Agravain's stubborn, cold disposition held strong, even when discussing Kaelar. "We serve Arthur as knights of the Round Table," he stated. "We cannot allow Kaelar to splinter the Round Table or rise against our king."
"…" Gawain rubbed his temples, murmuring, "What a headache… How did we get here?"
"Merlin foretold these two prophecies about Kaelar and Arthur, and none of us believed her. Now, here we are, watching the first one unfold," he sighed.
Lancelot, with his usual somber expression, added, "The bond between Kaelar and Arthur was always so close. I almost believed Kaelar would one day stand by her side… as her consort."
Even Gawain, who rarely agreed with Lancelot, nodded solemnly. "It's a mess now… And we were still betting on when Kaelar would officially take on that role…"
He muttered the word "mess" twice, a testament to how rattled the knight, usually a paragon of composure, felt.
Merlin had once prophesied two things about Kaelar and Arthur. The first was that Kaelar would one day stand against Arthur and sever The Sword of Promised Victory. The second was that Kaelar would betray a vow he'd made with Arthur.
No one knew exactly what the vow was, but given that Merlin had chosen the word "betray," it was sure to be something grave.
Agravain's tone was harsh as he said, "As much as I dislike admitting it, we need to prepare for this now. None of us could defeat Kaelar if it came to that. If he truly opposes our king… how would we stop this so-called 'Saint'?"
"…"
For once, even Lancelot and Gawain fell silent, neither willing to boast of their strength. After all, both of them had already tasted defeat at Kaelar's hands.
"What a headache…"
Inside the castle, a tense silence lingered between Kaelar and Arthur. Though they had faced the public together, the rift between them was undeniable.
Arthur held the broken Sword of Promised Victory in her hands, staring blankly at its shattered blade. For a master of the sword, the loss of a sacred weapon was no small matter.
Having fought with this blade for years, she held a deep attachment to it.
"Lily," Kaelar began softly, "is there any way to repair Excalibur? I'm sorry… this isn't what I wanted."
"It can't be fixed," Arthur replied, shaking her head. "Excalibur isn't like Caliburn or the Galatine. It's a sacred blade forged by the world itself, with the help of the fae. No one except the planet itself could ever make another."
In other words, The Sword of Promised Victory was one of a kind.
But compared to the sword's shattering, Arthur's thoughts were elsewhere.
"Kaelar… Do you hate me?" Arthur suddenly asked.
"What? Why would you think that?" Kaelar's surprise was evident. "You stopped me from cutting my hand off instead of the sword. You care so much about me—why would I hate you?"
Kaelar wasn't the sort to dwell on things unnecessarily. To him, the situation had been the sword's influence, a shadow cast by Excalibur's influence. Perhaps breaking it had been for the best.
"Kaelar, that's all I needed to hear."
Arthur's face brightened, casting off the cloud of worry that had hung over her. Her eyes sparkled, her smile vivacious as she proclaimed, "With or without that sword, I am the Knight King!"
Just like that, the tension faded, the two of them pushing the memory aside as warmth returned between them.
Back in Rome, Orestes left the palace and returned home, his face dark with suppressed rage. Thoughts of Ankous's words fanned his fury, and he had to restrain himself from ending that arrogant youth's life.
"Barbarian… a savage…" he sneered. "I've given my life in service to Rome. I've held Odoacer's ambition at bay for over a decade. He even offered me the title of Caesar of Western Rome, and I turned him down."
"And in the end, my reward is to be called nothing but a 'savage'?"
"Ankous, Nepos… Romans. You will all regret your arrogance."
Cold fury burned in Orestes's eyes. A lifetime spent loyal to Rome, and yet, in the city's darkest hour, thoughts of a new path flickered through his mind.
Orestes was as Romanized as a barbarian could be. Unlike the deceitful Odoacer, he had always thought of himself as a Roman.
