"The masses shunned Saint Kaelar as something beyond human, but the Eternal King believed in him without doubt."
—From The Gospel of Kaelar
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"So, the Saxon scum failed after all, did they?"
"They couldn't even conquer a mere territory defended by five hundred knights, yet they managed to suffer total defeat?"
Upon hearing of the Saxons' crushing defeat, Vortigern did not rage. He merely said in a flat voice, "That idiot Hengist… Not only did he fail to fulfill my command, but he also made a complete fool of himself, bringing shame upon me!"
"Kaelar, that boy, even sent back two thousand of them? Ha!" Vortigern's gray eyes narrowed into slits—cold, serpentine pupils unique to the ancient Dragonblood, a chilling gaze that sent shivers through all who saw it.
The remaining Celtic lords loyal to Vortigern immediately lowered their heads in submission, trembling under their king's volatile presence. They dared not utter a single word or even breathe loudly.
Vortigern, infamous for his unpredictability, wore an expression that only hinted at fury. This alone suggested that his wrath was simmering beneath the surface, merely waiting for an outlet.
As expected, the next moment, Vortigern struck the armrest of his throne with a forceful slap. "Why? Why did that brat, Kaelar, return two thousand Saxon prisoners? Does he pity me? Is he mocking me, this lonely old man with no subjects left to command?"
"If he defeated those seventy thousand Saxon dogs, why didn't he behead every single one of those useless curs and flaunt their heads before me as a challenge?"
Vortigern's restraint snapped, and he roared, "Fine, fine! A mere child who's barely out of the cradle dares to mock me… When my shadow loomed over the whole of Britannia, that whelp was still in his mother's womb!"
"Deliver my command: execute those two thousand worthless Saxon prisoners and send their heads back to Maple Hill!"
The slit pupils of Vortigern's eyes gleamed with a cruel, serpentine glint. "Let that boy, Kaelar, receive this gift—and see what true Celtic glory looks like!"
No one dared defy Vortigern's will. Under his ruthless rule, the Saxons had no choice but to comply with their tyrant's decree.
Even more so because Vortigern's core forces included Celtic warriors. The Saxons were merely desperate exiles, displaced from Europe and driven to the edge of survival. To defy Vortigern on his own territory meant certain death for every last one of them.
Thus, with tears in their eyes and terror in their hearts, they obeyed Vortigern's orders. They slaughtered their own sons, fathers, and brothers, severing heads to pile them onto ships bound for Maple Hill.
Some had thought of rebellion or escape, but to where could they flee?
Kaelar's Maple Hill lay far, far away.
Between them lay countless Celtic territories. If they rebelled, both Uther's lords and Vortigern's would hunt them down. They would never make it to Maple Hill alive.
The Saxons, too close to Vortigern, were far too distant from Kaelar.
To obey Vortigern's tyranny meant the deaths of two thousand. To defy him, however, would doom every last Saxon who had come to this land—some two hundred thousand strong.
And so, Vortigern's merciless act drove a wedge between himself and the Saxons. Many, moments before their deaths, cried out, "Kaelar forgave us, but Vortigern wants us dead!"
"Is this truly the king we Saxons should serve?"
In the aftermath of the bloody slaughter, many Saxons began to flee. They yearned for the paradise described by their briefly returned kin—a place of mercy, like a heavenly Eden. They dreamed of Maple Hill, ruled by a benevolent lord who loved them, and guarded by a protector of almost divine strength.
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[At sixteen years old, you celebrated your birthday in Maple Hill, only to receive a very unusual present that day.]
King Vortigern, in a special gesture to his "junior," delivered a challenge. Exhibiting the typical barbarism of a textbook Celtic warrior, he had the Saxons you spared beheaded, sending their heads as a gift on your birthday.
[You smiled as you buried the innocent victims and swore to everyone present that one day, your teachings would come down upon Vortigern's head like a lash from the heavens.]
Contrary to the fears of Ector and the other Celtic lords, your territory did not suffer famine after you took in fifty thousand Saxons. Instead, it thrived.
These Saxons, mostly young and able-bodied, could be soldiers if given a weapon and could also become productive laborers. In modern economic terms, this was pure demographic advantage.
[Yet, the barbaric Celts understood nothing of economics. They waged war for war's sake, killing without purpose, fearing neither life nor death, yet achieving nothing meaningful.]
[They failed to grasp that, to a civilized mind, war was the most primitive of tools—a non-essential, last-resort measure for achieving political aims.]
Your lands grew wealthier by the day, and you began to delegate authority. Artoria, your apprentice and future King Arthur, proved herself capable of fulfilling your orders. She took steps to form a new Saxon army, preparing for future campaigns.
[After Vortigern's bloody birthday "gift," the Saxons who remained in Maple Hill completely abandoned their loyalty to the tyrant. They would never return to his banner, making them a reliable force for your plans to attack his lands in the future.]
[And you, Kaelar, began to seriously consider Merlin's suggestion—whether to take Artoria on a journey across Britannia.]
According to the mischievous sage, a future king must understand the hardships of the people, know the lives of her subjects, and comprehend the chaos of this God-forsaken Britannia.
[You agreed with her, but you also gave Uther your own suggestion under Merlin's name and tone—urging the sheltered king to go among the common folk.]
What Uther's reaction was, you didn't know. All you knew was that he sent his chamberlain back to you. Whether Sir Ector had been exiled from the capital because of his dear son's influence was a mystery.
But you deciphered Uther's hidden message. You retained Sir Ector as the lord of Maple Hill but refrained from granting him full authority. Instead, you chose three elite civil servants from the thousands in your territory to govern.
These three—Cadoc, Sechnall, and Lugald—became your chief advisors, responsible for taxes, administration, and justice.
[It was a bureaucratic system reminiscent of the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, implemented a millennium ahead of its time in fifth-century Britannia.]
You gave Sir Ector clear instructions—he was to avoid meddling in the internal affairs of Maple Hill, focusing instead on enjoying a life of leisure and training. You then prepared to journey across the Britannic Isles with Artoria.
[Yes, just the two of you.]
This decision left the eminent Merlin completely baffled. How could you embark on such a journey without the presence of someone of her caliber?
You calmly reiterated your refusal to have the Archmage Merlin accompany you, and she responded by challenging you to a duel.
[In three exchanges, you severed Merlin's longsword with a simple lunch knife meant for slicing bread. It seemed our Flower Magician needed a new sword-staff.]
Merlin, the one who had once dominated Britannia with her sword skills, was no match for a "mere youth."
["I, Merlin, acknowledge you as the strongest!"]
[
[You broke Merlin's weapon and pointed at her, declaring, "Old woman, your swordsmanship is worthless!"]
With no one else around, Merlin looked left and right, then promptly flopped onto the ground, throwing a tantrum. She clung to your leg, whining and rolling, confident you wouldn't hurt her since you were a knight who wouldn't resort to such petty violence.
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T/N: [Ceng, Shuqi, and Xingming ---> Cadoc, Sechnall, and Lugald] Changed because I highly doubt there would be people with...eastern names in his kingdom. And if there was is it racism if he chose only people with eastern names...? Food for thought.