Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [29]
Artoria remained close behind him, her eyes wide with awe as she witnessed the inhuman, terrifying power Kaelar unleashed as if he were walking through an empty field.
No one could withstand even the slightest strike from Kaelar, and no weapon, no matter how mighty, could pierce the thin leather armor he wore.
With each step he took, ten or even a hundred fell. It was like a fierce wind blowing through a field of wheat; under that violent gust, every stalk bowed low to save itself.
Once, in the time of chaos during the Spring and Autumn period, the Confucian sage Kong Qiu sought to restore the shattered order through the way of 'Ren'—benevolence. In a time of endless wars and rampant banditry, Kong Qiu used the physical world to impart his moral teachings, and it was through him that China first understood the essence of Ren.
True Ren meant that one possessed the power to kill, yet refrained from doing so. Instead, he would patiently explain the right path and educate, not out of any other motive but because he was a virtuous gentleman.
But if Kong Qiu had lacked the terrifying martial strength he wielded, his teachings would never have left his home state of Lu. Nearly all of the Hundred Schools of Thought during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods had private armies of significant strength, and even the feudal lords had to regard them with caution.
Artoria, observing this spectacle, suddenly grasped a profound truth—
To propagate a philosophy, one must first possess power!
There was a vast difference between not wielding a sword and simply not having one to wield.
---
Meanwhile, Hengist, dragging a bewildered Horsa along, sprinted away as if his life depended on it, terrified that if he slowed for even a moment, Kaelar would catch them.
"Brother, what in the world are you doing?"
Horsa's arm ached from Hengist's iron grip. Yet, despite the pain, he didn't resist—decades of camaraderie had forged an unspoken understanding between them. The sudden tug didn't make him struggle; instead, he instinctively went along with Hengist's force.
"There's no time to explain! Run!" Hengist gasped, still trembling. "We lost. We've lost completely. The Celts have given birth to another monster!"
"Good thing I had a backup plan," he muttered to himself. "I left my most trusted foster son, Nimue, to guard the ships."
Hengist had learned from Kaelar's repeated strategies of burning ships to cut off retreats. This time, he had stationed his most loyal foster son to secure their escape.
Initially, it had seemed like an unnecessary precaution, one he hoped he wouldn't need.
After all, he had seventy thousand men. Even if each man gave just one kick, they could flatten Maple Ridge. His concern had been establishing a new Anglo-Saxon kingdom and dealing with the Celtic response—not planning for a retreat.
But he hadn't anticipated this.
He never imagined his contingency plan would prove essential.
Now, all they needed to do was reach the ships, and they could escape from that monster, Kaelar.
"How... how did it come to this?" he thought in anguish. "I had seventy thousand warriors, yet my first instinct was to flee."
Hengist's heart ached. He knew what awaited him—humiliation and disgrace.
With such a catastrophic defeat, neither King Vortigern nor the Anglo-Saxon dissenters he had suppressed would let him live.
Yet, despite knowing the dire consequences, he followed his instincts. He wanted to survive.
If he lived, there was hope. He could still offer his daughter and treasures to Vortigern, incite a war between Vortigern and Uther, and entangle the Celts in endless conflict. As long as Vortigern was drawn into full-scale war, he would remain dependent on the Anglo-Saxons—and Hengist.
Survival meant a chance for a comeback.
---
Kaelar's relentless assault continued, his strikes as ferocious as a tiger's. Yet, the Anglo-Saxon resistance remained feeble, teetering on the brink of collapse.
Kaelar's earlier acts of mercy and enlightenment hadn't been in vain—the Anglo-Saxons were effectively divided.
In the face of Kaelar's onslaught, some had come to regard him as a righteous man and knelt to pray for his forgiveness. Others, having witnessed the inhuman strength he wielded, refused to surrender and steeled themselves to fight to the death.
Kaelar, indifferent to the turmoil, continued his indiscriminate attacks against anyone who dared to harbor ill will towards him.
None could escape the Saint's teachings.
---
It wasn't until Hengist and Horsa had nearly reached the edge of the forest, the sea visible in the distance, that Hengist muttered, almost in a trance, "I understand now... it's a distortion."
"Let's go! Hurry!" He grabbed Horsa's arm, his voice a fevered whisper. "We've all been played for fools by Vortigern. Kaelar is no weak-willed fool—he's a monster capable of imposing his will over all others!"
Whether Kaelar chose good or evil, it was a decision driven purely by his own iron will. No one could sway him.
It was his choice to be good, not a virtue forced upon him.
"In some ways, he's no different from Vortigern," Hengist muttered, comparing the two most monstrous beings he knew. "Vortigern rules with violence and terror, while Kaelar enforces his so-called 'forgiveness.'"
As one who had served under Vortigern for over a decade, Hengist couldn't help but compare the two. Their ideals couldn't have been more opposed, yet they shared the same indomitable will.
Like Vortigern, Kaelar's intentions were undeniable. Whether benevolent or malevolent, the common folk had no choice but to yield.
It didn't matter if the Anglo-Saxons wanted his 'kindness'—they had no choice but to accept it.
Just as they had no choice but to march to war under Vortigern's command.
For the first time, Hengist understood the source of his discomfort.
Before meeting Kaelar, even Hengist and Horsa acknowledged that Kaelar's deeds could be considered virtuous—acts worthy of a saint, the kind found in holy texts.
But seeing him in person revealed something twisted in Kaelar, an overwhelming desire for control disguised as forgiveness.
His mercy, his teachings—they were born from an inner obsession with the lives of others, a craving to command them.
He wouldn't permit anyone, not even himself, to take another's life. It was this dissonance between his high-minded ideals and the reality of his nature that created the unease Hengist felt.
What he had thought was a saint was actually a 'dragon hoarding its treasure.'
Did Kaelar intend to nurture humanity?
The absurd thought struck Hengist's mind, and he quickly dismissed it. Now was not the time to ponder such mysteries. He had to survive.
For the first time, Hengist found himself sympathizing with King Uther. He understood why Uther had lost his courage to oppose Vortigern after a single defeat—why his spirit had broken so completely.
To face such a twisted creature would drive any sane person to flee. It was a primal urge to survive.
If he lived through this, Hengist vowed never to set foot in Maple Ridge... no, not even Kent, until Kaelar was dead. He would keep as far away from that monstrous figure as possible.
Lost in thought, he caught sight of a blazing inferno ahead. The sea, where their pirate fleet had waited, was now engulfed in flames. Every single ship was burning, and Nimue was nowhere to be seen.
Hengist choked, nearly vomiting blood as he roared, "Nimue! What have you done?!"
A figure stumbled out from the shadows—Nimue, his face pale with fear and bewilderment. He approached, trembling. "My beloved father..."
"Shut your mouth!" Hengist's face twisted with fury as he struck Nimue hard, a blow that left a massive welt on his foster son's cheek. "You damned wretch, what have you done?!"
"Leader! I—I didn't mean to! They saw Kaelar approaching and switched sides!" Nimue wailed, his voice cracking. "I couldn't stop them! They almost killed me!"
Their voices carried through the night, loud enough to draw attention. Suddenly, a voice rang out from the woods.
"There! There's Nimue!"
---
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