Chapter 35: Fame Spreads Far! Legend Ferments!

Along the coastline.

Kevito stepped onto the soil of Britain, his face alight with excitement, and bowed to Deng Ken: “My lord, the first batch of two hundred has all arrived.”

He now wore Roman field armor with scale plates, a steel helmet on his head, a large shield at his side, a heavy shortsword at his belt, and javelins slung across his back—he looked considerably stronger than their last meeting, with a new layer of fat around his waist, likely from better food, better drink, and consistent training, his physical condition restored to its former peak.

These first-recruited private soldiers all looked in good health, no longer the gaunt, yellow-skinned figures they had been at first.

Deng Ken nodded and clapped his shoulder: “Good.”

“Come with me.”

Saying this, he walked toward Kriog, and as Kevito caught sight of the Sarmatian knight, his heart skipped—a Sarmatian was a pivotal force in the imperial army, an elite mercenary cavalry unit indispensable to any campaign.

Early Roman cavalry had always been a weakness; only after absorbing the Sarmatians did their cavalry become powerful.

Deng Ken fixed his gaze on Kriog and said gravely: “This is Kevito, commander of the private legion. You will assist him in training this force.”

Hearing Deng Ken’s words, Kevito exhaled in relief—he had feared his position had been taken from him again.

Kriog nodded solemnly: “Yes, my lord.”

He was trained as a elite horseman; though skilled in foot combat, he was unfit to command infantry—his role was only temporary, and the Sarmatians were best suited for forming cavalry units.

—Exiles Private Legion (High Morale) (New Beginning) (Trained) (Discipline Poor)!

From a god’s-eye view.

This reorganized legion carried multiple markers: training had three tiers—untrained (rabble), trained, and well-trained; discipline also had three tiers—no discipline, poor discipline, and strict discipline. Above these stood elite units, not considered regular troops, comparable to Spartan heavy infantry, Roman Praetorian Guard, or Imperial Eagle Legions.

Units with high training levels rarely had poor discipline.

Except for barbarian berserkers.

This mixed legion numbered over two hundred, plus the traditional Celtic warriors recruited by Severus.

The burly guard trailing Deng Ken was a Celt migrated from Gaul.

—Gaulish Oathbound Warrior (Two-Star)!

This was the only two-star unit Severus recruited, named Kulin. Geis, a recurring element in Celtic mythology, translates as taboo, prohibition, or oath. It held considerable weight in Celtic myth, yet remained its most secretive aspect.

One weapon, the “Sword of the Oath of Victory,” was tied to Kulin—he was a Celtic warrior who had sworn such an oath.

During the early imperial conquest of Gaul, these Gaulish Oathbound Warriors inflicted heavy losses on imperial heavy legions; they were top-tier infantry units with unique abilities.

Deng Ken turned to Kevito beside him and ordered: “I recall there were over thirty men in the exiles who were originally Gaulish warriors?”

“Hand them over to Kulin. Have him form them into an assault infantry unit.”

The composition of the exiles was highly complex.

People of different ethnicities mixed together, unified only by their identity as “bankrupts.” Most could be reorganized into imperial private legions, but a few with barbarian heritage could be integrated into special units.

Deng Ken worked until noon before settling these men near a coastal village.

In the afternoon.

A rider named Gil arrived with a group, bringing supplies—stolen from Duke Tintagel’s tightfisted purse. He was also recruiting native warriors, planning a counterattack to reclaim lost territory.

Britain did not lack grain; its population had never been large, peaking at two to three million, now estimated at just over one million. After the empire abandoned the province, many Romans migrated away, and Saxon pirates killed many more.

Today, Britain was sparsely populated and surrounded by sea—fishing was viable, so starvation was not a concern, though other supplies, especially iron weapons and armor, were scarce, awaiting Aniya’s caravan.

Gil dismounted and hurried forward, his expression filled with awe as he bowed: “Lord Deng Ken, the duke has re-recruited over a thousand men and plans to retake Devon.”

“He sent me to deliver supplies to reward your legion.”

Though Deng Ken brought only two hundred men, in today’s Britain he was already a minor warlord. Early Britain had over a dozen small kingdoms—essentially tribal chieftains—who, when mobilizing their entire resources, could muster only one or two thousand men, mostly militia-level troops.

