Antonine Wall.

This wall was built in AD 154, approximately sixty kilometers long, stretching from the Firth of Forth in the east to the Clyde River Bay in the west. The wall is 5 meters wide, 3 meters high, with a trench 12 meters wide and 4 meters deep in front of it. There are 19 fortresses on the wall, each spaced 3 kilometers apart.

Three hundred years have passed, and remnants of the wall still linger, but most fortresses have been dismantled; only one remains barely intact.

Drest followed the vast army to the Antonine Wall.

He stood near the wall, gazing into the distance, seeing the black Dragon Banner fluttering halfway up the distant mountain. The united forces of many Scottish tribes arrived today, following yesterday's visit from the messenger from the British Province, whose attitude was quite arrogant, being a Roman dressed in a Toga Robe.

In his own words, the great King of Britain—Duncan, wants to conquer the British Isles with dignity, so he will give you three days to gather your troops.

The battlefield is set at Antonine Wall, with both sides agreeing on the date for a great battle.

How many years has it been?

Aside from the ancient Roman and Greek eras, how many years has this world not seen such honorable and agreed combat?

Some chieftains of the Barbarian Race scoff at this kind of event, believing that they should take the opportunity to harass the enemy's rear or lure them deep into the dense Primitive Jungle to defeat them. However, some chieftains feel tempted because they are a united force of many tribes, and their command is inherently chaotic; if they don't fight honorably, dispersal would mean even less chance.

Drest should have had decision-making power, being the most formidable military leader.

But now, his tribe is gone, and his army too.

Few people follow Drest's command just by reputation; now he's merely warming a bench and even foreseeing a major defeat.

Even more frightening, the people he secretly sent back to incite uprisings in the occupied towns got captured and handed over to officials from the British Province.

The reason is simple: Did Drest return, and would their allocated land be lost?

Drest's only chance is to lead the army back, but once Duncan distributes the land, reclaiming it would only provoke civilian hatred.

This move is too vicious.

Duncan didn't plan to take the mountain territory here; he distributed it all, intending just to collect taxes in the future, without substantial development.

Inside the Central Army tent, many chieftains argue endlessly.

Fight? Or not?

No one could offer a solution. At this moment, someone glanced at Drest, and soon more eyes fell upon him. One chieftain asked, "Master Drest."

"What is your opinion?"

"Should we engage in a decisive battle here with the enemy?"

Drest remained silent for a long time, looking much older in just half a month, and slowly said, "This is our last chance."

"Otherwise, only to be defeated individually by the enemy!"

These tribal chieftains' armies range from two to three thousand men, with some having more than a thousand soldiers. When the empire conquered Britain, tribes near London united, yet still defeated by the mighty imperial legion. If not fought this time, with the enemy's formidable strength, fear would lead to a chronic death.

Duncan, wanting to save time, gave them the chance to gather their troops.

Everyone present fell into silence.

Even some chieftains had hesitant expressions, probably contemplating.

Why not submit?

It's said the Holy Sanctuary of Gwanu the God of Forging got destroyed; Druids and Priests are panicking, causing their faith to waver.

During this war, even the gods may not protect them.

Finally.

Numerous tribal chieftains unified their opinion—a battle must be fought, or else the coalition will disrupt.

Drizzly rain started falling.

After internally unifying the front, Drest was reappointed as military leader due to his high prestige and previous leadership in invasions of the England region.

Early morning saw the mighty army of the Barbarian Race begin occupying the high ground.

Determined to battle here, they must seize the terrain advantage, charging downhill would make them more fierce, and if the situation turned adverse, they could retreat leisurely to the forest on the right.

On a nearby slope.

With the black Dragon Banner fluttering, Duncan's figure appeared in the drizzle; he looked up at the sky and said, "Let the Welsh check the war bows; the rain will affect the performance of bowstrings."

Carl behind him immediately nodded and said, "Yes."

Duncan continued to command, "This weather is unfavorable for ballistae; deploy them on the right battlefield."

The messenger soon departed.

In the morning, with the sound of drums and horns, the mighty British Legion began arraying forward, with the imperial Eagle Legion positioned in the Central Army. The right wing is led by Galavin's barbarian foreign legion, and the left wing is somewhat weak, being the Britannia Guard Legion, though both sides have several hundred cavalry.

This weather is very unfavorable for cavalry performance!

Some areas are quite muddy; heavy cavalry can only operate locally, risking encirclement and slaughter if stuck in the mud.

At the sight of the horizon.

The Picts' formation was quite simple, much like the Barbarian Race's, divided into assorted battle groups and tribes—infantry in the front, archers behind, with a small number of cavalry forming the chieftain's guard. Once fighting ensues, it relies entirely on bravery; don't think too much about command.

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