Both sides are pouring all their strength into this. Since it's almost winter, there are almost no production personnel, so to boost their courage or morale, nearly all adult Scottish men are already here.
In other words, this is also the biggest opportunity.
For everyone.
Dressed in simple, mostly linen clothes, holding only their spears, with no armor whatsoever, they looked spirited but malnourished—these were the rebels.
At the very center of the rebel army was a young woman with a long braid.
Almost everyone here is a burly man over 1.7 meters tall, wearing heavy armor, but they don't have the resources to raise horses. They are almost all heavy infantry.
Taking a different approach, to deal with light infantry, they adopted the example of Roman heavy infantry. Of course, Rome's two highly distinctive troop types: heavy infantry and javelin throwers, both required long-term training and could not be completed in a short period. These heavy infantry, armed with sharp black Claymores, are clearly the elite troops of these commoners. There aren't many, only about 1,500, but it's estimated that all available iron has been gathered here, right?
Their crude iron-smelting techniques made the heavy infantry, dressed in black iron armor and wielding black Claymores, look like ugly, pockmarked toads. The poor forging process resulted in uneven iron, so they probably walked with one side lighter than the other, didn't they?
The golden-haired young woman with the long braid, surrounded by all the elites, had two or three parts of Artoria's likeness in her brows, and her temperament was extraordinarily heroic, possessing a unique feminine charm.
She held a longsword in her hand, propping up a fiery red banner that bore no text or images, reflecting her lack of background or, perhaps, the haste that left no time to engrave a design.
"Joan, the King of Scotland's army has already gathered on the opposite side." A young man in a long robe walked up to Joan, his affection for her clearly visible in his eyes.
"Mm." Joan didn't respond to his words, only nodded lightly before turning her gaze towards the King of Scotland's side. Her personal combat intuition told her that this war wouldn't be so simple, but she couldn't articulate why.
"Joan, what are you worried about?" the blue-haired young man asked softly.
"I don't know..." Joan felt a faint worry in her heart, but she didn't know where it came from, so she could only keep it to herself.
"Relax." The blue-haired youth smiled and said, "After this battle, as long as we withstand Camelot's first attack, we will win."
"Yes." Joan slightly relaxed her hand holding the banner, then gripped it tightly again: "Only after this battle..."
She never doubted whether she could win; she only doubted whether she could save more Scottish people. Scotland had suffered enough! She just wanted the people to stand up, just wanted them to escape hardship.
As for becoming a king like King Arthur, she had never considered it.
Speaking of King Arthur, she got angry. That woman actually shifted domestic conflicts and imposed domestic disasters on innocent Scottish people for the sake of her status and military achievements.
As soon as she thought of this, she gritted her teeth, unaware that if Kayal heard her thoughts, he would applaud. In this world, apart from a few kings, not many people possess such political wisdom! The King of Scotland hadn't seen his political intentions and was instead walking step by step into Kayal's trap.
Of course, it would also be impossible for the other party to persuade Joan and others with kind words, because Kayal would issue orders to the rangers: spread rumors to plunge Scotland into chaos. Kayal's intelligence operatives would also cooperate. In terms of confrontation between two countries, Scotland's so-called intelligence work was merely child's play; it was impossible for them to be an opponent to Kayal's intelligence agency, which had been cultivated for ten years and into which Kayal had poured countless efforts.
With two countries at war, how could Scotland, which didn't even know the internal situation of Camelot, possibly defeat Camelot?
Just by looking at Kayal's understanding of Scotland's internal situation, one could tell how much preparation Kayal had made for this war. And Scotland?
The enemy is at the city gates!
It would be a miracle if they didn't lose!
Heaven rewards diligence! Heaven rewards hard work!
Meanwhile, on the other side, in the King of Scotland's camp.
The King of Scotland is forty-six years old. Although he cannot be considered a monarch of great ambition and strategy, he has no major misdeeds either, always diligently working in his primary position.
His only failing might be his luck?
Abroad, he encountered Kayal, who was eager to unify Britain, and internally, he faced Joan, who was overwhelmed by the burden and possessed extraordinary talent for war. Now, he faces signs of national demise. His already receding hairline, typical of the Mediterranean Sea, quickly turned into complete baldness, making him an aging, middle-aged bald man.
He is now composed; over a decade as King has made him impervious to honor or disgrace, and his cunning has deepened.
His face was somewhat somber under the sunlight. Unlike those commoners, he deeply understood the might of the King of Camelot. Whether it was the previous King Uther, who made Camelot prosperous and strong, or the current King Arthur, who is full of aggression (even though she is just a little girl), he deeply understood the trouble these two Kings of Camelot brought.
They are all damn battle maniacs! Thinking of that King Arthur, that little girl who almost broke through the entire front line and was reportedly charging on the front lines, the King of Scotland's expression turned grim.
He understood even more that defeating this group of commoners was not the end! There was still a covetous Camelot to fight.
Although Camelot's internal conflicts among the nobles had temporarily halted their offensive (rumors and smoke screens), who knew how long that bloodthirsty little girl would suppress Camelot's internal strife?
Perhaps that little girl was already on her way to Bradford!
Thinking of this, he couldn't help but feel anxious, but he calmly instructed his Right Prime Minister—an old man with a chin so sharp it could kill someone: "Bell, begin."
"As you wish, Your Majesty." He bowed slightly, then walked down, presumably to relay orders.
The King of Scotland looked at the vast, dark, restless enemy, a look of heartache in his eyes. It took twenty years to train a knight, but on the battlefield, a knight could kill at least two hundred people in just twenty minutes; the efficiency they brought was absolutely different.
He wasn't afraid that his army would lose; he was just pained that these laborers, who should have been producing in the fields, were now to be slaughtered by elite soldiers... "Should I really learn from Camelot...?" he murmured, turning his gaze southward, envying Camelot's ability to ruthlessly deal with nobles and centralize power with the King.