Chapter 286: First Real Combat

One year later.

Whoosh!

A refined arc of light shot from the long sword in Arthur's hand, like a crescent moon cleaving the air, carrying a sharp whistling sound, and precisely sank into the thicket ahead!

Crack—Boom!

A tree thick enough that it took two adults to embrace it snapped with the sound; its upper trunk slowly tilted, then heavily crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Arthur maintained his post-swing posture, breathing slightly, gazing at the clean cut, a flicker of satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

He sheathed his sword and stood, his movements far more steady and smooth than a year ago.

He turned, looking toward the not‑far‑away Yu Lin, who sat leisurely by the fire, basting several skewers of plump wild rabbit meat with honey and spices, and asked with a hint of anticipation:

"Master, I've already mastered the sword technique you taught. What should we practice next?"

Yu Lin didn't even lift his head, focused on turning the skewers over the flames so the fat dripped, making a tempting sizzling sound.

He answered offhandedly: "Next? Practice real combat."

"Real combat?" Arthur blinked slightly, a hint of surprise flashing in his green eyes, then strong excitement welled up:

"Master, are you going to personally give me guidance?"

He imagined the scene of sparring with Yu Lin, both nervous and eager.

Yu Lin finally lifted his head, glanced at him, the corner of his mouth curling into a meaningful smile, and shook his head: "No, your opponent… is over there."

Saying this, he raised the hand holding the brush and casually pointed toward the northwest.

Arthur immediately followed the direction his teacher pointed, gazing into the distance, but all he saw were rolling hills, dense forests, and a blurred horizon far away—no sign of anyone or anything unusual.

His doubts deepened; he simply couldn't understand what his teacher meant.

Just then, the kirin that had been quietly lying beside them, dozing, suddenly rose to its feet.

It let out a loud snort, shook its gleaming golden head, and before Arthur could react, it nudged him affectionately yet irresistibly with its head, steadying him on its broad back.

"Eh? Kirin, where are we going?" Arthur hurriedly grabbed the soft golden mane on the kirin's neck to steady himself.

The kirin gave no reply, only letting out a neigh; its four hooves thrust hard, turning into a golden streak of light that bore Arthur on its back, racing like the wind toward the northwest Yu Lin had indicated!

Wind howled in Arthur's ears, the surrounding scenery flashing backward.

He lowered his body, clinging to the kirin, feeling both a bit bewildered and his heart racing from the sudden action.

As the kirin sped closer, the distant scenery that had been blurry gradually became clear.

Having crested the final hill, the scene in the valley below, like a red‑hot branding iron, instantly seared his eyes—

He saw a small village engulfed in a sea of fire and chaos!

Thick smoke rolled, and the sounds of wailing, vicious laughter, and clashing weapons could be heard faintly.

Some warriors wearing rough leather armor, wielding battle axes and round shields, with blond or reddish‑brown hair and ferocious faces, were rampaging through the village, burning, killing, and looting at will!

They kicked open the doors of thatched huts, dragged out terrified villagers, seized anything that caught their eye, and cut down any who resisted without mercy!

He had been to this village before!

And these people were Saxons! Raiders from across the sea!

The Saxons are a branch of the Germanic peoples.

In the early 5th century AD, a portion of the Saksonians crossed the sea northward, landing and invading the Gaul Coast and Britain Coast, eventually most settling in Ying Ge Lan.

To distinguish them, scholars call the Saksonians who settled in Ying Ge Lan 'Saxons', and together with the Angles of Ying Ge Lan they are termed Anglo‑Saxon, forming the main body of modern Britain.

When Arthur King was young, he fought them often while building his kingdom, until he drove them out.

Then he battled various Celtic tribes, small kingdoms, and local lords, subduing them, beating them into submission!

As time passed, his territory kept expanding; only then did he gather his forces and then march on Rome!

Now.

Eleven‑year‑old young Arthur encountered his early enemies for the first time!