As a vast empire, Rome had assimilated many of its neighboring cultures. Yet Rome had never produced a philosopher to create a concept like the Hua-Yi distinction. Romans saw any fair-haired, blue-eyed foreigner as a barbarian, and few outsiders felt any genuine loyalty toward Rome, serving it only for profit.
But loyalty won by coin was loyalty lost just as quickly.
Loyal and virtuous citizens—these were the bedrock of an empire.
Ankous hadn't lingered long in Rome; he needed to return to Tiberius with the emperor's message.
"So the emperor's saying the empire is out of gold? Not even a hundred thousand coins?"
Tiberius scowled and pressed on. "Fine. No coins. But what about supplies? Bows, arrows, armor, spears, fodder, food? Surely, at least those?"
"…" Ankous looked uncomfortable. "The supplies are available… but they're held by merchants. We would need to purchase them, but the emperor has no funds."
"At a time like this, and those merchants are hoarding?!" Tiberius's eyes flashed with anger. "I command sixty thousand soldiers. Do they really expect payment from us?"
"Do they truly believe those barbarians won't kill them once they've taken Rome?"
Tiberius's gaze narrowed as he muttered, "I promised my men double pay. If we can't deliver, they'll mutiny. It seems I have no choice but to let them 'forage' as needed."
To "forage" meant pillaging the city. Tiberius's loyalty to Rome was strong, but he still held a noble's disregard for the common folk. He saw the public as sacrifices if it meant securing Rome's survival.
In a crisis, if there were only two rations left, the soldiers would be fed first.
Letting the civilians starve was a lesser concern. But if the army perished, Rome would fall.
"There's another matter I must tell you." Ankous grimaced. "That barbarian, Orestes, advised the emperor to keep your army outside the city."
"Orestes claims that you won't be able to fulfill your promises, that you'll pillage the city. He warned the emperor against allowing you and your men entry."
"Orestes! That savage!" Tiberius snarled. "These barbarians will be the ruin of Rome! Without my sixty thousand troops, how do they think they'll defend this city?"
"Ankous, head back and tell the emperor and Orestes this: If they can't provide what my soldiers need, then my men will kill me and march on Rome as enemies."
Tiberius pondered for a moment, then added, "Make it clear—if their demands aren't met, the sixty thousand soldiers of the Roman Legion will become sixty thousand enemy troops."
Rome was already too fragile to withstand any more threats. The city struggled to defend itself against the Huns as it was. The addition of sixty thousand enemies could spell immediate destruction.
When Ankous returned from Rome, he appeared visibly relieved. He nodded at Tiberius and reported, "The emperor has agreed, though he still refuses to allow us inside the city."
"Emperor Nepos asks that you station your troops outside Rome. He'll send a list of requested supplies to you directly."
"… So we're supposed to fight the Huns in the field, not from within the city walls?"
Tiberius's brow furrowed. "We've already had skirmishes with Hun scouts. They're skilled archers, with cavalry formations that work together flawlessly."
"With equal numbers, I doubt our forces could match the Huns. And if Attila leads them himself, he'll bring no less than a hundred thousand men."
Tiberius had defeated three thousand Hun riders in the Alps with minimal losses, a substantial victory.
But his army numbered sixty thousand, facing only a few thousand Huns. Even with those odds, the Huns had inflicted a thousand casualties on his forces. These warriors from the East were as ruthless as they were dangerous.
If the numbers were even, with these savages led by the fearsome "Scourge of God," Tiberius doubted his ability to repel Attila.
But Tiberius could demand no more. Nepos was Rome's emperor. Extorting supplies from him was already a grave overstep, one Tiberius wouldn't have considered if not for Rome's sake.
"At least the immediate threat is resolved. From here, we can only move forward cautiously."
Worry clouded Tiberius's mind. Was he truly capable of saving Rome?
Meanwhile, Attila had led her army in storming the Visigoth capital, Toledo.
She was slight of frame and outwardly delicate, with warm, bronzed skin. Yet her graceful, athletic poise resembled a hunting predator.
