Chapter 142: Chapter 62: Waging War to Sustain War! After a battle.
The cavalry forces under Duncan’s command grew stronger with each engagement.
Not only that, but his infantry also increased by two or three hundred men, including more than a dozen marked as one-star ’Frankish Elite Axemen,’ frontline heavy infantry who first throw a wave of Frankish axes before the battle. The Franks’ axemen were even stronger than the Saxon axemen because only the defeated would escape by sea. Over the past few centuries, the Gallic roosters absorbed the heritage of the Empire and the Barbarian Race, making their heavy infantry top-tier, and the Frankish Holy Knights were elite heavy cavalry.
Real Franks never flinched in hard fights; there is no need to mention Emperor Napoleon, as the French Army was also very brave during World War I.
As of now, the Franks were the forefront Barbarians, only second to the formidable Goths.
"Incorporate them!"
Duncan directly recruited the Frankish deserters, as it was his homeland; hence the deserters did not resort to plundering but gathered to protect the nearby towns, continuing to resist the Hun marauders who ravaged the entire Gaul.
At this time, the overall military competence of the Franks was very high. Ordinary farmers could be conscripted and trained to become Frankish auxiliary militias, completely skipping the phase of being mixed with ordinary peasants.
They would even come equipped themselves; given the warlike tradition of the Barbarian Race, ordinary families possessed shields, battle axes, short swords, and wealthy individuals could afford leather armor, inlaid armor, and studded armor, essentially making the recruits equivalent to light infantry.
Exiles were like the vagrants of ancient times, people without property or land, whereas the Frankish commoners often had land and houses, akin to good family sons of ancient times.
This way, Duncan’s strength rapidly increased. One battle boosted his manpower to about twenty-five hundred, though still with only about a thousand to thirteen hundred combat-ready soldiers.
Teams of infantry carried the spoils back.
Riding behind on horseback, Edmundson’s eyes still bore remnants of shock as he looked at the heroic figure ahead, covered in the scent of blood. He couldn’t help but lower his head in reverence.
He even doubted whether troops were necessary, as that man could crush all enemies single-handedly!
In the most recent battle, he killed three enemies, armored ones at that.
In the past, Edmundson would have boasted about such exploits, perhaps at the tavern in his hometown, or while drinking heavily in a minstrel’s booth, ensuring his bravery was spread by bard.
But now, he was just an unremarkable member of the general’s guard.
There’s no helping it.
There were too many fierce warriors in the general’s personal guard; Clegane, with his lance thrusting left and right, slashing five or six people in one go, Sarmatian riders breaking through enemy lines, reminiscent of the times when Dragon Head Banner flutters over the British battlefield, even the young man behind Clegane, only sixteen, without even a full beard, stabbed and cut down one person each.
Truly, Edmundson’s record of killing three armored enemies this time was hardly worth bragging about.
Not to mention he was also a minor lord with better equipment and weapons.
He pledged loyalty to King Uther of Camelot, being a descendant of a Roman officer and the indigenous people, with his mother having a bit of Sarmatian blood, thus settling locally, becoming part of the British nobility.
"If, in the future, King Uther and Lord Duncan become hostile, what should I do when meeting him on the battlefield?..."
This was Edmundson’s current biggest worry.
Simply like ghosts and gods descending to the world!
Unmatched by thousands!
Edmundson, known as a ’bear-like’ warrior in his homeland, could not imagine facing Duncan on the battlefield, leading cavalry charges like a reincarnated overlord. Would he even have the courage to draw his weapon and fight?
Unstoppable, absolutely unstoppable!
Even King Uther’s elite cavalry, the predecessors of the Round Table Knights, with the Dragon Head Bannered heavy cavalry of Ragnar, might not be able to stop this earth-shattering warrior.
Edmundson was not the only one thinking this; other British noble cavalrymen were much the same.
Exchanging glances, they seemed to form a tacit understanding.
"Had I known, I wouldn’t have been so quick to pledge allegiance to King Uther."
With Duncan’s mighty strength, after this battle, unifying Great Britain would be easy. If any conflict arose, King Uther would stand no chance on the front battlefield.
At that moment, it would be like Liu Bang looking at Xiang Yu — is this person even human!
Perhaps we should surrender.
Upon arrival, these British noble cavalrymen were somewhat proud, thinking even though Duncan was famous, they were also excellent knights and lords with their own forces and deserve some respect.
Honestly, now thinking back, Edmundson felt Duncan had already shown them considerable respect at the time.
These British noble cavalrymen also had about a thousand men, and now most of them were having second thoughts, with some even considering changing allegiances already.
Subduing the enemy without fighting.
Among a thousand people, at least half were ready to submit to Duncan.
Finally, one must mention that charging into battle behind that lord was absolutely exhilarating for Edmundson!
Never before had he fought with such abandon.
Both the light and heavy infantry were cut through like tofu, with no sense of direction lost, and after breaking through enemy lines, they could catch their breath, turn around, and charge again with the lord, changing postures for another rush!
This was truly a born cavalry commander; at that moment, Edmundson could only think of one historical figure—Alexander the Great and his companion cavalry.
Duncan’s horseback figure was at the forefront of the company.
He had taken off his cloak, no wonder commanders loved cloaks, these items were actually used for wiping blood, just like the red tassels on a red-tassel spear, preventing blood from causing a slippery grip on the spear shaft.
Duncan had killed so many that he was drenched in blood, and the dried blood felt uncomfortable.
This battle was his normal performance.
The feel of the Sword of Oath and Victory was exceptional, worthy of the title of holy sword and divine weapon. The feeling Duncan had when using it, how do you describe it, probably like—Dugu Qiubai wielding the Heaven-Swaying Sword.
With his strength, even a wooden sword could kill someone; holding the Sword of Oath and Victory felt a bit like the Unrivaled Chaos Dance.