Morgan, You’re Not Acting Right!

Under the cover of darkness, Vortigern dispatched a squad of soldiers to launch a feint attack.

In the camp, King Mark gazed at Vortigern, swallowed hard, and revealed an expression of fear.

"What's the matter?"

Seeing his ally's reaction, Vortigern was quite pleased, though he deliberately feigned ignorance.

See, this is the kind of ally I like one who knows to fear me.

"Nothing... your strategy is brilliant. I don't even know how you came up with it," King Mark replied to Vortigern.

How did he come up with it?

I've been on the receiving end of it before.

Back when this fortress fell, Vortigern had heard the defeated soldiers recount how they'd lost.

This tactic was dirty but extremely effective.

That was what Vortigern thought to himself.

Outwardly, however, he merely sipped his wine with an air of profound mystery, deepening King Mark's awe and reverence for him.

At the same time, it further solidified King Mark's confidence in their impending victory.

I've made up my mind if I see Tristan, I'll kill him.

When the time seemed right, Vortigern issued an order to his subordinates:

"Send word for the soldiers on feint duty to return and rest. Then, dispatch the next batch to maintain the illusion of an offensive."

"Yes, sir!"

The subordinate left to carry out the command, while Vortigern and King Mark remained behind, continuing to drink.

Upon receiving the order, the soldiers immediately began their return.

They were exhausted.

Who wouldn't be after shouting nonstop?

They were going back to rest.

As they marched, the soldiers lax in discipline made their way back in disarray.

One soldier tapped the shoulder of the man walking ahead of him.

"Hey, brother, got any water? My mouth's drier than a desert."

"Yeah, I've got some left."

The man turned around and handed him a leather pouch containing half a bag of water.

The soldier took a swig, then patted the other man's shoulder again.

"Thanks. I'll hurry ahead I wanna get back and sleep. Damn Camelot bastards... wonder when we'll finally wipe 'em all out."

"Go on ahead. I can't see too well, so you go first."

"Don't fall behind, brother."

The soldier jogged off.

What he didn't notice was that after he left, the others around him quietly sheathed the weapons they'd been gripping in the shadows.

"All clear no one suspected a thing," said Lot.

The soldier had just been talking to him.

"Your Majesty, isn't it too dangerous for you to personally lead this operation?"

Standing beside Lot, Tristan spoke in a hushed voice.

"Dangerous? Hardly." Lot waved a hand dismissively. "This plan was my idea of course I should be the one to execute it."

"...Understood."

Tristan nodded, then wore a guilty expression.

"Your Majesty, if not for me, my uncle would never have allied with Vortigern..."

"Don't blame yourself. My decisions were my own this has nothing to do with you. King Mark made his choices independently as well."

Lot shook his head.

Truthfully, he did have some regrets not for helping Tristan, but for failing to account for King Mark's petty temperament.

In the history of his past life, Tristan had merely been infatuated with Princess Iseult's harp-playing nothing more yet King Mark had still assassinated him with a poisoned blade. Given the current circumstances, how could King Mark possibly tolerate this?

I should've seen it coming.

But there was no point dwelling on it now.

The priority was winning this battle.

In the darkness, humans have little sense of the number of people around them.

Even with a large group, if four people played hide-and-seek at night, an extra person could easily go unnoticed.

Lot and his men were like wolves hidden among a pack of huskies they blended in seamlessly.

Following the enemy soldiers, they infiltrated their camp.

It wasn't until they arrived that the unit's commander finally decided to check his troops under the torchlight.

He began counting.

"Hmm... 400 men sent out, 500 returned. None lost in fact, we've gained a hundred. Good, very... wait. Why are there a hundred extra?"

The commander's pride lasted all of one second before he realized something was wrong.

Losing men was bad.

But gaining them?

That was even worse.

He turned around just in time to see a petite, strikingly handsome "soldier" standing behind him.

Before he could speak, the figure ran him through with a sword.

"Your commander has been slain."

Artoria Pendragon addressed the remaining soldiers.

"Y'know, this would be the perfect time to shout, 'The enemy general has been defeated!' it'd really set the mood," Lot mused from below, stroking his chin.

With that, he drew his sword and charged at Vortigern's soldiers.

"Now slaughter them all!"

Lot bellowed.

However, the hand signal he gave his men conveyed something entirely different:

'Let at least half of them escape.'

Lot had only brought a hundred men but these were knights who had undergone rigorous training.

Their strength was extraordinary.

Against ordinary soldiers, they cut through them like reaping wheat.

Especially Lot, Tristan, and Artoria.

They turned the battle into a veritable mowing game.

In this late Age of Gods Britain, the gap in combat prowess between individuals was greater than that between men and pigs.

Soon, over half the enemy soldiers had been cut down by Lot's forces.

The rest fled in panic.

The surrounding camps were roused one after another as the fleeing soldiers driven by survival instincts scattered like headless flies.

