"—Damn it!"
Amid curses, a man holding an arrow leaped out of the flames.
He rolled on the ground, pulling the bowstring as he went, kneeling on one knee and aiming at a nearby Saxon.
With a spark of fire, he shot the arrow.
The arrows, scorched by fierce flames, struck the enemy, taking two lives with the deadly skill of a throat-sealing shot.
However, the man reached for the quiver only to find it empty.
He had lost his sanity due to excessive killing.
With no time for further thought, he discarded the quiver and drew the short sword from his waist.
The man charged once more at the enemies invading his homeland.
He only wished to use their blood to honor the fallen kin.
[——This is war]
[No extra matters can be considered]
[If you don't want to die, you must shout louder than anyone else, and you must never take a step back out of fear]
[Everywhere is a scene of chaos, the temperature of blood rising with the raging flames]
[In the midst of war, the soldiers who keep praying are fighting desperately]
[Of course, this is a small-scale battle not worth mentioning; the bloodshed of one man cannot change anything]
[The Saxons' oppressive advantage cannot be shaken]
[This tribe is like a train with its brakes removed, sliding down into the abyss of annihilation]
[The love and beauty among families are turned to ashes in the flames of war]
[In the end, nothing will remain]
[It will not be recorded in history, and no one will remember]
[What remains here are merely the corpses of the defeated and the victors, who greedily feast on the rotting flesh like vultures]
[The outcome is nothingness]
[A predetermined death, an inescapable defeat]
[Resistance is merely a struggle to hold onto the last things they possess; what has passed can never be reclaimed]
[The men of the tribe resist the invading enemies]
[Only one word remains in their minds—]
[Kill—Kill! Kill! Kill!]
[This heart still beats]
[They hold arrows and swords in their hands]
[Behind them are their surviving parents, wives, and daughters]
[This is the reason that drives them to fight madly; this reason is enough]
[Even the most unintelligent beasts understand]
[To protect family, without hesitation]
[This is the greatest meaning of their existence; even if just one survives, they must not let go of hope]
[At this point, they can only think this way]
[In the hell of fire and blood, they want to grasp anything as support. Even madness, at this moment, is no different from a blessing to them]
[The cruel reality looms over them—]
"…Is it just these people left…"
Gradually, the outskirts of the village were breached.
The man looked at the remaining old, weak, women, and children in the tribe, and counted that they barely reached a hundred.
They were once a tribe of thousands.
Now, they had been ravaged by the invading Saxons to just a hundred, with nearly all the men dying on the battlefield.
Living on this British island, they had nowhere to escape.
They had lost; the tribe was about to face annihilation, their homeland ravaged, and their relatives and companions dying one after another.
It wouldn't be long before it would be their turn.
"Ugh…"
The man saw a boy trembling as he clutched a short knife.
The boy was no older than his own son, yet he had to face such a brutal hell of fire.
Recalling, his son had already—
The enemy would not show mercy just because the opponent was a child; this was a brutal war of survival.
Surrender would only lead to a fate worse than death.
"What will happen to our family in the end…"
"What will happen to Britain in the end…"
"When that time comes… what about our friends… and family…"
[No one knows the final outcome]
[They absolutely cannot surrender. Since death is inevitable, they might as well fight the enemy to the death]
[Although even fighting to the death cannot change the situation, if they truly admit defeat, everything will be over]
[Families and descendants will be buried with them]
[If there are survivors, at least there may be a chance for change]
[It's better for one more person to remember and carry their family name into the world; that way, in the end, they won't have nothing]
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!!
Flaming arrows fell from the sky like raindrops.
The boy, who had just vowed to fight for his tribe, was shot dead by a rain of arrows, an abrupt end indeed.
This is reality, this is war.
There are no heroes or miracles; lives vanish like ants.
"Damn it! Damn dragon Vortigern! Damn Saxons! You dog bastards!"
The man struggled to suppress his anger…
Once anger clouded his mind, or despair took hold, he would be crushed by the jaws of death.
No extra matters could be considered.
He could only focus on what remained.
After the Saxons' barrage of fire arrows, another ten tribesmen died, four of whom were combatants, further diminishing their fighting strength.
Moreover, the arrows were engulfed in flames.
The fire would eventually consume the defensive houses.
They had to evacuate quickly; otherwise, they would likely fall into a besieged situation—they could no longer continue to defend.
The remaining people followed the orders.
They retreated from behind the houses, seeing few Saxons blocking them here.
"Good! Just like that!"
The man was about to give the next command.
However, what responded to him was—
"——Ah"
What descended before him was a loud explosion and a burst of flames.
A projectile from a catapult landed right next to the man, the scorching shockwave throwing him several meters away.
What reflected in his eyes was the sight of tribesmen crushed into meat paste.
The smell of burning blood and entrails flooded his nostrils as he looked at the spreading sea of blood, collapsing to the ground.
His leg bones were nearly shattered.
Half of his body was burned black.
"Cough, cough——!!"
It felt as if even the blood spilling from his throat was mixed with bone fragments, the blood he coughed up heralding the approach of death.
His ears were filled with the wails and cries of his tribesmen.
Some still survived in this onslaught, but those who could command were unable to act; the rest were merely lambs waiting to be slaughtered.
——Why had it come to this?
——Why must they die?
Looking at the boy who perished in the flames and the tribesmen crushed into pulp by the boulders.
He widened his eyes, filled with unwillingness.
However, the ultimate answer to the question was only one.
This war was a battle for survival fought with all their might; discussing good and evil had long lost any meaning.
"War has no right or wrong; the only mistake is that we lost the war, that we couldn't kill all the Saxons, that we couldn't achieve victory! Ah ah… ah ah…!"
Enduring the excruciating pain of continuously spitting blood.
The man laughed at this scene as if he had gone mad.
This is the truth of the world.
An incredibly cruel, detestable truth…