Ch. 123 Holding a bag of biscuits

Holding a bag of biscuits, Merlin was sitting about fifty meters away from the camp, out of their sight, gnawing on the hard, dry biscuits.

*Crunch*

The biscuits used as dry rations in this era weren’t the sweet treats made with sugar and oil from later generations.

Just as the name implied, a dry biscuit was exactly that: a biscuit that was very, very dry.

One bite would not only fill your mouth with crumbs but also prick your lips.

“Sigh.”

Merlin sat on a rock, sighing with every bite of the biscuit.

To be honest, given his usual unreliable character, it wouldn’t have been impossible for him to talk his way out of it this time.

But if he did that, he’d probably be hated, wouldn’t he?

Embezzling public funds to buy wine was indeed a bit much…

Compared to past instances of forgetting trivial matters, being delayed by flirting with women, or simply flaking out due to laziness…

Embezzling public funds is a crime—a real crime.

Knowing he was in the wrong, Merlin sorrowfully and voluntarily accepted his punishment.

The biscuits were hard, and the water was cold.

Not far away, behind the vegetation, the camp’s firelight flickered, peeking through the low bushes.

But where Merlin sat now, he had only the bright moonlight and the shimmering stream for company.

There wasn’t a single fish in the water.

As he was wallowing in self-pity, he happened to notice a rustling in the bushes on the opposite bank, just a short distance downstream.

Looking closely, a figure emerged from within.

Facing Merlin sideways, the person wore a nasal helmet that gleamed under the moonlight, thick chainmail, and a longsword hanging at his waist.

He stepped out carrying a wooden bucket with an expression of extreme disgust.

Under Merlin’s watchful gaze, the fellow carried the bucket to the river’s edge and gave it a sudden toss.

The entire contents of the foul-smelling waste were dumped into the river.

Then, as he turned around, the man finally spotted Merlin sitting on the opposite bank munching on a biscuit.

The man froze right where he stood.

He hadn’t expected anyone to be on the other side of the river at all.

A long silence followed…

“Ah, hello there.”

Merlin tilted his head and extended a hand toward the newcomer.

He took the lead in offering a friendly greeting.

As a result, the fellow on the other side reacted as if he’d seen an enemy; with a thud, he dropped the dung bucket and immediately drew his longsword.

“Hwā bist inc?!”

A language completely different from that of the Britons spilled from the armored man’s mouth, but the tone suggested it was likely a demand for identification.

The expression on Merlin’s face instantly stiffened.

He had heard such a language before; even if he didn’t understand the specific meaning, he could tell from the patterns of the words that this was an Anglo-Saxon.

The person appearing before him was, without a doubt, an Anglo-Saxon.

Almost instantly, Merlin stood up and grabbed his staff.

Then, he turned around!

“Ahahaha, I won’t bother you, I’m leaving now—”

He took off running!

Picking up the staff was, of course, to make it easier to run!

“Hui! Ablinnan!!!”

The Anglo-Saxon’s shout came from behind. Merlin instinctively looked back to see the Anglo-Saxon gripping his sword, leaping through the stream to chase after him.

In just a few seconds, he had already crossed half of the shallow creek.

With a whoosh, the Anglo-Saxon threw a spinning throwing axe that grazed past Merlin’s head.

Feeling the wind whistle by his ear, Merlin broke into a cold sweat.

“Artoria! Kay!”

He sprinted toward the camp, shouting at the top of his lungs.

Gripping his sword, the Anglo-Saxon’s chainmail clinked and rattled with every stride, following Merlin like a life-claiming specter.

The spot where Merlin had been was only a few dozen meters from the camp; his cries were undoubtedly heard loud and clear by those in the camp.

Everyone turned their heads. Before Merlin even emerged from the grass, they heard another of his sharp screams.

Merlin’s act of leading the Anglo-Saxon to the camp…

…only served to embolden the Raider hot on his heels.

He too saw the firelight dancing between the trees ahead. The Anglo-Saxon let out a delighted laugh, seemingly mocking the cowardly Briton’s move of leading a wolf into his own home.

Merlin burst out from behind the trees, tripped over a branch lying on the ground, let out a pathetic cry, and tumbled miserably into the camp.

Immediately following him…

…the Anglo-Saxon, sword in hand and wearing a cruel grin, leaped out from behind the obstacles after Merlin.

The group was squatting by the pot, bowls in hand, slurping noodles, looking at him with expressions of total confusion.

The Anglo-Saxon spoke:

“I’m going to use your skulls as bowls!”

Merlin rolled across the ground and then shouted a clearly redundant warning: “Anglo-Saxon!”

Doubtless, everyone had seen.

But how should one describe this scene?

On one side was an Anglo-Saxon bandit with a longsword.

On the other side, having realized the situation, were Kay, Artoria, and Wilden, who had put down their bowls and stood up.

Even excluding Artoria…

…both Kay and Wilden looked like men you didn’t want to mess with.

Wilden aside, even Kay was physically larger than the Anglo-Saxon.

After seeing the situation in the camp clearly, the smile gradually vanished from the face of the Anglo-Saxon, who was used to running wild in Britain.

But as it turns out, happiness doesn’t disappear; it only transfers to someone else’s face.

Kay was actually amused by the sudden appearance of this foolish robber.

In that instant where the tables turned, the Anglo-Saxon’s lips twitched, but he couldn’t say a word; he turned and ran.

Kay, of course, would not give him that chance.

His muscles instantly transitioned from ready to explosive power. With a single stride, he cleared several meters and immediately pinned the Anglo-Saxon Raider—who had picked the wrong target—to the ground from behind.

“Quick, get some rope!”