Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

"What crime? A Kraken of god-like status, with hundreds of gregarious followers, is not so easy to deal with. You have already done your best. Ships can be rebuilt, but people are more valuable. Don't be so impulsive next time."

"It is our honor to fight for you! To follow the will of heaven and serve the gods and heroes is the meaning of our existence as Valkyries!"

Brunhilde spoke with righteous indignation, unusually daring to stand tall and face the deity she served, her face radiating an unquestionable light.

"Okay, let's not talk about that anymore. I've already cleaned your wound and removed the toxins. Be careful not to get the wound wet, try to move it as little as possible, and rest well. It will recover in a day or two."

Samael shook his head helplessly, washed his hands, and offered a casual word of comfort.

When his gaze fell upon the Valkyrie's healed, flawless back, as smooth and warm as jade, he nodded in satisfaction.

Brunhilde blushed, pulled up the dress that had slipped off her shoulders, bowed slightly, and stepped forward to open the door.

But the moment the magic barrier opened, the three Valkyries, one gold, one pink, and one black, each with different fur colors, cried out and fell into the house, bumping into the arms of their leader, Brunhilde.

"Why aren't you enjoying a rare seafood feast? What are you doing crammed in here?"

"Your Highness, we'll go now. It's getting late, you should get some rest too..."

Before her three younger sisters could speak, Brunhilde forced a smile and dragged the three Valkyries out of the room.

In the instant Brunhilde turned and left, her smile vanished, and her gaze turned sinister.

"Who told you to put the buckets down?"

The three girls, drawn by their curiosity, couldn't help but shudder, goosebumps rising all over their bodies. Instinctively, they immediately covered their heads and ran away.

"It's all Hilder's fault! We won't do it again, we won't do it again!"

"No way! It was clearly Slud who said that His Highness had stolen your sister's food, and that's why we were worried about you."

"You three, stop right there!"

Brunhilde stumbled and nearly fell, her face flushed red, her expression one of shame and indignation bordering on ferocious.

"puff!"

Meanwhile, Samael, who was leaning against the doorway, watching the show with nothing to do, suddenly spat out the hot tea in his mouth, coughed violently, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He immediately turned to look at the shadow in the room.

"You've never done this before, what are you nervous about?"

Scáthach, emerging from the darkness, glanced at her friend and asked with a half-smile.

"Uh, it's probably a side effect of doing too many bad things..."

Samael's gaze darted around, his expression awkward.

"If you have time to spar with me, I promise I'll turn a blind eye to whatever you do on the ship."

"No way! Don't even think about tempting me, no, don't even try to slander me! Am I that kind of snake?!"

The ancient serpent spoke with righteous indignation, its gaze sharp and imposing.

Rejected, Scáthach was somewhat disheartened and, out of boredom, casually tossed a wine jug to her old friend to continue their unfinished drinking session.

During the feast, Samael drank wine while opening his cross-shaped star-like eyes to look around at the chaotic waves, passing the time.

However, when gazing into the distance, the blurry outline of the continent surprisingly revealed a faint, almost imperceptible boundary.

hum!

Suddenly, a beam of flame mixed with dark golden divine patterns shot into the sky, appearing and disappearing amidst the chaotic tide.

Suddenly, Samael stood up abruptly, his pupils opening and closing in a cross shape, then contracting rapidly.

This is... someone lit the Olympian flame!

Chapter Fourteen: An Awkward Encounter (1/2)

Meanwhile, the continent stretched out into the distance, the leaden sky was covered with dark clouds, and a fierce wind blew across the wasteland, curling up withered grass and swirling sand, reducing visibility in all directions.

A strong stench of blood permeated the air, as severed limbs were buried in the sand, temporarily concealing the stench.

Not far away, on that low-lying, isolated hill, several hundred figures were vaguely visible, forming two indistinct lines that loosely blocked a small open space on the hilltop, creating a simple and crude battle line.

However, upon closer inspection, the attire and configuration of the two groups of people on the isolated mountain are completely different.

The troops directly in front numbered about 500. Most of them had long, loose hair and wore dirty, tattered linen clothes and short shirts. Their weapons were a motley collection, including axes, short swords, cedar bows, and spears. Some of them couldn't even gather all their weapons and had to use sharpened wooden sticks as makeshift weapons. Their shields were mostly round and had rough carvings of ferocious beasts on them.

In terms of ornaments, some of them wore wooden carvings with runes on their chests, some had wild animal teeth as pendants, and a few were wealthy people who wore gold and silver ornaments.

However, the strong eclectic style resulted in the entire team exuding a shabby style, both from the top and the bottom.

Their scattered formation and occasional shouting and whispering further highlighted their disorganized nature.

Only the dozen or so chariots with blades stuck in their sides and the dozens of somewhat magnificent warhorses within the camp could barely raise the team's average score slightly.

