Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator

Kaelar looked over the assembled Saxons and declared, "Those who are willing to lay down their weapons, and who have not killed, may leave."

"Murderers will face death, and those who wounded others will be punished. This seems fair, doesn't it?"

This time, the Celtic response was far less volatile. After all, Kaelar had already done something similar in the past.

While some of them had reservations, several knights began to wonder why this battle had ended so easily.

The Saxons still had over two thousand men—how could they all have surrendered?

Had they resisted to the last, fighting until the very end, the losses on both sides would have been staggering. It was an inevitability they could all see.

In such a fight, there would be no true victor.

The Saxons glanced at each other in silence, not responding to Kaelar's words. For their Celtic enemies, it was nearly impossible to distinguish which Saxons had committed murder—only the Saxons themselves knew.

But getting them to accuse each other? That would be nearly impossible.

Kaelar's kindness alone wouldn't be enough to smooth over this situation. After all, betraying one's comrades was no easy task, and the psychological burden was immense.

Yet Kaelar was no naive idealist. Sometimes, the means of a righteous man must surpass the ruthlessness of the wicked.

"You invaded Maple Ridge of your own free will," Kaelar said with a calm smile. "Now that you've lost, you have no way home. Without ships, you'd have to swim back to Saxon lands."

"And to swim, you'll need strength—food. Without enough food, at least half of you would die on the journey, wouldn't you?"

"...But Powell said you'd provide food," one of the braver Saxons ventured cautiously. "Lord Kaelar, Powell called you a man of virtue."

"Virtuous? A saint?" Kaelar's expression remained neutral, untouched by the flattery. "I can provide food—but only if you abide by my law. My rule is simple: killing is a curse."

"If someone steps forward and identifies the killers, I will double their share of provisions. I can even provide resources far greater than what you'd get from raiding. This is not a burden for me."

Kaelar's smile widened. "But if none of you speak up, I will halve the provisions for everyone. It will be enough to survive the journey, but just barely—you might fall ill or suffer injuries."

"If no sea monsters come your way during that time, you should be fine."

Kaelar's calculations were exact. After the victory, he'd mentally estimated the necessary provisions for the surviving Saxons, factoring in the bare minimum needed for survival.

He could easily afford to be generous, providing ample supplies for the two thousand men—or, if they remained silent, he could barely sustain them, leaving them to face the mercy of the sea's dangers.

On the surface, it seemed the Saxons would return with full bellies while Kaelar suffered a great loss, just like before.

But that was far from the truth—what Kaelar provided was his to give. Without his allowance, they had nothing.

The difference was stark.

Kaelar's tactics were a masterclass in divide-and-conquer, deftly turning the Saxons' grievances away from him and toward each other. The fragile unity they'd found in facing a common enemy shattered instantly.

Many began to wonder—why should they all be punished equally if they hadn't killed anyone?

It didn't take long for the first to step forward. A red-haired Celt—no, a Gaul—pointed at his comrade and said, "I saw Old John kill someone. They can testify for me!"

The Gauls and Celts shared common roots, though they had split into separate peoples centuries before. Now, among those invading Britain, the Gauls were present as well.

Kaelar signaled to his soldiers—no, his new household guards—to seize the man who had been accused.

"Good," Kaelar nodded to the informant, "I'll remember you. You can collect double provisions later."

With that encouragement, the previously hesitant man's spirits soared. It was as if he had done something worthy of pride rather than betraying a comrade.

Once one man stepped forward, the rest followed. Soon, a steady stream of Saxons were identifying culprits, until they had accused hundreds. Even Kaelar was taken aback—fewer than a hundred of his men had died in the conflict, mostly untrained serf recruits.

The knights, who had undergone extensive training, hadn't lost a single life. One knight had been pulled from his horse, but a nearby serf had intervened, saving him.

This was the strength of coordinated infantry and cavalry. The cavalry broke the lines, while the infantry filled the gaps, making it possible to fight and even overpower a force many times larger.

Kaelar's brow furrowed in contemplation. Less than a hundred of my people died... yet they've identified over four hundred among the Saxons?

He quickly halted the accusations and pulled one of the Saxons aside. "My household guard suffered fewer than a hundred losses, yet you've accused over four hundred—and you haven't stopped. Are you lying to me, Kaelar?"

"I... we would never dare such a thing," the Saxon stammered, nearly fainting from fear. "You said 'those who have killed,' my lord. You never specified it had to be during this battle..."

"We thought..."

Kaelar understood. They had assumed he meant to settle old scores as well.

No wonder they had hesitated initially—and then quickly rallied together.

If he were to dig up the past, he would find enough guilt among them to justify killing them all.

But Kaelar had no intention of condemning them without education. The Saxons of the past were no different from beasts—uncivilized and ignorant.

He did not intend to punish them for the crimes of a time before his teaching.

Only if they held onto wickedness after receiving his guidance would they be beyond forgiveness.

Yet the damage was done—four hundred names had already been spoken. To let them go now would be a betrayal, ensuring no one would trust his judgment in the future.

"Al," Kaelar said, "bring the provisions I set aside earlier. Use those to fill the gaps in rations for these four hundred."

With his words, the anxious Saxons breathed a collective sigh of relief. Their trust in Kaelar solidified. After the mutual betrayal, they could no longer even trust each other, and their sense of security was at an all-time low...

But Kaelar's consistent adherence to his promises became a beacon of hope.

It was a small psychological ploy, reminiscent of Stockholm Syndrome and the Bridge Effect.

Kaelar hadn't truly sacrificed much. He had planned for this, and his actions achieved multiple goals at once.

Even if someone saw through his strategy, it was an open plot—a scheme with no way to counteract it.