The war broke out soon after.
It must be admitted that the Roman legacy is incomparable to the current British dynasty.
Not to mention, had they not crossed the sea three times in advance, countless men would have perished, their bodies lost to the waves. Even after such sacrifice, Lucius was still able to lead 30 full legions on this expedition.
Arthur had no idea how Roman legions were typically organized in the fifth century in normal history.
But at this moment, the Roman army that landed on the British Isles held an overwhelming numerical advantage.
Each legion had nearly 5,000 men. The total number of Roman soldiers now on the Isles, including the 4,000 previously stationed, reached approximately 160,000.
A full 160,000—what a terrifying number.
And if the vassal states under Roman rule were also included, 160,000 might even be an understatement. Rome still had strength to spare.
The British front could only muster about 80,000 troops at most. They had mobilized nearly every soldier available without triggering widespread unrest.
A gap of exactly two to one.
And the Romans were not like the Saxons they had faced before.
Their soldiers were battle-hardened and well-trained. Lucius, originally an emperor known for his military prowess, had conquered vast territories, briefly restoring the declining Roman Empire to its former glory. In terms of sheer territory, it was larger than ever before in history.
Their army was a grand coalition of kings and commanders.
Its mystical division was also formidable, consisting of magical beasts, giants, magi, and other supernatural beings. Although fewer in number compared to Britain's forces, their overall quality was equal.
Furthermore, their combat experience far surpassed that of the British army.
Thus, even with slight disadvantages in equipment and tactics, their overall combat effectiveness remained intact.
It may not sound like much, but only the British soldiers—who stood opposite them—could understand the weight of that truth.
"This is the Roman Empire, after all. It cannot be underestimated," Arthur muttered as he stood atop the city wall, gazing down at the orderly army below.
By rough count, there were about four Roman legions—some 20,000 men.
Their formation was impeccably arranged, evidence of strict training.
The front lines were formed by heavy infantry carrying shields half the height of a man, ready to absorb enemy charges. They stood aligned like a thick, immovable wall, prepared to advance inch by inch, crushing all resistance.
It was no wonder they exuded such pressure.
The earliest Roman military formations had been inspired by the Greek phalanx, which relied on dense shield formations to push forward and overwhelm the enemy.
However, unlike the clunky Greek phalanx, the Roman army emphasized the diversity of its units.
Behind the front line were spearmen, ready for ranged attacks or to support the heavy infantry during enemy charges.
Next came the light infantry, followed by archers and catapult arrays.
Each formation was clearly divided into battalions, companies, and units of one hundred men.
Wide gaps between formations served as lanes for cavalry to maneuver.
Should a frontal assault occur, the Roman army could easily adapt formations and coordinate across units for a seamless, unified attack.
Compared to their disastrous situation at sea, this was the true posture of the Roman war machine.
"They are indeed formidable. Our British army, lacking real battle experience, cannot match them. We must admit that." Arthur spoke gravely.
"My king, you overstate their advantage. Even if the Roman army is strong, our British forces are not rabble. The outcome is far from decided," Kay replied confidently.
Jeanne Alter snorted in agreement.
"I didn't exaggerate—I merely acknowledged the threat. But, Sir Kay, I never said Britain would lose. The moment they chose to assault the city, they sealed their fate," Arthur smiled. "Britain's city defenses are impregnable."
Indeed, while the British army might not excel in open-field combat, they thrived in ambushes, defensive warfare, and counterattacks.
And when it came to city defense, defeat was out of the question.
The Roman army's formation might have been the pinnacle of its time, a goal to aspire toward as military science progressed.
No—in Britain's eyes, it was a certainty that they would soon catch up and surpass it.
But the strength of British fortifications would remain unrivaled for at least a millennium—ten centuries, or even longer.
That gap couldn't be bridged by formations or experience alone.
"Now, it's time to eliminate them. Surrounded as we are, they make us appear weak," Arthur declared coldly.
Once again, there would be no mercy for Rome.
Breaking their formation, shattering their morale—this was Britain's way.
In the next instant, rays of light flared along the flawless white walls, and thousands of magic circles formed in unison.
Countless massive gun barrels rose, instantly completing energy convergence and transformation.
Then—fire.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM——!!!!
The roars were endless. The ground shook violently. In the blink of an eye, the Roman army was engulfed in a devastating bombardment. The mighty formation disintegrated, the ground turned into a bloody hellscape.
In mere moments, even the mangled bodies and blood were vaporized.
A layer of earth itself had been sheared away by the sheer intensity of the blasts.
The Romans, however, reacted quickly.
No, they had likely anticipated this. The moment the British walls began to glow, their forces had already begun retreating—swiftly and without hesitation, as if they had rehearsed it many times.
But Arthur hadn't been bluffing earlier.
As long as they remained within sight, the bombardment from the British city walls would reach them.
To deal with retreating enemies, all Britain needed was a few extra magic crystals.
The light shone across the battlefield one last time—then faded.
Arthur frowned. In just seconds, 20,000 soldiers had been reduced to scattered remnants.
"My king, should we pursue?" Kay asked with a grin.
This knight took pride in his country. Look—even Rome, famed for its military might, had been reduced to ash before Britain's guns. Would they dare return?
Such is Britain's power!
"Pursue…?" Arthur murmured.
Even if they could catch up, there wasn't much to gain from doing so. In this age, magicians still existed.
Word would spread quickly—Rome would know soon enough.
"No. There's no need to chase. The deserters have already reached the forest. Artillery fire would only start a blaze. The cavalry wouldn't catch them in such rough terrain." Arthur frowned deeply.
Did those Roman forces truly mean to storm the city?
It felt more like a probing force, bait to test British defenses—a bait they had no choice but to accept.
But sacrificing 20,000 just for intel?
No… unless it was to lull us into complacency?
It's irrational. Too strange.
But in the end—
-End Chapter-
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