Chapter Ten: The Hun Archer

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The Pannonian Plain.
The Empire conquered this land in 14 BC and established it as a province. The Pannonian province roughly covers parts of present-day Hungary, Romania, and Serbia, situated at the heart of Europe.
“It looks like the Empire’s Danube defensive line is about to collapse.”
Duncan gazed at the distant, desolate village almost devoid of inhabitants, his brow furrowing slightly. If the Pannonian province fell, the enemy would have a direct path to strike at the Empire’s heartland.
The Roman Empire boasted the longest and most intricate borders in ancient history, with three major rivers playing critical defensive roles: the Rhine, the Danube, and the Euphrates. The Euphrates, located in eastern Syria, served as the Middle East’s boundary. The Rhine line faced numerous Germanic tribes; at its peak, the Empire had conquered much of Greater Germania. However, the Danube was the most difficult and vulnerable frontier, confronting a complex array of barbarian foes. It was also the only major river to freeze over in winter.
To put it plainly:
The barbarians have crossed the Yellow River.
The Empire was effectively losing the natural defensive barriers of the Yellow and Yangtze Rivers in the Central Plains, leaving vast open terrain ripe for rapid enemy incursions.
The cawing of crows echoed.
Beside Duncan, the witch gazed intently toward the distant forest and whispered, “This place seems to have been ravaged.”
When the nest is overturned, no egg remains intact.
Though the parallel world’s history diverged, the Empire’s twilight was inevitable. The Danube’s border defenses were manned largely by barbarian troops, who increasingly rebelled against imperial oppression. Soldiers of barbarian origin now formed over half of the garrison. Military mutinies were common.
“Accepting Catus’s invitation is clearly unwise.”
Duncan felt that even joining the barbarians offered a brighter future than remaining loyal to the Empire.
He glanced at the witch, who lagged behind by half a horse’s length, and said gravely, “Where is the guide you mentioned?”
Crossing the European continent to the British Isles without a guide was impossible. With the Empire engulfed in warfare, one misstep could mean being caught in the crossfire. As a man, Duncan had a slight advantage—at worst, being conscripted forcibly. But the Raven Queen, Tris, a woman of captivating beauty, faced unknown and potentially perilous fates.
In such turbulent times, traveling alone was fraught with countless dangers.
“Gaul.”
The witch replied, “He is a Druid of the Gauls, having traveled widely. Now he lives in seclusion near a village in the Alps.”
Just as Duncan was about to speak, his brow tightened, and he warned sharply, “Be careful!”
“Something’s wrong ahead!”
He tossed a quiver to the witch, then drew his northern war bow, eyes fixed on the forest ahead. At a fork in the road, crows cawed loudly, followed by the sudden flight of birds and beasts.
The sound of galloping hooves approached from afar.
At a distance of several hundred meters, more than a dozen horsemen appeared. Spotting Duncan and the witch, they shouted excitedly and charged to encircle them.
“Prepare for battle!”
From a god’s-eye view, Duncan discerned the riders’ features.
They were short and stocky, with large, round heads, broad faces, high cheekbones, flat noses, thick beards, and one earring each. They shaved all but a tuft of hair on top of their heads, had thick eyebrows, and almond-shaped eyes protruding slightly.
Many wore loose robes split at the calves, short fur cloaks on their shoulders, leather caps, trousers tied at the ankles with leather bands, and quivers at their waists.
“Damn! Huns?” Duncan’s face changed.
He was certain—these enemies bore distinct facial features unlike Europeans, and their attire resembled that of nomadic tribes from the Western Regions, standing out starkly from the other cavalry.
The Raven Queen Tris nodded solemnly. “They are Huns.”
“They are formidable mounted archers!”
Unlike the enemies they had faced before, this small unit included many elite riders marked with one star, and even a two-star silver-gray leader.
—Alani auxiliary troops.
—Gothic auxiliary riders.
—Hun nomadic horsemen.
—Hun elite mounted archers [one star]!
—Hun Sharpshooter [two stars]!
These enemies were tougher than the Pamiti nomadic cavalry encountered earlier. More than half the Hun riders were one-star units. The Sharpshooter leader was especially well-equipped, wearing a hardened leather fur cap, chainmail armor, leg bindings with nomadic boots, a saber at his waist, a war bow on his back, and two quivers—one with heavy arrows for close range, the other with light arrows for distance.
Apart from a somewhat lacking helmet, his gear rivaled that of the Mongol cavalry centuries later during the Western campaigns.
The Sharpshooter was the most elite Hun marksman.
Volume 109 of the Records of the Grand Historian, Biography of General Li: When the Huns invaded Upper Commandery, the Son of Heaven sent a high-ranking eunuch to study military tactics under General Li Guang to confront the Huns. The eunuch led dozens of cavalry, encountering three Huns and engaging in battle. The three turned and fired, wounding the eunuch and killing most of his cavalry. The eunuch fled back to Li Guang, who said, “They must be the Sharpshooters.”
This passage reveals they had encountered fierce opponents.
Given Duncan’s current strength, even with a god’s-eye view, defeating them would be extremely difficult.
Hun horsemanship was superb; even fleeing on horseback didn’t guarantee escape. The witch beside him was no worse in riding skill, but the enemy’s horses were clearly superior. Here on the Pannonian Plain, being caught would mean being riddled with arrows.
“Retreat!”
Duncan immediately turned his horse to flee. The witch reacted swiftly and followed closely.
“The Huns are excellent riders. We probably can’t outrun them.”
“Do you have a plan?”
The distance was steadily closing.

