, to arrive at the battlefield at a critical moment, decisively leading the troops to break through, crushing the Saxon hunters, causing chaos among the enemy forces, saving the precarious Exeter.
Subsequently, Hosa led five thousand troops to besiege the town.
In the ensuing war, you remained calm and composed, repelling wave after wave of Saxon attacks, gradually reclaiming the situation. Finally, after the Exile Warband arrived, you seized the opportunity, decisively attacking, leading the general guard to assault the enemy lines, repeatedly breaking the enemy forces, shooting down the Jute leader - Hosa, causing the Saxon army to suffer a tragic defeat and flee.
The founding leaders of the invasion of Great Britain, Hengist and Hosa brothers, successively fell at your hands, the power of the Jutes gradually declining, unable to command the Anglo-Saxons any longer.
The Kingdom of Kent was now but a name.
Your fame will spread across Great Britain with this epic victory, reaching distant Scandinavia!"
(Legendary Level +3, Briton Legendary Level 2 points, Germanic Barbarian Legendary Level 1 point.)
Still 3 points of Legendary Level.
The Hengist and Hosa brothers were Duncan’s starting point; together, they contributed a full six points of Legendary Level to Duncan, representing the beginning of the decline of a Germanic Barbarian branch, the Jutes.
The Dimension Space rippled around.
It was as if Duncan saw the echoes of the river of history; in the future course of history, the Jutes gradually weakened, no longer having the strength to expand, soon completely annexed by the Anglo-Saxons, eventually diminishing into an inconspicuous small tribe, disappearing bit by bit.
Duncan first strengthened his soul, still without any drastic change, just a slight increase in the mana bar, but the mana in the Middle Ages was pitifully scarce; even after the enhancement, he still couldn’t fire a second Wind Arrow. However, regardless of the results, soul enhancement couldn’t be missed; Duncan could physically feel his soul gradually growing stronger, albeit without explosive growth. It’s unclear how many Legendary Levels must be invested to advance the soul further.
—"Legendary Level: 2/6."
Duncan checked the promotion enhancement page, unexpectedly finding Jill’s name in it, along with several other guards who died in battle.
"Promote to Heroic Spirit?" Follow current novᴇls on novel✶fire.net
"Estimated consumption of 2 points of Legendary Level will promote the target to a lower-ranked Heroic Spirit!" (If the target’s legend disappears, the lower-ranked Heroic Spirit will also fade over time.)
Duncan directly canceled it.
For the fallen Jill, he would compensate in the mundane aspects; promoting to Heroic Spirit was out of the question, he was just trying it out. Obtaining Legendary Level was so difficult, and a lower-ranked Heroic Spirit might fade over time; only a handful of people he knew were worth doing this for.
The minimum threshold would at least be Severus, who had been his old comrade since his rise.