This was the feared King of the Huns, the "Scourge of God" herself.
The Christians called her the "Scourge of God," believing her to be a whip sent by God to punish those who defied Him.
To the Romans, she was the "Sword of the War God."
In Roman mythology, Mars, god of war, held an esteemed place nearly on par with Jupiter. For Romans to name Attila "Sword of Mars" spoke volumes.
This white-haired, red-eyed woman possessed a beauty so arresting it seemed to transcend humanity. Her presence shone with an almost divine radiance.
But no one dared gaze upon her allure. Every nation, every civilization fell within the range of her whip.
Attila's might loomed over all, formidable enough to dominate all of Europe. From the Slavs to the Eastern Empire, from Rome to Gaul, the entire West quaked beneath her.
This Hun king was a conqueror, a true "Terminator of Civilizations."
The world struggled to fathom someone so powerful, and so the titles heaped upon her grew—each separating her further from the realm of mere mortals.
"Goths… bad civilization. Bad civilizations must be destroyed."
Attila's expression was cold, her gaze devoid of any warmth. She spoke, her tone deathly still, "Erase Toledo. Banish this bad civilization."
"Oh, great Sword of Mars, King of the Huns!"
"Hail, Attila, Sword of Mars, leader of us all!"
The Huns shouted in their guttural language. A moment later, they carried out her order. The city of Toledo, with a history spanning over a thousand years, a place that had once stood as a crossroads between Europe and Africa, burned beneath her forces.
Attila cast her gaze east, speaking softly as though to herself. "A weapon of slaughter can know emptiness?"
"If that's so… then perhaps it's because it isn't enough yet… My destruction is far from complete."
A streak of blood-red flashed across her empty gaze as she raised her blade, its yellow, pink, and blue hues glinting, and pointed it toward Rome.
"Rome," she intoned, her voice brimming with violent malice, "is a bad civilization."
Her declaration hung in the air, almost tangible. The atmosphere grew heavy, thick with a bloodlust that transcended the horrors of war. In her scarlet eyes gleamed a desire to destroy, a relentless yearning for ruin.
Attila, King of the Huns, heir to the White Giant, destroyer of civilizations.
Ten days later, Toledo, ravaged by the Huns, was little more than ash, with not a soul left alive. Over a thousand years of history were erased in a single command, one city of the ancient world wiped from existence.
But it wasn't enough.
For the Hun King, the extent of her savagery was measured by the greatness of what she destroyed.
In Toledo, she'd merely sharpened her fangs.
Now, with the ancient and grand city of Rome in her sights, the Scourge of God rode forth with fury.
Upon finally reaching Rome, Tiberius felt a pang of bitter disappointment.
From a distance, he spotted a small Hun raiding party taunting the city. It was a far smaller group than the one he'd faced in the Alps, scarcely numbering a thousand.
These Huns shouted in their guttural language and hurled crude Latin insults at the walls. Occasionally, they would draw their bows, aiming at the Roman walls with casual arrogance.
The city of Rome, perched upon its famed Seven Hills, boasted a population of over a million—a metropolis unparalleled in ancient times. Only Constantinople and a few cities in the Far East could rival it.
Yet this ragtag band of a thousand Huns, part of a nomadic tribe whose entire population was only about as large as the city of Rome itself, had brought the once-mighty empire to its knees.
Rome's location was a strategic fortress, its defenses famously strong. Otherwise, it could never have stood for centuries against wave after wave of invaders.
But seeing it now, Tiberius could only feel contempt. The famed city walls now acted as a prison, locking the Romans inside in fear, convincing them that hiding behind them was their only hope.
Each day, as the Huns taunted from outside, Roman morale waned. The enemy saw Romans as nothing more than sheep awaiting slaughter, with the Huns as wolves circling their prey.
And the Romans, somehow, had come to accept this fate.
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i cannot wait for chapter 80 umu