Duke Tintagel had suffered a defeat and urgently needed to restore his prestige; he aimed to exploit Kent’s internal chaos and reclaim some lost land. Cornwall was poor, like Wales, a mountainous backwater.

Had Deng Ken not slain the King of Kent earlier, he would have been utterly crushed.

“So soon for a counterattack?”

Deng Ken’s expression turned grave: “Too hasty. How much combat effectiveness can these hastily recruited natives have?”

“Natives” referred to Celts not fully Romanized; those around London had already been Romanized.

Gil bowed: “Reconnaissance riders report Saxon garrisons in Devon are withdrawing.”

“Retaking that land should require little fighting.”

In Britain, the farther east you went, the more mountains and forests appeared; Cornwall was mountainous, but westward lay more plains. The empire had built paved roads and established over a dozen tribal-level administrative districts and more than thirty towns in early Britain, to facilitate urbanization and troop deployment.

A tribe roughly equaled a county in size.

After capturing Devon, advancing toward London would force large-scale legion battles, and the Saxon barbarians could mobilize their forces more easily.

Yet plains were harder to defend.

The entire island’s core lay around London and the Thames; the empire had developed it for centuries, concentrating all major towns in this region. Even in London stood a university—not the kind we know, but an imperial adult school serving only nobles, designed to assimilate Britain’s native ruling class.

First assimilate the nobility; then let them guide the assimilation of commoners.

“Could it be because I killed so many they’re retreating entirely?”

Deng Ken thought it possible.

After all, barbarian troops were few; abandoning remote areas made defense easier.

If Deng Ken kept killing ten or so men daily, their garrisons would collapse from morale loss in no time.

The enemy’s actual combat troops numbered only a few thousand; with conscripted militia and auxiliaries, perhaps ten thousand total.

Let Duke Tintagel reclaim Devon—Deng Ken had no plans to move yet. His exiles were still unorganized; he needed at least four to five hundred before engaging in open battle.

The exiles were stationed in a ruined village called Tiram.

Deng Ken assigned Kevito and Kriog to train the troops, while he prepared to recruit more men from the Britons, expanding into three hundred-man companies.

Quality mattered more than quantity.

With his current resources, he could not afford too many men.

Night fell.

Outside the encampment, a sudden clatter of hooves rang out, then Kevito rushed in, his face alight with delight: “My lord.”

“Someone outside wishes to meet you.”

Hm?

Deng Ken rose, his Gaulish guard following closely. Outside, several riders approached; their leader’s skin was bluish, as if painted with dye—resembling terrifying totem tattoos.

—Hornland Noble Rider (One-Star).

—Briton Hunter.

—Canti Auxiliary Infantry.

“Canti” meant “hornland,” referring primarily to the native Britons near Kent, later spreading elsewhere—they were the unluckiest branch of Britons, as the Kingdom of Kent was built atop their ancestral lands.

This group numbered only twenty-seven: six cavalry, twenty-one infantry, poorly equipped, some dressed in rags like savages, only half wearing leather armor.

The noble rider wore chainmail, his eyes fixed on Deng Ken, surprised by his appearance—he scrutinized him closely by the firelight.

Rumors about Deng Ken had grown wild; he was nearly revered as a legendary hero.

“You are Deng Ken, the one who slew the King of Kent?”

The noble rider’s tone carried arrogance, his expression skeptical—Deng Ken’s physique did not match the exaggerated tales; beside him, Kulin and Kriog looked more like the legendary warriors of native lore.

In short: broad-shouldered, massive, fierce in bearing, like a wild beast.

Such men better fit the natives’ image of a hero.

—Intimidation (Special Ability)!

In the firelight, Deng Ken narrowed his eyes, his gaze deep as a abyss—a chilling aura of killing intent surged, as if an invisible wind swept through, making the bonfire flicker and gutter.

The noble rider’s horse reared in fright; he himself was stunned by Deng Ken’s presence, stumbling off his mount in panic.

In that instant, he seemed to hallucinate: skulls rolling in darkness, rivers of blood.

When he looked up again, his face was shaken, yet he still held his neck stiff: “You’re not like the rumors.”

Deng Ken smiled: “What did the rumors say I was like?”