Other soldiers, jolted awake, assumed the entire enemy army had attacked.

In the chaos, they too began fleeing.

Many of Vortigern's troops had been forcibly conscripted they had no desire to fight, and the pent-up stress was immense.

Awakened abruptly, they descended into utter disorder.

One camp infected the next.

The chaos spread like wildfire, growing increasingly frenzied.

In his past life, Lot would've called this a "rout."

When soldiers under extreme stress faced such situations, they lost all coherence even turning on each other.

This was the true power of a night raid.

The actual kills were secondary.

This tactic was devastating against large-scale formations.

Whether in 5th-century Britain or the 1949 Huaihai Campaign, its effectiveness remained unchanged.

Seeing the enemy in disarray, Lot called out to Artoria and the others:

"Fall back we're withdrawing!"

Artoria, still stunned by the pandemonium, snapped to attention at Lot's command and led the Round Table Knights in retreat.

Seizing the confusion, Lot and his men slipped away leaving Vortigern's camp in shambles.

Vortigern and King Mark, bleary-eyed from drink, were startled awake by the uproar.

"What's happening? Go investigate now!" Vortigern barked at his subordinate.

The man rushed out only to return moments later, face ashen.

"Your Majesty... no one knows what's going on. The men are saying Camelot's army has attacked that we're about to be crushed."

"Impossible! Camelot's forces couldn't have struck this quickly!"

Vortigern stormed out.

Surveying the chaos, he immediately devised a solution.

"Follow me execute anyone who resists!"

Only the ruthless could wage war.

And Vortigern's ruthlessness?

It was second to none.

He issued the command and personally led the charge.

The reason routs were so hard to quell was twofold: delayed orders from leadership and insufficient suppression from officers on the ground.

Vortigern, however, faced neither issue.

His orders were swift.

And his strength?

More than enough.

Rebellious soldiers who dared confront him were swiftly put down.

The power gap was too vast.

Moreover, many in the camp weren't even human restoring order was easier still.

Seeing soldiers killing each other, Vortigern cut them down without hesitation.

He showed no mercy in fact, his eyes gleamed with something akin to excitement.

The panicked troops had never seen anything like it. Faced with Vortigern's bloodlust, they quickly sobered up.

Like drenched quails, they huddled in silence.

By the time Lot returned to the fortress, the shouting from Vortigern's camp had ceased.

He sighed in disappointment though this was within expectations.

"If Vortigern had let the rout go unchecked, that would've been disappointing," Lot remarked.

Then, he called to Artoria:

"Let's eat extra rations tonight. Rest well."

"Yes!"

At the mention of extra food, Artoria's spirits lifted instantly.

The Round Table Knights also prepared to replenish their energy.

Though they knew harder battles lay ahead, this initial victory was cause for celebration.

Best of all?

Not a single casualty.

The only injury was a rookie knight who'd sprained his ankle tripping over something.

The enemy, meanwhile, had lost thousands.

Their confidence in victory soared.

In stark contrast to Lot's high morale, Vortigern's camp was shrouded in gloom.

Though the rout had been suppressed, the losses were staggering.

"Report how many did we lose?" Vortigern demanded.

Soon, the tally came in.

Nearly 3,000 dead.

Of those, only 200-odd had been slain by Lot's forces.

The rest had died in the chaos either killing each other or executed by Vortigern himself.

(Vortigern's kills actually outnumbered the rest.)

It was only then that Vortigern learned the full details of the rout.

Upon hearing that Camelot's forces had infiltrated the feint troops and launched a counterattack, Vortigern and King Mark were livid.

Not only had they lost a significant number of men

Their strategy for besieging the fortress was now useless.

If the enemy pulled this trick again, they'd be finished.

As for setting an ambush?

Please.

At this rate, who was exhausting whom?

King Mark turned to Vortigern.

"Your plan was seen through in a single day? What now?"

Vortigern pondered, then replied:

"To recognize my strategy and devise a countermeasure... Lot must be here."

Vortigern prided himself on his cunning.

In underhanded tactics, only one man surpassed him his nephew-in-law, Lot.

When it came to shamelessness and deception, even Vortigern had to concede defeat.

King Mark gasped.

"Already?!"

Vortigern nodded.

"Yes. It seems he arrived ahead of schedule with a small force. Last night's attack confirms his numbers are limited hence the hit-and-run."

"So what's our next move?"

King Mark pressed.

Vortigern didn't hesitate.

"The only move left."

He raised his voice.

"Full assault storm that fortress at once!"

When your strategic prowess matches the enemy's, you must leverage your troops to outmaneuver them.

If that fails?

To hell with it.

With superior numbers, you crush them outright.

If neither side can outwit the other, might makes right.

And in that regard, Vortigern had absolute confidence.

Soon, from Lot's vantage point

Vortigern's army assembled before the fortress.

"The enemy is finally making their move," Lot observed to Artoria beside him.