When Kaelar stepped out, Ector instinctively wanted to argue with him, but he managed to hold back.
There were too many people around, and being humiliated by his own son wouldn't look good.
In the past, Ector could have threatened with force, but now?
Well, considering that Kaelar—now hailed as the War God of Britain—had single-handedly subdued seventy thousand enemies, Ector's old bones wouldn't stand a chance.
Besides, it wouldn't do to let Kaelar take advantage of the situation to "settle old scores." Getting beaten up by his own son would be quite the embarrassment.
In truth, Ector had rarely raised a hand against Kaelar, maybe only a handful of times. He didn't want to risk creating enmity between them; after all, Celtic families often had tragic stories of fathers and sons clashing.
Once Ector realized that beating his son wouldn't change his mindset, he had mostly refrained from violence—fearing that "filial piety" would turn into patricide.
Fortunately, in this situation, Ector didn't have to speak up. The Anglo-Saxons under Vortigern's command and the Celts under King Uther had waged brutal war for so long that grudges ran deep. Every family had lost someone to the Saxons.
For example, Ector's deputy—a young duke with a vast domain even larger than the Duke of Kent's—was Kaelar's contemporary.
The reason he'd inherited such a large territory so young was that his father had died in battle against the Anglo-Saxons. In the turbulent times of Britain, it wasn't unusual for even high-ranking nobles to perish in warfare. This matched the Celtic belief that nobles had the duty to defend their land.
Any lord who fled his domain was stripped of his title, and the land was granted to the noble who reclaimed it.
But if a lord died defending his land, the estate would be inherited by his descendants, and King Uther had a responsibility to help loyal nobles reclaim lost territory.
"Sir Kaelar, please forgive my impertinence, but I have a question that weighs heavily on my mind."
The young duke spoke politely. No matter how defiant a Celt might be, facing the man who had become the strongest warrior in Britain demanded the utmost respect.
Kaelar nodded slightly. "I suspect your words won't be pleasant to hear, but I will allow you to speak. Remember, this is a privilege."
"Thank you for granting me such an honor," the young duke said respectfully. "Why have you not ordered the execution of these Saxon curs?"
"To us Celts, war is akin to a hunt. Killing these beasts is the rightful honor of a Celtic warrior."
"Celtic warrior's honor?" Kaelar scoffed. "What does that have to do with me? You are bloodthirsty savages. Does that mean I should follow your barbaric ways and slaughter captives?"
"Do not impose your Celtic barbarity on me, Kaelar!"
Kaelar's gaze swept over the gathered Celtic knights as he said calmly, "You have come to Maple Ridge, and so you must abide by my law. Let me be clear—'taking lives is inauspicious.' No killing is permitted here!"
"I am the Good Shepherd, and the Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."
"Do not say you weren't warned."
Already upset by Morgan's departure, Kaelar had little patience for these barbarians trying to convert him to their ways. He would not indulge them.
"I heard you had already subdued and defeated seventy thousand, but why did you let twenty thousand go?"
There had been twenty thousand Saxons who, after pleading their case, had been allowed to return north to reunite with their families.
Some had solemnly knelt before Kaelar and sworn that they would bring their families back to settle in Maple Ridge, pledging to help develop the land.
The young duke, his courage wavering under Kaelar's commanding presence, pressed on, "Sir Kaelar, such actions could be seen as aiding the enemy."
"These Saxon scum will surely return, armed, to invade our Celtic lands again."
"No, they will not," Kaelar said, smiling. "Those I have forgiven are the ones whose hearts lean towards righteousness. They are worthy of being guided."
"No one would dare defy the teachings of Kaelar. They will never again raise their weapons against any Celtic land."
"Kaelar, killing is far easier and more effective than teaching."
Ector, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke up. "Are we born lovers of bloodshed? No, but sometimes it is the simplest and most efficient solution."
"And if you're wrong? If this so-called teaching fails, if these Saxon curs are only pretending to be repentant in front of you, only to take up arms once you leave... what then?"
Ector sighed. "Even if you kill them all later, the damage they've done cannot be undone."
Well, studying dialectics was useful after all—it meant Ector could have a proper conversation with his saintly son.
Listening to Kaelar call them "barbarians" over and over had definitely gotten on Ector's nerves.
"Is that how all of you feel?" Kaelar tilted his head slightly, casting his gaze over the crowd. Ector, Merlin, and the young duke met his eyes, and the meaning was clear.
They thought Kaelar's law was too naïve, too childish, and too foolish.
Only Artoria stepped forward, standing behind Kaelar just as she had back when the knights of Maple Ridge had opposed him. Holding his sword, she had followed him and watched as he single-handedly subdued the Saxons.
"I am Kaelar, Lord of Maple Ridge."
Kaelar's voice was calm and gentle—unlike the fiery, bloodthirsty tone typical of Celts. It carried a refreshing warmth that reached everyone's ears, despite its soft volume.
"I am also the one who defeated seventy thousand Saxon raiders…"
"Knights of Celtica, tell me, do you share this view? Do you, too, take issue with my actions?"
His voice, once gentle, now grew stern and weighty, yet never lost its calm. Unlike the typical Celtic rage-filled roars, it carried a chilling stillness—like the calm before a storm.
Some of the Saxons, especially the more timid, knelt and made the sign of the cross, mumbling prayers in the direction of Kaelar's castle.
Even the bolder Saxons paled, murmuring "Saint Kaelar, watch over us..."
Seeing these normally wild and unruly Saxons so subdued made the Celtic knights, who had been poised for battle, glance at each other uncertainly.
Yes, this was Kaelar's domain—the land of the great hero and saint, Kaelar of Celtica, who had single-handedly defeated seventy thousand Saxons.