Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [73]
Kaelar sighed. "I had no choice but to show him my trick of snapping steel with a tree branch, making it clear that I can cut through any weapon, regardless of what I use."
At this point, Artoria presided over a Britain poor and barren. Years of war had naturally stunted the country's growth, its economy struggling to recover. With little wealth to her name, Artoria could barely make ends meet. So, whenever the Round Table knights returned from glorious battles, she could only offer Kaelar as a reward to recognize their valor.
"Hey, it's not my fault Gawain wasn't listening…" Artoria laughed, rubbing her head against Kaelar's shoulder. They'd grown up together, and such displays of affection were second nature to them. Grinning, she added, "Besides, I wasn't lying. You really can break any weapon, can't you?"
"Help me, Fairy King!"
"I'd love to respond with, 'You'll have to do without Kaelar!'"
In the end, he couldn't withstand Artoria's pleas, just as he always caved to Morgan's mischief. Kaelar sighed and relented with a resigned, "Alright…just this once! But next time, absolutely not!"
He couldn't remember how many times he'd said that line already. By now, Artoria was immune, nodding with a mischievous smile that belied any royal poise. If the nobles she'd crushed could see this side of her, they'd likely claw their way out of their graves.
To think this cheeky young girl had defeated them, annexing their lands?
This ruler, it seemed, had two faces.
Camelot continued to flourish. The kingdom's economy and population grew stronger and more stable by the day. The power gap between the court and the nobility widened further, foreshadowing the kingdom's rise to its true zenith once all noble rebellions were quashed.
But across Europe, things fared quite differently for the Western Roman Empire, its decline rapid and unforgiving. Within a few short years, it was on its last legs, suffering devastating defeats at the hands of the Huns. Attila the Hun, undefeated and relentless, led a ferocious army that plundered cities with impunity.
Whenever a city fell, these eastern nomads would rampage, slaughtering and plundering indiscriminately, leaving ancient cities and cultural treasures in ashes.
The Goths hired by Rome to defend against the Huns were no match. Even their homeland was crushed under Attila's heel.
After several crushing defeats, the Gothic king Odovacer lost his courage entirely. No longer willing to face the Huns, he redirected his aggression toward Rome itself, hoping to plunder its cities and retreat to the desolate, impoverished highlands of Germania.
If I can't beat the Huns, I can at least beat Rome!
For any civilization that hires foreign soldiers, reverse infiltration by those foreign forces is almost inevitable.
As a Roman commander, Odovacer knew the empire inside and out, perhaps better than the Augustus in Rome himself.
Rome, cornered and desperate, finally rallied its citizenry to fight back against the Goths, barely managing to drive Odovacer away. But just as they caught their breath, Attila the Hun swooped in, striking down the exhausted armies of both Rome and the Goths, slaying Odovacer and ravaging what remained of the Gothic kingdom, inching ever closer to Rome itself.
The Romans took no solace in this, knowing that once the Goths were fully defeated, that merciless king of the Huns would turn his gaze back toward them.
"What?!"
Tiberius had just received a letter from the Western Roman Emperor Julius Nepos. Scribbled hastily, it was a summons ordering Tiberius, commander of the Roman legions in Britannia, to return to Rome to fend off the barbarians.
Alongside the letter was a detailed report from Orestes, a Germanic general now commanding Rome's army, elaborating on the dire state of the Western Empire.
In short, Rome—a civilization over a thousand years old—was on the verge of collapse.
As a noble of Rome, Tiberius came from a long line that had once included emperors, loyal to the empire far more deeply than a Germanic commander like Orestes could ever be.
For this reason, the late emperor had posted Tiberius to Britannia, trusting him to uphold Rome's interests there. But now, upon hearing such grim news, Tiberius abandoned all plans to balance the factions in Britannia, declaring, "Prepare the legions! We return to Rome!"
For years, his legions had been kept ready for war.
Prepared, ironically, not for Artoria, but for Kaelar. Tiberius knew that Britannia's independence was inevitable, and if he was to leave, he intended to leave Artoria and Kaelar with a broken land, one devastated beyond repair for generations.
Although he'd never met Kaelar, their indirect clashes had led Tiberius to view him as a lifelong rival. More than once, Tiberius had been a thorn in Kaelar's side. His cunning surpassed any of the Celtic savages.
This time, Tiberius planned to lead his legions to raid Camelot's rear while the royal army was entangled with the rebel nobles, pillaging supplies and burning farmland, withdrawing to Rome before Kaelar could mount a defense.
He wasn't certain how much damage he could inflict but knew the loss would be severe. Even if Kaelar eventually bested him, the scars would be lasting and costly.
Destruction was far easier than rebuilding.
But fortune favored Artoria. Fate did not side with Tiberius, nor with the Western Empire. The state's rapid decay forced Tiberius to hastily return, or else, while he ravaged Britannia, he'd find Rome sacked and lost.
As his ships departed for home, Tiberius sighed bitterly. "O Mars of the legions, O Jupiter, king of the gods… has Rome lost the favor of the heavens?"
Ordering his men to travel light, he left behind most of their gold, causing a furor among the soldiers. Tiberius promised they'd be compensated double once they returned to Rome.
With his decades of reputation in Britannia, Tiberius managed to stave off mutiny, though complaints were rampant. After all, that hard-won gold was their livelihood!
