Chapter 229: Chapter 117: Shattering Reality! The Battle to Slay the Gods! (Part 2) Unless he can ruthlessly carry out racial cleansing, he must conquer the barbarian Picts.
Once the massacre begins, it cannot be stopped.
When it comes to city slaughter, who can compare to the Mongols or the Man Qing, but ultimately rule still requires a combination of kindness and severity. Duncan wants a stable rear, and massacre can only intimidate for a moment.
Duncan walked towards the chieftain hall, saying in a deep voice, "Bring him out."
Drest struggled to his feet.
He had just stepped out the door when he was struck with horror, for he saw a mountain of heads piled densely, thousands neatly stacked together, countless bloodied eyes staring at him, making the murderous Drest I shiver in dread.
Tumulus!
All around were kneeling people, the distant horizon lit with towering flames burning the sanctuary of sacrifices.
Duncan spoke coldly, "Days ago, you slaughtered a batch of captured Britons in rage."
"Here, not more, not less."
"A total of a thousand heads. Blood debt paid with blood."
Without looking at Drest behind him, Duncan gazed down at the kneeling barbarian captives, slowly saying, "A group who claim themselves as warriors, but only dare to wield knives against the weak!..."
"Here are a thousand Picts warriors’ heads, to honor those old and infirm you slaughtered!"
Upon hearing this, Drest’s eyes fiercely widened, a thousand warriors’ heads.
His tribe was finished!
Duncan had nearly exterminated the barbarian warriors under his command.
Clang.
Duncan drew his oathkeeper, severing the ropes on Drest, his gaze oppressive and powerful, saying in a heavy voice, "I know the Picts will not easily submit."
"But I will fight until you surrender!"
"You may leave."
"Go gather your tribe’s most elite warriors, summon your barbarian coalition!"
"Go send the message to the northernmost part of Scotland!"
"I."
"The Conqueror-Duncan! King of Britain!"
"Will honorably defeat you on the battlefield! Completely quell the centuries-long turmoil besieging the British Isles!"
These words.
Made Drest I lift his head in astonishment, look at the severed rope in his hand, and stare at the man’s formidable back, feeling a moment of reverence, not daring to directly face him but hesitantly asking, "You want to let me go?"
Duncan casually said, "Give him a horse."
Drest I glanced at the surrounding Gaulish oath warriors until a horse was led over, he truly believed Duncan intended to let him go.
He mounted the horse, ignoring his chest wounds, turned to look at the countless tribesmen kneeling in the darkness, eyes either hopeful, hateful, or numb, staring at him. Suddenly, his heart twisted in pain, but he ultimately rode away without looking back.
At that moment, although he regained his freedom, he abandoned his tribe.
Snap!
On the projection page of Dimension Space, Drest I’s golden three-star mark shattered, transforming directly into the same three-star whiteboard Alan the king had.
——Drest (Abandoned by Gods) (Three-star whiteboard)!
As the chieftain’s silhouette vanished, the last trace of defiance in the eyes of the numerous kneeling barbarian captives completely faded.
Kulin’s expression showed slight hesitation, questioning, "Why did the lord let him go?"
Duncan’s expression was indifferent, calmly responding, "A tribe conquered, having lost all warriors’ chieftain, can he still be the leader of the Picts?"
Even if Drest joins the Picts tribal coalition, how much say can he have?
Duncan needs someone to rally the Picts tribe for a decisive battle with him, otherwise the whole area is primitive jungle, trying to completely conquer them would drain resources and only strain our supplies.
Upon hearing this, Kulin appeared thoughtful.
Duncan set off towards the sacred sacrificial domain engulfed in flames, a cold voice sounding from afar: "Just like the tribes we’ve conquered before, distribute land equally to the civilian slaves."
"We must force them to change their faith!"
One by one, the figures of Druids appeared.
The Crow Queen—Triss, and the Celtic Prophet—Merlin, stood before the blazing sea of fire. Even the proud Merlin bowed his head humbly, welcoming Duncan’s arrival.
A light mist lifted.
Reality seemed isolated from this sacrificial holy domain, the minstrel’s praise like whispers in the night wind. Unbeknownst to when, behind Duncan, fully armed Avalon Green Knights emerged from the mist, followed by the ethereal figures of guardian fairies becoming solid.
Tethys appeared in her majestic skirt armor, like a valiant Valkyrie, slowly approached Duncan amidst the guardian fairies’ entourage, presenting the Sword of Oath and Victory to the rightful King of Britain with both hands!
Duncan slowly reached out his hand, grasped the Avalon scabbard, and with a clang, a brilliant holy sword’s light emerged, transforming into a glaring beam slicing down hundreds of feet!
This sword.
Cut through reality! Shattered space!