Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

"No time for catching up; the Anglo-Saxons will arrive soon," Morgan urged. "Choose a weapon. These are all powerful. Any one of them would give you a great advantage."

It was true. For instance, Moralltach, the Great Fury, was a sword that Diarmuid used to slice through all enemies before him in a flash, so swift that not a single drop of blood would taint his clothes.

With a single strike, armor would split, and blood would gush forth like a spring.

And that was just one example. There was the Gae Bolg, a spear that defied causality, guaranteed to pierce the heart of its target the moment it was thrown.

But these weapons were too brutal, their lethality not to Kaelar's taste.

Kaelar looked at the array of deadly artifacts, each one capable of claiming countless lives. Smiling, he shook his head and said, "My blunt sword will suffice."

---

The Anglo-Saxons had landed in Kent, just north of Maple Ridge. The seemingly endless fleet of pirate ships made landfall, and with Hengist and Horsa at the helm, they quickly crushed the Duke of Kent, establishing a strategic position overlooking Kaelar's lands from the north.

Despite their victory, the near one-to-one casualty ratio on both sides made it clear that the fierce and death-defying Celtic warriors had exacted a heavy toll on the Anglo-Saxons.

Anglo-Saxon pirates were at their strongest at sea, but the Celts refused to engage them there. Forced to abandon their primary advantage, the invaders were drawn into open land battles against the formidable Celtic warriors.

But numbers were on their side this time. The Anglo-Saxons came in force, with Vortigern's command to deploy every available man. Hengist knew the order was serious, so he assembled a staggering seventy thousand, taking four out of every ten warriors.

Even the ruthless Vortigern would find no excuse to criticize him for this.

Hengist was nothing if not pragmatic. He wouldn't bat an eye if all the elderly, women, and children left behind perished. In his hands, he now held over seventy thousand able-bodied men.

As long as he conquered Kent, Vortigern would grant this entire territory to the Anglo-Saxons.

With a whole county under his control, Hengist could attract more of his countrymen from the European mainland to the divine land of Britain. Whatever losses they suffered now, they would reclaim tenfold in the future.

"Holy, holy, Lord of Hosts, your glory fills the earth!"

After slaying the Duke of Kent, Hengist wiped the blood from his face, his expression savage. "Praise the Lord of Hosts, who blesses us with victory!"

"Tomorrow, we shall break through Maple Ridge and kill the heretic, Kaelar. I grant you all the spoils!"

The Duke of Kent wasn't a weakling. Bordering Maple Ridge, his lands had grown prosperous by mimicking Kaelar's policies. He had even freed some serfs to join the lord's guard, thereby enhancing his authority.

But unlike Kaelar, the Duke lacked true prestige. To win over the knightly class, he had ceded some of his power, transforming his territory into a small feudal state—a step forward from outright serfdom, but far less progressive.

The institutional advancements strengthened the Duke's rule, ensuring the loyalty of those freed serfs, enough to keep the knights in check.

To quickly crush the Duke's thirty thousand troops, and to ensure he had ample forces left to face Kaelar, Hengist and his brother, Horsa, led the charge themselves. His most trusted men suffered heavy casualties.

But Hengist didn't mind. Trusted men were expendable, easily replaced.

As long as he extended a hand, countless Anglo-Saxons would come running to be his lackeys.

Even if he seemed surrounded by enemies among his own, how many hated him because he withheld from them the chance to be his lapdogs?

They despised his tyranny, yes, but they also hated him for not granting them power!

"Brother, what about these farmers?" Horsa asked, pointing to the peasants gathered after the lord's guard and knights had been slaughtered. "Should we follow tradition...?"

Tradition meant retaliation—an eye for an eye, blood for blood—leaving none alive.

You couldn't say their ways were unjust. Total annihilation was an ancient Celtic custom, a form of rough justice.

Hengist paused in thought before deciding, "No need. After tomorrow, Kent will be our land. These people can serve as our serfs."

"But we're too close to Camelot," Horsa worried. "If they send troops, how will we fend them off?"

With Vortigern, the Anglo-Saxons were a force to be reckoned with. Without him, even seventy thousand men would be suicidal against a full-scale deployment of Celtic knights on open ground.

"Then let Britain's White Dragon and Red Dragon continue their feud," Hengist sneered. "Vortigern may have his own designs, but I, Hengist, won't let him have his way."

Vortigern could never abandon the Anglo-Saxons—they were the foundation of his rule.

No matter how much he might favor the Celts, his ties to the Anglo-Saxons were inextricable.

As the brothers conspired, a commotion arose from the rear. Hengist was inclined to ignore such trivial disturbances, but when he caught mention of Nemed's name, he had no choice but to investigate.

Everyone knew Nemed was his adopted son. The boy had been baptized in front of the entire Anglo-Saxon community, making him Hengist's heir. Any trouble involving Nemed was a matter that couldn't be overlooked.

"What's going on here?"

As Hengist approached, the crowd parted for him, their chatter falling to a hush. He relished this moment, the weight of authority that silenced men with his mere presence.

Nemed rushed forward and knelt, pressing his forehead to Hengist's feet—an act of devotion taken from Christian tradition, a gesture once reserved for the Son of God himself.

Hengist was pleased but masked his delight with a tone of gentle rebuke. "My child, if you've been wronged, you can speak to your father. There's no need for such a display."

Though he hadn't yet heard the full story, Hengist had already decided that Nemed was the one being wronged.

"My dear father," Nemed began, showering praise as easily as a river flows. "Your wisdom is like gold—never fading, always shining true."

He didn't stop with flattery, moving quickly to the point. "According to your command, I've been hunting down those who spread false teachings, rooting out those who cling to dangerous ideas…"

Leaning in, Nemed whispered into Hengist's ear, "But I believe not all deserve death. Many have simply been deceived. I think they could be brought back to the light of the Lord."

"My dear father, let me take them under my command. I swear to you, they will learn to respect you, to honor the Lord as I do."

"And I've identified the most incorrigible among them. I was preparing to present you with a list when they ambushed me..."

He tilted his head, revealing a shallow cut on his neck. "Father, I nearly lost the chance to hear your wise counsel again."

Hengist's fury erupted, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. "Good child, don't be afraid. Your father is here, and he will avenge you."

Nemed's glib tongue had earned him everything he now possessed.

Even a man as astute as Hengist enjoyed being praised.

A glance at the list showed nothing but the names of minor lords who'd always opposed him or those he'd secretly doubted. Hengist's suspicions were confirmed. Patting Nemed on the shoulder, he declared, "Good boy, I trust you. I leave this task in your capable hands. Do well!"

"From now on, when you see Nemed, it is as if you see me. His words are my words, and you will obey."

"Nemed, you have my permission to deal with this list however you see fit. As for your proposal, I accept."

"Yes, my dear father, I will not disappoint you."

---

If there are any mistakes let me know!

Read up to 30+ Chapters! [patreon.com/WiseTL]