Duncan spoke in a deep voice, "Do you want me to escort you?"
Crow Queen - Triss shook her head slightly, "No need. After entering Britain, much of my power has recovered."
"This land is different from other places, the power of the Mythical Era has not completely dissipated."
Just like Severus regaining his Druid supernatural abilities here?
Or is it that Avalon is hidden in the mists here?
Duncan hasn’t unlocked his Magic Power Bar yet, so he can’t feel any difference.
It’s time to find a way to unlock the Magic Power Bar.
Not having activated the Magic Power Bar just means he hasn’t killed enough yet! Kill more of those enemies with casting abilities, and maybe it’ll work!
Action matches words.
The next day, Duncan headed straight for the area occupied by the Saxons, armed heavily and riding a warhorse, prepared to rack up kills in this conflict zone.
Strictly speaking, once he escorted Crow Queen - Triss to Great Britain, the first phase of the mission was complete.
Now it’s about finding a way to establish a foothold on Great Britain Island.
Time to venture out solo!
Duncan emerged from the southwest, his warhorse leisurely munching on grass behind him.
In his god’s-eye view, there was a small town a few kilometers away, marked as Devon Town, and through the strategic map, he could clearly see hundreds of enemy-marked units.
"Probably a town occupied by Saxons."
Duncan looked up at the sky, planning to take action at night.
The night grew deeper.
From the god’s-eye view, Duncan adjusted the projected image until the night looked like day, then snuck over quietly.
The population here was about two to three thousand.
The vast majority had neutral markers; only soldiers had enemy markers, while ordinary Saxon civilians were also marked neutral, indicating they wouldn’t attack on sight.
The village was surrounded by a wooden wall, much like a fence, with watchtowers at the entrances from two directions, where patrolling guards stood.
—Saxon militia spearmen and shield bearers.
An arrow whistled through the air.
Duncan quietly drew his bow and shot, landing a direct headshot on the barbarian soldier in the lookout.
"About three to four meters high."
He estimated the height and distance, then began to sprint, leapt powerfully, grabbed hold of the fence, rotated his body 360 degrees, and his extraordinary core strength allowed him to nimbly vault over the wooden wall.
He had learned this maneuver watching Demon Hunter - George; he didn’t expect with his current physique he could also manage it, though not as smoothly.
Silently, Duncan landed, glanced at the map, cleared a watchtower, and headed straight for a place near the camp.
A throwing axe spun in his palm.
Embedded directly into a forehead.
Duncan quickly approached, dragging the body of an Anglo axeman into a dark alleyway.
A cluster of dense markings crowded together, all labeled as ’Britain captives and slaves’.
They were imprisoned in a place akin to an animal pen.
Nearby were about twenty Saxon barbarian soldiers, some resting, others on guard duty.
An arrow whizzed through the air.
A barbarian soldier on guard grabbed his throat and fell, the arrow nearly piercing his windpipe, blood gushing out.
The commotion drew three patrolling barbarian soldiers; Duncan, without hesitation, rapidly shot several arrows, and in the darkness, only the sound of bodies hitting the ground could be heard, turning quickly into corpses.
He drew his sword, and as a nearby door opened, the Oathkeeper flashed, decapitating a barbarian axeman on the spot.
Blood spurted wildly.
The strong scent of blood startled the occupants of the animal pen, terrified eyes peering out.
In the firelight, Duncan held up a finger.
Inside the pen, crowded with seventy to eighty people, not a sound was made, everyone barely daring to breathe.
These Britain slaves wore only thin, ragged clothing, all shackled together.
The Oathkeeper longsword sliced through the shackles of one, marked as ’British Legion Infantry’.
Duncan tossed him an axe, speaking in a deep voice, "Find the key."
"Unlock the shackles."
"Lead the others to escape through the west gate; I’ve already dealt with the sentry there."
Over half of the Britain slaves in the reek-filled animal pen turned into green-marked units.
The British Legion infantryman trembled slightly, gripping his battle axe tightly, voice hoarse as he asked, "Who are you?"
Duncan smiled, turning to leave, "Just call me Ranger."
"I’ll set fires to help you and buy you time for your escape."
In the crowd, a fierce-looking man with several whip marks on his face stood up, speaking in a deep voice, "What about you then? Won’t you come with us? I can stay and help you!"
—Sarmatian rider (captive).
Duncan did not pause, coolly replying, "Don’t worry. No one can stop me if I want to leave."
"Follow the river into the forest, then flee toward Cornwall."
A fire suddenly blazed in the southwest of the village, followed by a group of captives who seized weapons and led dozens of slaves rushing toward the western gate.
Duncan stood on a rooftop, like a merciless hunter beneath the dark night sky.
A distance of one hundred and fifty meters.
At a forty-five-degree angle shot, he directly shot dead a barbarian soldier who had spotted their escape.
The British Legion infantryman who was about to fight for his life paused, turned to look behind him, but saw nothing; the night was pitch black, only distant firelight lit the chaos of the village.
He knew the ranger who had just rescued them was assisting from afar.
Daring to single-handedly infiltrate a town captured by Saxon barbarians?
The liberated captives and slaves did not hesitate, forcefully breaking open the main gate and fleeing into the wilderness beneath the night sky without looking back.
On a rooftop near the barracks.
Duncan moved lightly like an Elf Ranger, sliding down the eaves from the roof, then nocking an arrow on the bow, shooting dead an elite Saxon axeman who had rushed out in panic, marking him as a one-star target.
Awoken from sleep, he hadn’t even managed to put on armor.
Stirred into utter confusion, the entire village was shaken. Once ensuring the enemy had swarmed out, Duncan sprinted across, leaping onto the eaves, then sprinting across nearby rooftops, covering nearly six meters in a leap, landing across the street, heading straight for the barracks where a target marked ’Priest’ was.
A heavy door opened, a scent of blood mixed with herbs wafting from the room.
Numerous mysterious symbols glowed under the firelight.
In the center lay a plethora of tools for divination and rituals, bones engraved with Rune Language, their meanings unknown.
—Duraga (Priest unit).
The Saxon barbarian priest opened the door, halting his frantic servants mid-motion, about to speak when an arrow suddenly pierced through the air, shooting through his throat.
The second arrow followed, pinning itself into his forehead.
Duncan saved two arrows, blending into the chaotic crowd, taking one last glance at the assembling squads of barbarian soldiers, leaving without looking back.
He wanted to see how long these Saxon barbarians could last, as he had no intention of a prolonged battle; he’d retreat once the enemy gathered, retreat if a powerful foe appeared, this ramshackle wooden wall couldn’t stop him at all.
Not more, not less, just sixteen heads.
Not greedy in the least, after vaulting over the fence again, he headed straight for his warhorse, diving into the dense forest.
Take one bite at a time.
Take one step at a time.