Tintagel Castle.
The dinner prepared by the Duke of Dingtiger was quite sumptuous, but the taste was rather diocre. Here’s a cold joke, British cuisine.
In this era of Europe, probably only Italian cuisine and Frankish dishes were slightly better.
Anya had a look of disgust.
She had grown accustod to a life of luxury, with a heap of bad habits inherited from old Roman nobility.
Duncan wasn’t picky, but he exercised so restraint. He realized that the ’Power of Gluttony’ couldn’t be used excessively every day, perhaps indulging once a week was enough.
Because it slowly increased his life limit, and over ti, coupled with the effect of the Holy Grail’s blood, it would cause so changes to his body’s muscles and bones.
His physique wasn’t bulky, but his strength was great, and the density of his muscles and bones exceeded that of ordinary people.
The castle was dark and damp inside.
Under the candlelight of the long table, two hypocritical political nobles were busily probing each other. Anya was experienced, being a socialite of the empire; she spoke flawlessly, continuously baiting the Duke of Dingtiger, waiting for him to take the initiative to seek help.
Politics was indeed dirty. Duncan found it a bit overwhelming, or rather, political animals had no emotions, and interest was the only driving force.
The Duke of Dingtiger was very attentive to this noble widow, even though his wife was right beside him.
There was another person at the long table with a worried expression.
Igraine.
The Duchess of Dingtiger, she was also a beauty, but her expression was quite fearful. Fortunately, it was late and the light was poor, and the Duke of Dingtiger rarely cast his gaze upon her.
"Has sothing happened already?"
Duncan knew history would have small deviations, but seeing the Duchess’s uneasy look, he felt sothing was amiss.
If rlin made a move to help, the Duke of Dingtiger wouldn’t be able to defend against it.
After a round of hospitality,
The Duke of Dingtiger arranged for attendants to let Duncan and his party stay, and the Duchess Igraine left in a hurry, not even in the mood to chat with them for a few monts.
It felt like she was avoiding the Duke of Dingtiger.
The Crow Queen Triss followed Duncan, whispering, "That Duchess seems a bit off."
Duncan couldn’t say that he knew what would happen in the future, so he simply responded solemnly, "Act according to circumstances."
In the corridor.
Severus stopped in his tracks, glanced at everyone, and said, "I’m leaving tonight."
"Find a way to recruit so help."
Severus had ntioned earlier that he had so connections here in Great Britain. Among the indigenous Celtic tribes, there were many who still believed in the Druidic sect, regarded as those who could speak with the Celtic gods.
They were too short-handed.
Whether by spending money or through connections, everyone agreed they should replenish their manpower, preferably with units possessing so combat ability.
Severus volunteered to set off. He planned to recruit so traditional Celtic warriors (similar to units of the Gallic forces).
Duncan pondered for a mont, nodded, and said, "Alright."
"Be safe."
Severus smiled and said, "Don’t worry. After all, I am a druid."
In places where Celtic faith still existed, druids were truly like fish in water; he would receive a high treatnt whenever he visited any indigenous tribe.
Severus leaped out of the window.
The next second.
His figure suddenly changed, directly transforming into a bird, and quickly disappeared under the surprised gazes of the others.
The Crow Queen Triss was also surprised, whispering, "It’s my first ti seeing him use Transformation Technique."
The witches now realized that Severus’s spellcasting ability had recovered.
"A druid’s transformation ability?"
Duncan also watched Severus disappear into the night sky. He shifted to a god’s-eye view, seeing a bird marked as ’Druid,’ then it landed and transford back into human form, soon turning into a tall stag under the moonlight, diving into the dense forest.
Severus could transform?
Could he transform into a war horse, like a red hare?
If I rode it?
Wouldn’t I be unbeatable?
As everyone knows, the best pet for a hunter is a druid.
This idea flashed through his mind; after all, it was a bit much for a comrade who was a life-and-death companion to be used as a mount.
He transford into ordinary creatures, and his combat power didn’t increase significantly.
"Two-star silver elite units must have so special skills!"
Duncan thought of the Hermitage Holy Hall, which housed truly top-notch experts. After Severus’s strength recovered, his skills were quite impressive, and his transformation potential was enormous, compensating for the defect of his crippled fingers.
Thinking of this, Duncan couldn’t help but glance at the witch Anya.
Hmm.
Still a two-star whiteboard, with no changes.
Anya sensed Duncan’s gaze, seemingly guessing so of his thoughts. She bit her ruby-red lips, her expression showing a hint of aggrieved innocence.
For her spellcasting ability to fully recover, unless the Goddess of Beauty Aphrodite revived, or she switched allegiance to a god with similar authority, currently in all of Europe, only the Norse Pantheon possibly had such gods.
The Crow Queen Triss was a special exception; not all witches were born as unique as her.
Speaking of spellcasting ability, there was another big figure in Great Britain.
Legendary Wizard rlin!
The group returned to their rooms. Anya still wanted to sneak into Duncan’s room, but the Crow Queen Triss glared at her, making her return obediently.
That night, a torrent poured down from the mountains.
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