Especially for the barbarian mercenaries—serving in Rome's legions purely for the pay. Talk of saving the Empire meant nothing to them.
Their logic was simple: pay us, and we'll fight; no pay, and we're out.
Tiberius' promise of double compensation if they reached Rome was enough to quell their discontent… for now.
"Commander, morale's low. These mercenaries won't fight hard," remarked Ankus, a dark-haired, dark-eyed Roman officer.
"Ankus, you don't understand. Orestes' letter made it clear."
After a pause, Tiberius replied gravely, "Odovacer is dead, and the Gothic kingdom, Rome's last buffer, is nearing its end. Once it falls, Rome will face Attila directly."
"If we haul gold, we'll be slow, and we'll risk losing vital food and arms…" Tiberius scoffed, "or worse, those treasures might end up as the spoils of those eastern savages."
"We'll be slowed down by excess baggage."
Tiberius smiled coldly. "Besides, without gold, they have no choice but to fight for Rome, driven by the promise of a reward back home. They'll want to protect their earnings, so they'll hesitate on the battlefield."
"Now, they have nothing. To gain anything, they must reach Rome alive. Let's see if they dare not to fight!"
His calculation was as cunning as it was ruthless. Tiberius wielded loyalty and fear like weapons, ensuring his army's resolve with a promise not unlike Cao Cao's fabled "plum thirst."
Without spoils waiting for them, even the most battle-hardened warriors became cautious, craving security and peace.
With Tiberius' orders pressing them onward, the six-thousand-strong army made the journey from Britannia to Gaul in just three days, pausing briefly to resupply before marching toward Rome at full speed.
As urgent as he was, Tiberius still allowed his men regulated rest. He was no fool, knowing a hasty advance would cripple his army's strength if they clashed with the Huns too soon.
A disastrous defeat in their first battle would be catastrophic, perhaps sending them fleeing in panic. Tiberius had no intention of squandering Rome's final hope.
In Gaul, ruin lay everywhere—burnt villages, unclaimed corpses, and villages reduced to rubble.
Yet, most cities still held. After all, while the Huns ravaged Europe, they remained a nomadic force, far fewer in number than the settled city-states of farming civilizations.
Besides, despite their successes, even the Huns had exhausted some of their forces.
Without Attila's main army, the scattered Hun raiders limited themselves to pillaging smaller settlements, avoiding fortified cities.
Rome's influence over Gaul remained strong. Tiberius could rest and resupply his forces in its cities, a testament to centuries of Roman rule.
"To think grain is this scarce…"
After a courteous dismissal from one city's governor, Tiberius pondered the dire situation. Gaul's plains, among Rome's richest territories, now offered him barely enough supplies.
"With the Goths and Huns plundering everything… it seems I'll need to find the supplies myself," he mused.
Soon enough, the opportunity arose. While crossing the Alps, Tiberius encountered a Hun raiding party of around three thousand. Instead of retreating, the Huns charged, yelling in their native tongue.
Underestimating Tiberius' forces, they assumed his army, like other Roman legions, would flee at the sight of the Hun banners, leaving them free to fire at will.
But these Huns had overestimated their strength and underestimated Tiberius.
The true might of the Huns lay not in their fragmented raiding parties but in the main forces led by their "Scourge of God," Attila.
Without Attila, these Huns were no match for Rome's disciplined forces. Under Tiberius' orders, his center held fast while the cavalry flanked them, crushing all three thousand Huns at the cost of fewer than a thousand casualties. The army seized ample spoils of gold, grain, and livestock.
As he surveyed the remains, Tiberius marveled, "No matter how hard I tried, I'd never have imagined these savages would run toward me instead of fleeing."
With newfound riches, Tiberius granted each soldier a gold coin, promising them more upon their return to Rome. With morale high, the soldiers crossed the Alps, eager to fight for even greater rewards.
Once across the mountains, they soon reached Mediolanum (Milan), in the territory of future Italy. Rome was within reach.
At dusk, Tiberius penned a letter, summoning Ankus.
"Deliver this to Augustus in Rome," he ordered.
"Hold on, just a little longer… as long as the empire holds out a few more days, Tiberius will be back, leading Rome's most loyal legion," he muttered, weariness overtaking him.
Riding through the night, Ankus arrived at Rome's gates by dawn, where Orestes, overseeing the defenses, recognized him and granted him passage.
Hearing that Lucius Tiberius, commander of the Britannian legions, was en route with a message, Emperor Nepos rejoiced and quickly opened the letter.
But his expression soured as he read, prompting Ankus to ask, "Augustus, is something wrong?"
Nepos sighed, "Commander Tiberius' advice is sound. Only vast rewards can sustain these barbarians' loyalty."
"Yes, that's what Tiberius advised," Ankus replied, "but… is there a problem?"
Closing his eyes, Nepos whispered bitterly, "The gold to feed sixty thousand soldiers… Rome simply no longer has it. Odovacer deceived us…"
"What?" Ankus' rage flared. "Augustus, those barbarians were never trustworthy. You should never have…"
"Ah…"
At that moment, footsteps echoed through the hall. Nepos coughed, and Ankus turned to see Orestes, the Germanic-born commander of Rome's legions.
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