The noble rider hesitated: “They say you’re mighty and towering, a giant who can wrestle wild horses bare-handed, fight tigers and leopards, shoot arrows beyond mortal comprehension, and eat an entire ox in one meal.”

Had rumors become this absurd?

Deng Ken chuckled: “Why have you come?”

The noble rider hesitated, then clenched his teeth: “We heard your legend and came to join you, to fight the invading Saxon barbarians together.”

“But…”

“The tales were too exaggerated. I needed to see for myself—otherwise, I couldn’t earn my men’s loyalty.”

He continued: “We have over three hundred more.”

“Lodged by the river valley.”

So he was a minor exiled lord—no wonder he had some pride, daring to test Deng Ken’s strength.

As Deng Ken rose to stand, Kulin stepped forward—the Celtic warrior with totem tattoos knelt on one knee: “My lord, leave this to me.”

Seeing Kulin step out, the surrounding Celtic warriors sighed in disappointment and retreated.

The news of Kriog’s knighthood had already spread through the camp.

Others were eager too; though Deng Ken had not yet reclaimed any land, the title of knight had already set Kriog apart. Especially Kevito—he seethed with envy. He should have come to Britain with him.

I got here first!

Though fewer in number, the Celtic warriors led by Kulin had their own ambitions—they were natives, hungry to earn glory on this land.

Kriog now waited to form a cavalry unit, then return to his homeland to recruit more Sarmatian horsemen fused with natives. He had fellow villagers, childhood friends—he could easily recruit retainers under his knightly title.

To wear brocade and not return home is like walking in silk under cover of night.

First earn glory through battle, then return home to boast—and bring back men to strengthen his personal guard.

A flawless plan, expanding his own core.

Outside the camp.

Deng Ken glanced at him and nodded slightly.

Kulin’s expression flared with excitement; he didn’t draw his weapon, but gestured toward the opponent with the scabbard in hand.

This is an insult!

The noble horseman from the Corner Lands flew into a rage, drawing his sword and raising his shield as he charged straight at Kulin’s burly figure. He had some real skill—clearly trained from childhood—but his strength lay mostly in horsemanship; his foot combat was merely average.

Clang!

Crash!

In single combat, the two-star warrior’s strength was laid bare: Kulin blocked the noble’s one-handed sword with his scabbard, then slammed into him with his whole body, effortlessly toppling the man to the ground before he could even raise his shield. The noble tumbled head over heels, barely had time to lift his head in defiance when the scabbard was already pressed against his throat.

His stance is unstable—he’d be stronger on horseback.

“Is this the level of a man who dares challenge Lord Deng Ken?” Kulin’s expression held faint disdain.

He was a traditional Gao Lu oath-bound warrior, an elite heavy infantryman of the first tier, capable of standing against the Empire’s elite imperial guards, and one of the rare Gao Lu infantry types who could possibly break through the Spartan heavy phalanx in open combat.

Honestly, the Corner Lands noble horseman was nothing before him—even if the man charged straight on horseback, Kulin could still turn the tables and kill him.

Severus recruited few men, but their overall strength was formidable.

Of course, the true elite forces hadn’t arrived yet—the Old Temple Guards recruited by the Crow Queen—Tris—were the real main event.

Deng Ken stepped forward and reached out to pull up the humiliated Corner Lands horseman.

He glanced at Kulin beside him; Kulin immediately bowed his head in reverence, stepping back, no longer the arrogant, dismissive man he’d been at first, returning to the ranks of the Celtic warriors.

This guy’s quite the actor.

Deng Ken clapped the Corner Lands horseman on the shoulder. “What’s your name?”

The Corner Lands horseman replied respectfully, “Talon-Sari.”

Deng Ken paused, then said, “Bring the people from the River Valley here. Reorganize and train them. My fleet will soon bring more grain and weapons from North Africa.”

We still need Aniya to get started.

Rich women are irresistible.

Talon’s force had only one-third actual combat capability; the rest were militia-level. They were merged into auxiliary legions. After Deng Ken’s reorganization, fewer than three hundred men qualified as regular infantry; another two hundred or so were auxiliaries, unfit for hard battles.

Today’s events felt like a signal. By the third day, when over a dozen more arrived, Deng Ken finally realized something was off.

“Is my reputation really that loud?”

