Chương 8: The Extermination Campaign
"Argh...!" The agonized scream of a Saxon warrior echoed through the village as a battle axe, hurled with deadly precision, embedded itself deep into his forehead.
The cavalry, charging forward with relentless momentum, showed no mercy. As they rode over his fallen form, the cavalry who had thrown the axe retrieved it, blood still spurting from the gaping wound in the Saxon's skull.
He calmly wiped the crimson off the blade before securing the weapon back at his waist, ready for further use.
The cavalry pressed on, their march into the heart of the village continuing unabated.
What followed was nothing short of a brutal massacre, an organized and ruthless slaughter of every Saxon in their path. Behind the leading cavalryman, many others followed closely, their horses' hooves thundering against the ground, creating a sound that struck fear into the hearts of the remaining Saxons, who frantically shut their doors in a vain attempt to escape the onslaught.
But the cavalry was relentless. Many dismounted from their horses, forcefully kicking in doors, and without hesitation, they slaughtered every Saxon they found inside. Mercy was a foreign concept to them.
After completing their grim task in each house, the soldiers would remount and continue their genocide journey from one village to the next. This was not an isolated act of violence; it was a coordinated campaign of extermination.
Multiple groups of King Uther's forces joined in this blitzkrieg, a swift and deadly onslaught against the Saxon villages.
They plundered the wealth of these settlements, leaving nothing but death in their wake. Entire populations were annihilated.
The deep-seated hatred between the Celts and the Saxons was a driving force, one that not even the sight of a beautiful Saxon woman could quell.
There was no desire to capture or enslave, no lust for rape or conquest in the traditional sense—only an overwhelming, all-consuming urge to kill.
The animosity that fueled this racial extermination was immense and deeply ingrained.
This land was supposed to belong to the Celts, yet it had been overrun by invaders, by barbarians who had slaughtered their people, violated their women, and brazenly taken their territory.
This profound sense of injustice and loss had festered into a hatred so deep that the Celts sought nothing less than the complete eradication of the Saxons, to the point where the very sight of them ignited a primal urge to kill.
The massacre swept across all the villages that had once belonged to Camelot, villages that had been forcibly taken by the Saxons. Not a single Celt remained in these villages; they had been driven out or killed by the Saxons.
The sight of their former homes now occupied by their enemies only fueled the fury of King Uther's forces, who exacted their revenge with a brutal, almost ritualistic, precision—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
The terror of that night spread like wildfire through the former Camelot territories, now under Saxon control. The cavalry bypassed the fortified castles and towns, focusing their wrath solely on the villages, where they could inflict the most pain and suffering.
King Uther, who personally led this grim operation, instructed Merlin to send a dire warning to the Saxon leaders who occupied Camelot's former lands: return what they had taken, or suffer the same fate as the massacred villagers.
The message was clear—their days were numbered if they did not relinquish the stolen land.
When the Saxon warlord, Osla Gyllellfawr, stationed at Asgorath—the once-thriving town that formerly belonged to Camelot, lying to the west of the capital of Camelot—received the dire news, his reaction was swift and ruthless.
Without a moment's hesitation, he struck down the unfortunate messenger who had delivered the message and let out a deafening roar that echoed through the camp.
"Since King Uther demands war, then war we shall give him!" he bellowed with fury.
"Osla! Osla! Osla!" The war cry resounded as his warriors raised their battleaxes high into the air, their voices united in anticipation of the bloodshed to come.
It might have been the wisest choice to wait, to let King Uther's forces exhaust themselves, especially given that they lacked the siege equipment necessary to breach Asgorath's defenses.
However, Osla was no fool—he knew all too well that many of his men were already thirsting for battle, eager to spill the blood of their enemies.
If he did not give them the answer they sought, they would surely mutiny in his camp without hesitation, replacing him with a leader who promised action.
Despite this, Osla felt confident in his decision. Although King Uther was considered a great leader, he had never been a renowned warrior. In terms of martial prowess, Uther was mediocre compared to other warlords. And as for Merlin, the so-called great mage, he was nothing more than a conjurer of spells—easily dealt with by a well-aimed axe.
Osla believed that if he could simply land a blow on the magician, Merlin would surely fall.
With confidence born from years of battle and skill honed to match the bravery of his troops, Osla saw no possible way that defeat could befall him.
With an air of invincibility, he confidently led his men out to meet King Uther on the battlefield.
Yet, it wasn't just Osla who responded in this way.
All the leaders and warlords of the Saxons were eager to crush this man called Uther Pendragon.
A massive coalition of Saxon forces had formed, driven by the desire to teach this arrogant king a lesson in humility and to show him his proper place.
...
Meanwhile, in the war camp of the Camelot Coalition Forces, the atmosphere was tense.
Within the council room, Merlin anxiously paced back and forth. His mind was clouded with concern as his clairvoyance revealed the grim fate of the messenger sent to parley with the Saxons.
Merlin grimaced at the sight of the man's death.
"It seems they have refused to surrender, my king," Merlin announced, his voice tinged with frustration.
He was all too aware of Uther's plan.
The king had intended to massacre the Saxon villages and burn their farmlands, starving them into submission.
Sooner or later, Merlin believed, the Saxon forces would be gripped by desperation and turn on each other in mutiny.
Under King Uther's siege and with his seemingly endless supply of provisions from Camelot, the Saxons, who had only meager rations, would be forced to surrender without a single battle.
Who could have foreseen that they would be so reckless as to kill the messengers and march out en masse for revenge?
When Merlin turned to observe King Uther's calm and composed demeanor, he was taken aback.
The king appeared completely unfazed by the news even if his carefully laid plans had not gone as expected.
"So, what is our next course of action, my king?" Merlin asked cautiously. "Shall we retreat and regroup with the rest of our coalition? I do not believe our small number of cavalry can overpower their vast ranks."
"Let them come," Uther replied with a cold snort. "I have already shown them a way out, granted them mercy, but they refused."
Uther's gaze hardened as he turned to Merlin. "Now, tell us everything about this Osla Gyllellfawr and the Saxon warlords who stand against us. I want to know not only their backgrounds but also the routes they are marching, their supply lines, and the exact number of men they bring."
As Uther spoke, the assembled nobles and knights leaned forward eagerly, their attention focused entirely on Merlin.
The pressure was palpable, but Merlin nodded resolutely and began to divulge every detail he had uncovered through his foresight.
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