Vengeance in the Pouring Rain
[SPLASH-]
Five days after the battle. Rain pours down as if a hole has been punched in the sky.
"Next!"
"P-please spare me! I beg you! I'll do anything!"
"Kneel."
Rain in Britannia isn't a big deal. It feels like half the year brings big or small showers from the heavens, but I've always liked rainwater, so it didn't bother me. Being born under gloomy skies—come to think of it, maybe I was never quite normal to begin with? Most people prefer sunny days.
"It wasn't me! I had no choice but to stay silent! Peredir! Peredir! What more could I have done!? Please!"
"My father personally took you and your family in. Most of the men who died opposing the Magister Militum, and most of you dying under my blade now, were just like you. People who flowed in from the west, the north, the east—displaced wretches with nowhere to go. He sheltered you all by the warm hearth, yet you stayed silent, watched, and even sided with them until a blade pierced his back."
[Rumble-]
Sure enough, heavy storm clouds gathered, lightning flashed to greet us first, and thunder followed, cracking across the skies. The rain grew fiercer, and beneath the gray veil of heaven, heat haze rose steadily from the shoulders of my legionaries standing in perfect, unwavering ranks. Their bright red Roman cloaks still burned scarlet even in the dim world.
Behind them stood everyone who lived on this island. The western villages and eastern villages made up the whole of it, ruled for generations by the old line of the Fisher King, who built a great timber house on the central hill. And right there in the king's house, Peredir's father had been stabbed in the back by assassins' blades.
Surprisingly, most of those assassins had already died at our Roman army's hands in the battle five days ago. But that wasn't all. The hardliners on this island—those beasts in human guise, from Peredir's perspective—who opposed the Fisher King's policy of self-sufficiency and insisted on joining the age of plunder, had all marched out in the island's first historic raid... only to be massacred by us. Now, scarce few fighting men remained on the island.
What was left were children, elders, women, and the handful of moderates who hadn't joined the barbarian rebels and raiders, somehow surviving scattered here and there. In the midst of this wretched scene, Peredir was finishing his vengeance.
"Thus, in my father's name, I sentence you to death."
"Stop! Stop! No!"
[Thud!]
"Guh! Urgh-"
[Thud!]
"..."
[Slash!]
[Thud- plop-]
[SPLASH-]
Rome had banned crucifixion a century ago, thanks to the great Constantine. In its place came hanging for common criminals and beheading for the noble-born. It seemed there wasn't much difference between civilized and barbaric ways of killing, for Peredir had been steadily lopping off the traitors' heads.
He personally pronounced judgment, swung the sword, rested not a moment, and soon a pool of blood mingled with rainwater lay beneath the flashing blade. Though the space brimmed with death, every eye in this gray world watching the scene held deep relief instead.
Proof that not all deaths are equal. Eyes that had uniformly grieved and feared the kind, benevolent Fisher King's death now rejoiced at the passing of the tyrants. To this astonishingly peaceful island of Manavia amid a chaotic world had come the outer turmoil like a storm, and the people sought a fence to shield them from the fierce winds and rain.
Those watching Peredir's sky-blue eyes as he felled the last traitor now turned, one by one, to me where I sat at a distance.
[SPLASH-]
[Squelch- squelch-]
Walking through the pounding raindrops, Peredir—his face and hands cleansed of splattered blood—knelt before me. Then every soul on Manavia island followed their new king, bowing heads, bending waists, kneeling and prostrating themselves to me. Roman-Brythonic legionaries watched from beneath deeply hooded helmets.
No one stirred for a time. Only raindrops and thunder, lightning—so indifferent to human play—moved.
[Rumble-]
Only after the world flashed once more did Peredir slightly raise his head, just enough to show me the edge of his sky-blue eyes.
"Magister Militum. To the west of this island lies Hibernia, to the east Caledonia."
[SPLASH--]
"My father served the god Manannan all his life, making the world's seas his master to feed the people here. Thus he was king, yet hoarded no gold; what he barely bequeathed me was this sword and spear, shield, house, a few sturdy nets, and some livestock—that was all. To Dominus Artorius, we must seem no different from wild beasts, barbarians. But my father's will lay not in strife and plunder. He sought to learn more from Rome, through trade, fishing, and ultimately to bring peace to this island. And for that, these wretches hung his head at the eastern harbor."
Four days ago, after clearing the battlefield, I'd executed the guilty, enslaved those fit for it, and sent them down to Deva Victrix. We rested a day, then two days ago set sail again for Manavia island. After a smooth half-day voyage, we seized the eastern harbor without trouble.
There, Peredir had clutched a white-haired head with eyes closed in solemn repose and wept in stifled sobs. Leading the way himself, he'd captured all the island's key points in another day. The eyes of the man who'd achieved vengeance held no unexpected void. Rather, they seemed infused with new purpose.
"I know my father's will was not wrong. If there was fault, it lay in the silent gods of Manannan whom he served lifelong, the evil hearts of men, and above all, my own feeble strength to fulfill his lofty intent. Without Dominus Artorius's aid, I might have wandered a lifetime for revenge. Yet by the Dominus's single command, all who killed my father and chased me from the island like a rain-soaked dog are dead."
Peredir, now fully raising his head, had eyes as clear and blue as sea on a fair day. If Hereward drank a bit more Roman wine and took on civilized airs, would he look like that? Having learned our tongue from boyhood, Peredir spoke fluent, unaccented Latin— the very intersection of barbarism and civilization.
"Power without purpose is mere savage violence. But I've learned that purpose without power ends so tragically. Thus, I, Peredir, will keep my sworn oath to Dominus Artorius. Henceforth, all Manavia's waves, soil, trees, fish, and people are yours. Please, accept us."
Thick, heavy raindrops fell upon Peredir's slowly bowing head. The metallic clangs on my legionaries' armor and helmets drowned out the patter on the ground. Ding-ding-ding-ding—ting-ting-ting— In this dark world, I was reminded anew that the sum total of steel was power and justice itself.
"Manavia island will be jointly administered from Deva Victrix for the time being. Two centuries will garrison here permanently, and the island's first task will be erecting walls at the western and eastern harbors."
Securing Manavia wasn't mere pity. As Peredir said, its miraculous position overlooking Hibernia to the west and Caledonia to the east meant safety for Roman-Brythonic western granary lands. Yes, those granary lands halted entirely by years of barbarian raids—I could revive them. Revive them, and this half-island's original productivity would be fully unleashed, spelling outright disaster for the barbarians.
Hibernia, Caledonia. In my past life, Ireland and Scotland. Did those lands' barbarians grasp this grave truth? Did they know they must rally now and charge this island at once? Probably not. And ignorance means death.
[Shing-]
Hereward's oath to me—the sword oath—had impressed me enough for a barbarian, so I decided to recreate it. I drew my long sword and slowly laid it on Peredir's left shoulder, over his head to the right, then pressed the crown of his head before sheathing it. Through it all, Peredir's sky-blue eyes never wavered.
"Rise, son of the wise Pellinor, Peredir."
The island's survivors watched as he slowly stood.
"You shall fulfill what your father desired. In my way, with my strength. You will be my spear."
"I swear it, Dominus Artorius."
"...What? All dead...? Completely annihilated!?"
At the same hour, across the sea in southwestern Hibernia, in Muwa. King Aril at last heard that his all-or-nothing gamble had collapsed in one blow.
"How? No, why!? No, no—no, no! How in the world does that mean they were wiped out in a single go!?"
At the same time, Muwa's ambitious schemers—who had already made many promises with that terrifying figure from Roman-Brythonia, per their pact with Londinium—began sharpening daggers in their tents.