The situation in the rear camp was quite different. The team of less than thirty men was well-equipped, each wearing leather armor, a round iron helmet, and carrying a square shield. They were also equipped with short swords, javelins, and longbows.

The leading officer wore a red, rooster-comb-shaped iron helmet, and had a hideous scar on his face from a weapon slash. His expression was solemn and calm.

The procession behind him was arrayed in a neat row, exuding a unified and capable aura. It was surrounded by a magnificent carriage made of fragrant wood, inlaid with jewels, and carved with laurel trees.

Moreover, the minimalist-style military chariots at the front bear menacing red dragon banners, while the carriages at the rear are topped with gold-edged banners embroidered with red roses, fluttering in the wind.

On the small, solitary hill, the two sides guarding the front and back were separated by a clear distance, distinct and seemingly incompatible.

Moreover, the two sides frequently cast wary and malicious glances at each other from behind, clearly distrusting their so-called allies.

"boom!"

"Mother! Why won't you let me kill these Roman barbarians first, and then we can charge out!"

A tall, athletic red-haired girl in leather armor drove her chariot to the front of the scarlet flag, turned around and glared at her "ally" behind her, her eyes brimming with malice.

"There are at least two thousand light cavalry scattered around us. Once we leave this isolated mountain, there's only open ground below. Can two legs outrun four? Where do we go to escape?"

The queen, with her long red hair bound by a golden crown, wearing a red and white cloak, and with the tight leather armor inside creating two deep cleavages on her chest, frowned and reprimanded.

“Even if I die out there, I don’t want to get involved with these Romans. They are nothing but a bunch of bastards who want to seize our territory and enslave our people. Have you forgotten the humiliation of my father kneeling before them? Have you forgotten why we came here today? You even want me to rescue the enemy’s carriage!”

However, the red-haired eldest daughter was somewhat stubborn, turning her head away with a resentful expression.

"Sister, please say less. Mother must have her reasons for making this decision."

Meanwhile, the blonde, blue-eyed, relatively gentle, and slightly shorter second daughter tugged at her sister's clothes and whispered advice.

Seeing that the soldiers at the front line had faintly heard the argument and were starting to stir because of the eldest daughter's loud voice, the red-haired queen frowned and raised her hand. The old druid beside her understood and immediately set up a magic barrier and stepped aside.

"Now, those monsters down the mountain could attack at any moment. The Romans are no longer our target. Only by joining forces can we have a chance to survive!"

As for that little girl, she can die! But she absolutely cannot die at our hands, nor at this time! Otherwise, you will not only implicate the people here, but also bring disaster to the tribe!

The Red-Haired Queen took a deep breath, glanced back at the rose banner behind her, and solemnly explained to her eldest daughter.

It really was a cruel twist of fate.

They were originally native inhabitants of the British Isles, but with the expansion of the Roman Empire, their king husband, Prasuttago, was forced to submit in order to preserve the royal family and their tribe, agreeing to a series of harsh conditions imposed by the Romans for a temporary reprieve.

Even so, fate still did not spare their family.

Her husband died young amidst fear and anxiety, leaving her and her two daughters without a legitimate heir to the throne. Ultimately, she, as the queen, temporarily ascended to the throne.

Claudius I, a Roman emperor who was in charge of taking over this area from the Pantheon, seized upon this and forcefully implemented a strategy of annexing Britain, making it the seventh province called "Britannia".

Faced with the well-equipped and hostile Seventh Legion and the massive Pantheon, the Queen could only try her best to mediate, but she still couldn't stop the tribe's living space from being gradually eroded and swallowed up.

Fortunately, the Roman emperor who ruled this area had died mysteriously not long ago, which gave them some breathing room.

And a newly appointed governor with no real power actually dared to lead a mere hundred men to wander around their Celtic territory.

It would be a waste of a golden opportunity not to seize it.

result……

They had barely spotted the enemy's movements, and before they could even make a move, the Romans and the women together became prey for those demons.

Forced by circumstances, the Celts, who had been driven out, had no choice but to emerge and flee towards the Lonely Mountain. Coincidentally, the Romans, who had almost been surrounded, had the same idea.

Thus, in an awkward and delicate atmosphere, the two sides, who were originally on the verge of conflict, were trapped on the lonely mountain.

In order to survive, both sides had to hide their dirty secrets and temporarily unite for self-preservation, which is why things have evolved into what they are today.

"Mother, the Romans have brought some medicine and sent several priests to treat our wounded. What should we do?"

"Of course we accepted their overtures. After all, every extra person alive increases our chances of surviving."

“But there is no water source or fortifications on the mountain. We only brought two days’ worth of dry rations, and medicine is also in short supply. The monsters down the mountain only fired three rounds in a row, and we lost nearly a third of our men. I’m afraid we can’t hold this isolated mountain for long.”