The sight before him, like the bloodiest nightmare, instantly seized Arthur's heart.

The once tranquil village now rang with shrill wails, desperate howls, and the marauders' unrestrained laughter.

He saw an old man shoved to the ground, his meager rations snatched away; he saw a child curled in a corner, too frightened to even cry; he saw familiar fellow villagers, their plain faces etched in memory, lying in pools of blood or bound with ropes, their eyes empty like lambs awaiting slaughter.

A blazing fury, almost enough to burn his reason to ashes, surged up from his heart like a volcanic eruption!

This anger did not stem from personal grudges but from a simple hatred of atrocities, grief over the weak being bullied, and anguish at seeing the land that nurtured him being trampled!

An innate sense of a guardian's duty pounded fiercely in his young chest.

Just then, from a house still burning, a remarkably burly Saxon chieftain staggered out.

He clumsily held up his trousers, his belt not yet fully fastened, his face bearing a satisfied yet cruel grin.

Looking out from his doorway, one could dimly see a figure lying on the indoor floor, clothes torn, a pool of bright red blood beneath, already silent.

The chieftain's gaze first fell on the superb kirin, his eyes flashing with undisguised greed—such a mount would be worth a fortune!

But immediately, his gaze locked onto Arthur, who had just leapt down from the kirin's back, sword in hand.

Although Arthur was only eleven, a year of training had made his stature tall and straight; the face inheriting his parents' fine bloodline, in anger, revealed a striking, heart‑stopping handsomeness, especially those eyes burning with fury—emerald like the purest gem, sparkling amid the chaos and dust.

The Saxon chieftain froze for a moment, then seemed to have spotted a more interesting prey.

He licked his dry lips, his face breaking into a nauseating, lecherous grin, his voice hoarse like gravel grinding:

"Hey! Brothers, look! A tender‑skinned kid has come!"

"He's really handsome! Perfect—I haven't had my fill yet; tonight I'll let him keep me company for a good time!"

He waved a big hand, pointing at Arthur, and shouted sternly:

"Grab him! Don't hurt that pretty face!"

At his command, the two nearest Saxon raiders immediately wore lecherous smiles, dropped the bundles they'd just looted, and drew the short axes and daggers at their waists.

They came from left and right like hunters stalking prey, clearly not regarding this half‑grown child as anything!

Facing the approaching enemies and the chieftain's intolerable vulgarities, Arthur remained silent.

Two Saxon raiders sneered as they approached, their rough hands reaching for Arthur's thin shoulders.

Just as their fingertips were about to touch the fabric—

Swish!

A cold arc of light suddenly blazed!

Arthur moved.

His silently accumulated power erupted at this moment, the long sword in his hand turning into a silver lightning bolt as he slashed sideways!

No extra flourish, only the Sword Aura condensed like substance produced by the fusion of extreme speed and precise angle!

The Sword Aura howled, tearing the air, emitting a piercing whine that made the teeth ache!

The sneers on the two raiders' faces froze instantly, replaced by utter disbelief.

Their movements froze midair, their pupils contracting sharply.

The next instant—

Pfft!

A dull thud sounded as flesh was easily cut and bones cleanly severed!

Blood burst forth like splashed ink, spraying Arthur's face! Warm liquid tinged with a strong iron-rust smell slid down his cheeks!

The two raiders didn't even have time to utter a scream before their bodies split apart, limbs and entrails scattering in a clatter, dead on the spot!

Arthur stood holding his sword, the tip still dripping scorching blood.

He breathed slightly, his chest rising and falling with excitement.

The crimson blood spots on his face formed a stark contrast against his fair skin and emerald eyes.

This was his first kill.

He abruptly lifted his head; on his blood-streaked face, his emerald eyes burned with near-substantial rage, locked firmly on the Saxon chieftain standing not far away, mouth agape.

The blood-stained sword tip rose again, steadily pointing at him, and he growled:

"You bastards! How dare you… how dare you humiliate my kin like this!!"