“Why are hundreds suddenly flocking to me? Even Welsh archers?”

The third morning was even worse.

Most who had come in the past few days were refugees who’d lost their land and homes to Saxon pirates—mainly exiled Cantii, Brigantes, and Venta, native tribes, branches of the Britons, defeated and forced to flee into the hills, all desperate to reclaim their homeland.

But when Deng Ken saw over a dozen one-star “Welsh Archers” today, he finally grasped the immense influence his legend held.

The Welsh lands hadn’t been overrun by barbarians—they’d come purely for Deng Ken’s name!

That was King Uther’s territory.

The leader of the Welsh Archers looked just as bewildered; when Deng Ken asked him, he answered honestly: “I don’t know either…”

“The Druid priests said: if you want to fight the Saxon barbarians invading us, come here and join Lord Deng Ken!”

“So we came together.”

They mostly wanted glory and achievement—life in the mountains was hard, and they hoped to rise through military merit.

Druids?

Avalon in the mist?!

Deng Ken immediately thought of the fairy guardians of Avalon. Lately, he’d heard wild rumors linking him to Avalon. Because of this, those among the natives who still held to traditional faiths flocked to him, swelling his ranks to nearly six hundred.

Deng Ken’s legend seemed not only to enhance his power in the dimensional space, but its influence in the real world was now beginning to manifest.

In barely half a month, his name had spread across all of Britain.

………………

Is Avalon helping me?

Deng Ken incorporated the Welsh Archers into a nearly hundred-strong ranged unit; they all brought their own rations, weapons, leather armor, and arrows.

The British Hunters, once second- or third-line archers, were reorganized into “British Auxiliary Archers.”

Talon’s three hundred or so men, mostly farmers, herders, and militia, were merged into two hundred-man units and reorganized as “British Coastal Militia.”

“Logistics are tightening.”

When Kewito arrived with the ledger, Deng Ken realized that feeding so many men and horses was draining his resources fast.

Aniya, where are you?

I miss you so much!

Don’t be fooled by the mere six hundred men—feeding them is costly. Even without pay, daily food, upkeep, and training cost over a hundred gold coins a month. If we followed the Empire’s standard army pay, the cost would multiply several times over: a hundred-man imperial field legion required nearly a thousand gold coins per year.

The Empire’s field legions were infamous for their exorbitant costs, far exceeding those of other forces.

Of course, that was for regular troops—the elite frontline soldiers. Imperial auxiliary legions cost far less. The Empire paid soldiers only once per quarter; a standard field legion’s quarterly expenditure was around three hundred and fifty gold coins—averaged out, it wasn’t much, even bordering on tight living, requiring loot and rewards to sustain.

Barbarian forces paid only half the Empire’s wages, but compensated with plundered land and spoils.

Deng Ken’s troops didn’t yet receive pay, but daily rations were unavoidable. Five or six hundred men eating every day was a heavy burden. With Deng Ken’s nature, he wouldn’t let them eat bran and vegetables—he’d drain his last coin to ensure at least one meat meal (fish) per day.

The large number of eaters even drew nearby British villagers, who set up a small market outside the camp, where fishermen brought their catch to trade for household cash.

Deng Ken still had to equip them with weapons and gear; between all the miscellaneous expenses, his purse was nearly empty, yet many still lacked armor, using only crude shields.

The bag of gold Aniya had left behind was slowly, completely spent.

“We can’t wait any longer!”

“Train through combat.”

When Deng Ken realized his purse was nearly empty, he made an immediate decision: strike first.

Send out reconnaissance cavalry!

Krigan and Talon each led a patrol of scouts—twelve men total. Deng Ken had no more cavalry; his horses would have to be seized, not bought—he simply couldn’t afford them.

The native chieftains all had their own mounted guards; Deng Ken’s only mounted force was a squad of Celtic foot warriors—his resources still paled in comparison.

Duke Dingtajir had reclaimed most of Devonshire, even captured Exeter.

His forces were now locked in stalemate near Dorset.

In plain terms, Duke Dingtajir had marched forward triumphantly, retaking one county and now probing the neighboring county against the Saxon pirates, both sides waiting for an opening to crush the other.

One day passed quickly.

Just as Deng Ken prepared to act—

“Fleet!”