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If this continued, being caught was only a matter of time.
Duncan pondered briefly, then fixed his gaze on the witch. “Can you seriously wound or even take out one or two of them?”
He was still unfamiliar with the world’s magic system.
But from his experiences, supernatural powers hadn’t reached inhuman levels. Forest nymphs rated only one star; he reckoned he could defeat them single-handedly. According to legends, many monsters were slain by mortal knights and warriors. Supernatural powers were more like strange offensive techniques.
The witch thought for a moment and said, “I can make their horses go mad.”
“Pray for Diana’s guidance, and the arrows might find their mark, though not necessarily critical hits.”
“Other spells require rituals and casting time, which we don’t have.”
Fight or flight?
In the dimensional space, Duncan constantly monitored the enemy formation. The pursuing Huns had obviously spread out, with the conquered auxiliary troops lagging behind. Those catching up were mostly highly skilled Hun mounted archers with superior horses.
This stretched the enemy line: one two-star Hun Sharpshooter and five one-star Hun mounted archers led the way, clearly ahead by fifty or sixty meters from the rest.
Opportunity!
Duncan turned and tested the “Parthian Mounted Arrow,” a mounted archery technique he had seized from the Pamiti nomads. The aiming reticle wavered slightly but remained within his control.
“If I win and seize the Hun Sharpshooter’s ability,”
“Then I will possess the finest mounted archery skills of this era.”
“This would instantly elevate me to the top tier of medieval mortal combat.”
Duncan had realized that his looting ability required killing powerful enemies directly for rapid growth. Killing barbarian stragglers yielded only minor gains, far less than defeating Pamiti nomads.
Clearly, he could only acquire skills possessed by his enemies.
“I’m all in!”
Running might not save them; exhaustion makes fighting harder. Better to find an opening, turn, and strike back—perhaps even kill some.
Duncan seemed to ride with divine insight, leading the way with uncanny familiarity of the terrain. Despite average riding skills and accompanied by a witch, he managed to outdistance the elite Hun cavalry.
The enemy line stretched further apart; the Hun archers had gained a hundred or two meters over the auxiliary troops.
Six against one—the advantage was his.
Kill the man, and the woman can loot and enjoy herself.
“There’s a sparse forest at the fork up ahead—perfect for an ambush!”
Duncan calculated the distance and said to the witch, “Let’s slip into the blind spot in that forest and ambush them.”
“Make their horses go mad.”
“Try to seriously wound them or unseat the one with the fur cap. I’ll handle the rest.”
“After fighting, we retreat immediately.”
“The southern side of the woods lets us circle back to the road. They won’t catch us.”
Full map revealed.
Duncan surveyed the battlefield and had even chosen the retreat route.
The Raven Queen Tris looked surprised, glancing back to find the enemy with the fur cap—likely their leader.
She nodded, softly whispering as crows cried from the forest.
Duncan fell slightly behind, letting the witch take the lead.
“Now!”
“Into the forest.”
They split left and right; the witch rode into the trees, Duncan slipped into the enemy’s blind spot, reined in his horse to slow down, then drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at the pursuing enemies just outside the blind spot.
He couldn’t outshoot them head-on, so he planned to strike from the blind spot to catch them off guard and seize the initiative.
The Sharpshooter.
Just that title was intimidating.
“Attack!”
Suddenly, a fierce wind swept across the plain, and the cries of crows seemed to fill the air. Duncan felt something intangible, as if invisible magic was distorting reality in the projection.
The horses neighed wildly in panic; the Hun riders were shocked and unable to control their frightened mounts.
Two of them fell from their horses.
The others nearly fell as well, except the Hun Sharpshooter, who miraculously grabbed his horse’s neck, his powerful legs clamping firmly, muscles bulging as he subdued the frenzied horse until it collapsed weakly.
“Is he even human?!” Duncan was stunned.
Reality was reality—master archers were rarely weaklings, and close combatants were typically formidable warriors.
Whoosh!
From the forest, a sharp arrow flew. The witch supported the arrow with her right palm; it sliced through the air with the force of a strong bow, catching the Sharpshooter off guard.
Though he hadn’t seen the witch, relying on instinct and astonishing horsemanship, he dodged to the right side of his horse at an incredible angle.

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Thwip.
The witch’s spell-shot arrow had a deceptive trajectory but still struck the Sharpshooter’s left shoulder. He immediately felt numbness spread, and half his body stiffened.
“Witch?!” (in the Hun tongue)
The Sharpshooter’s expression turned horrified.
During their westward invasion, the Huns had destroyed many Germanic barbarian tribes, burning temples and seizing gold and silver ritual vessels.
The Sharpshooter’s prized trophy was a solid-gold drinking vessel, said to be an offering to the so-called “God of Wine” by the Gauls.
The Huns swept across Europe, encountering many shamans with strange abilities—mostly Germanic priests—but their powers were insignificant. Any daring witch was shot down by a hail of arrows. During the conquest of Greater Germania, the Huns even trampled an old witch who summoned poisonous insects under their horses’ hooves.
That witch killed one man and wounded two before being crushed into a bloody pulp.
The Huns had their own shamans, skilled in spells and healing—more akin to shamans than sorcerers.
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