The more docile and peaceful second daughter reported the message to Queen Boudica, frowning as she expressed her concerns.

"Not necessarily. You forgot that the Roman Seventh Legion is stationed nearby. The man in the carriage has already lit the Pantheon's sacred fire. Hold on a little longer, and the reinforcements should be here soon."

The Queen smiled calmly and reassured her two daughters and several subordinates.

However, the moment Boudica turned to look behind her, her gaze darkened.

Judging by the timeline, the Roman Seventh Legion should have arrived long ago! Why haven't they shown up yet?

Could it be that……

The Queen suddenly recalled the mysterious death of the Roman Emperor Claudius I, the governor of the Seventh Province, and the rumors about the child in the laurel wagon. She sighed thoughtfully, shaking her head with a sense of helplessness and pity.

Being born into an imperial family is both a blessing and a curse.

Just then, a seven-colored radiance struck down, and the sand and dust swept out like torn cloth. The mournful howls of wolves rose and fell, immediately interrupting Boudica's deep thoughts.

Giant wolves, each two meters tall, with sharp claws and teeth, and scarlet eyes, surged forward like a tide.

Following the pack of wolves, a troop of light cavalry, their faces bearing cruel and bloodthirsty smiles, slowly advanced, looking mockingly at Lonely Mountain. In their eyes, it was nothing more than a plump lamb.

On the low slope, a female swordsman with a seven-colored longsword, silver hair flowing down her shoulders, a fit figure, and wheat-colored skin looked indifferently at the battlefield.

Beside her, a giant white wolf, four or five meters tall, lay on its side at the female swordsman's feet, appearing very docile.

Upon seeing this, Boudica's heart sank to the bottom, and her expression froze.

The wolf riders are here!

Attila, the Hunnic king, that monster, is also here!

The King.jpg

Chapter Fifteen: The Red Dragon of Britain (2/2)

Attila the Hun! What a monster!

Meanwhile, the Roman centurion guarding the rear glanced at the figure on the low slope, instinctively averting his gaze. His eyes were filled with apprehension, his cheeks twitched, and the newly scabbed scars on his face seemed to ache faintly.

In the past, the Roman legions, when assembled in a pincer formation, would roam across Europe with their infantry and cavalry prowess.

Even the Xiongnu people of the past could not gain any advantage from them, and instead repeatedly met with setbacks and suffered heavy losses.

However, ever since the slender, silver-haired girl before them was chosen as the Great Queen of the Huns and brought forth the miracle of the blue wolf and white deer, the wolf cubs have become much stronger.

Even the strongest fortified cities and fortified walls could not withstand the monster's sword. The Roman legions struggled against the wolf riders, and the Pantheon's accompanying priests also lost their former advantage against the rising shamans of the Huns.

From then on, the Huns, accompanied by packs of wolves, came and went like the wind, plundering people and destroying cities. The frequency of these raids increased, and the Huns gradually became a sharp blade inserted into the heart and back of the Roman Empire, continuously bleeding and tearing flesh from the empire.

Unexpectedly, this time they actually dared to travel thousands of miles and detour to the wild land of Britannia. The reason for this left the centurion completely baffled.

They were unlucky to get into this mess, since with the person in the carriage around, the road was bound to be anything but peaceful.

Well, if we've even fought alongside these Celtic barbarians, what else is impossible?

The centurion glanced back at the menacing red dragon banner behind him, shook his head helplessly, and sighed.

At that moment, as the wilderness ahead revealed the silhouettes of a few large, bluish-gray wolves flanking and encircling the enemy, the centurion immediately became solemn, tapped his shield, and murmured a devout war prayer for his soldiers.

However, before he could speak, a clear and melodious chant came from in front of the carriage.

"Great Mars, King who founded the nation on the seven hills, Lord of war, Father of all, I offer this sacrifice of Roman blood, beg that calamity befall my legions, and that my warriors be protected..."

The centurion turned around in surprise, his gaze shifting downwards, and he couldn't help but see the petite, blonde girl with a laurel wreath standing on the axle, jumping out of the magnificent cage and performing a prayer in a very serious manner.

Meanwhile, the three pampered priests remaining on both sides, led by the blonde girl, suppressed their nausea at the sight of blood, mustered their spirits to pray for the soldiers, and cast divine spells to grant them minor buffs.

"Hey, you over there, give me a short sword, I want to go to the battlefield too!"

The blonde, blue-eyed girl stood with one hand on her hip, raised her hand forward, and faced the centurion, tilting her chin up and snorting softly. Her wrinkled little face looked quite serious.

Only the single strand of hair on her head, dancing in the wind, looked both cute and comical, shattering the dignity the little girl had painstakingly built up.

"Your Highness, the battlefield is dangerous. The children should stay hidden in the carriage. We will take care of things here."