“A fleet is coming!”

Cheers erupted from the coast; Deng Ken instantly rose and rushed toward the harbor.

Aniya’s fleet!

The beloved witch Aniya had returned.

There was no proper port nearby, so docking took a little time. Aniya’s fleet consisted of six cargo ships and three small vessels, all with shallow drafts, built for Mediterranean trade. The British coastlines were still under Saxon pirate control, so their arrival carried risk—but luckily, they encountered no trouble.

Aniya stood on deck, dressed in a luxurious Roman noblewoman’s court gown, looking like a proud peacock!

Over the years, the Church’s influence had grown, and Roman clothing had changed. Aniya had donned the early imperial noblewomen’s attire—similar to the robes in Spartacus, slightly revealing, radiant and graceful.

After the Church became the state religion, imperial fashion shifted: the arenas closed, the Olympics halted, and society grew increasingly conservative.

The crew used small boats to unload the cargo: shields, javelins, short swords, grain, cloth, dried meat—all the supply ships were packed to the brim.

Aniya stepped onto the shore, head held high, and smiled seductively at Deng Ken. “I sold all my North African holdings at rock-bottom prices.”

“From now on, I rely on you.”

“This is the first batch. The sale of my estates and lands in Rome will take more time.”

She truly emptied her fortune.

Though Aniya carried all the aristocratic flaws, her decisiveness surpassed any man’s.

This shipment relieved Deng Ken’s immediate crisis—though the one regret was the lack of armor. Even Aniya couldn’t secure the Empire’s standard-issue field armor.

But one ship carried leather armor—enough to equip many.

Deng Ken said nothing, only gripped Aniya’s hand tightly, fingers entwined, then raised it high for all to see. Soon, cheers erupted around them.

Amid the cheers, Aniya’s beautiful face flushed with excitement, clearly reveling in the adoration.

“I brought you some people too.”

On the way back to camp, Aniya leaned close to Deng Ken’s ear and whispered, “They’re former imperial camp merchants.”

“You can sell your unwanted loot to them.”

—Camp merchants.

—Imperial hired guards.

Deng Ken had already noticed: their guards wore the uniform of imperial private mercenary units, and some even carried crossbows.

The Empire was built on war.

As early as BC times, every imperial legion’s campaign was followed by legions of camp merchants, who bought spoils at discounted prices and transported supplies the army needed, effectively replacing many laborers.

Of course, it was all for profit.

Camp merchants were a wildly profitable trade—earning money with their heads on their belts. They bought spoils and resold them elsewhere for over a hundred percent profit, and these cashed-out spoils were distributed among the army according to battlefield merit.

Everyone benefited—if the commanders didn’t embezzle, victory meant every soldier’s purse swelled.

Rome’s foreign wars often yielded enormous gains: the Punic Wars brought massive reparations and mastery of the Mediterranean; the Macedonian Wars yielded over 120 million in reparations alone, followed by annual tribute equivalent to nearly three years of the entire empire’s tax revenue.

From BC times until now, camp merchants had grown steadily, even handling spoils from barbarian Hun raids on the Empire.

Where there was profit, they’d do anything.

Inside the camp.

With Aniya’s return, her merchant associates immediately took over the army’s logistics. Among the Britons, few could read or calculate, but the Romans generally had higher education. Aniya’s merchant guild maintained trade routes between Carthage in North Africa and Alexandria in Egypt; managing logistics for five or six hundred men was no problem.

Before leaving the tent, Aniya’s pinky finger lightly brushed Deng Ken’s palm, her beautiful face showing a subtle, pleading expression as if asking for a reward.

After weeks of travel, exhaustion, wind, and sun, Aniya was starving.

The Crow Queen—Tris pretended not to notice, her gaze fixed on Aniya’s moonlike hips swaying as she walked away, her eyes distant, lost in thought.

Her meeting with Merlin had not gone well.

Or more plainly, Merlin was a moderate, leaning toward the Church, unwilling to get involved in such troubles, and had no obligation to help her.

When Deng Ken saw the Crow Queen—Tris return without mentioning Merlin, he knew the meeting had not gone well. Whether Merlin helped or not, he didn’t care—Merlin had never been part of Deng Ken’s plan.

In this chaotic age, one must rely on oneself!

………………