"Hey, tell me, how many people are in your tribe?" Mordred fiercely interrogated a bearded man with three feathers on his head and a strange short samurai suit.

This is an unfortunate lone Saxon soldier. Outside the camp, he was rudely packed and taken away by the British knights who had scouted the enemy.

"Gollum Gurgle!" The Saxon warriors were dancing with their hands, and it looked a little humorous and funny. But the most important thing is that no one on Mordred's side can understand what he is doing.

The Saxons, as a branch of the Germanic peoples, spoke an awkward Germanic dialect. As a result, the British knights, who were fluent in Old English, developed a language barrier with them.

"Gollum, whoa, whoa, whoa!" You could see that the Saxon wanted to save his life. Without waiting for Mordred to ask, he did a lot of tricks. But alas, there is no one on the British side who can understand.

It was embarrassing, and the bearded Saxons kept saying that Mordred and a group of knights were standing there and staring dryly.

"Tristan, can you translate for the translator?" Mordred turned her eyes for help to Tristan, who was squinting.

"No, it won't." Tristan said very consciously: "I can't even write English very well. ”

Tristan is the child of King Ronua Levaron and King Marc of Cornwall's sister Blansuffle, and his upbringing is certainly not bad. But in this era, the culture itself is not very valued. Although he said that his English is not very good but he is modest, he is sincere that he is not good at foreign languages.

Foreign languages are just that, but the bad thing is that the Saxons speak even more obscure dialects.

"Behead him, this coward doesn't deserve a good death." Mordred said coldly. The Saxon warrior who understood Mordred's eyes was immediately stunned.

"Didn't you keep yelling to be reckless?" Tristan egged on Mordred, "Instigated? ”

"The radical law is invalid!" Mordred took out his sword incorrectly, "But I'm not an assassin, what kind of matchless do I have?" ”

"But don't I, a knight, also like to shoot cold arrows?" Tristan is self-defeating. "You just take the lead and push it flat. I'm responsible for waving the flag and shouting for you, cold arrow support, and shouting 666 when you win. ”

"Okay." Mordred, who had no expectations for him, led the knights directly to the Saxon camp. "My broadsword is already hungry and thirsty."

"Aren't you a sword-wielder?" Tristan reminded.

"Don't worry about the details." Mordred raised his sword and took the lead, "Charge!" ”

"Boom !!" A pillar of light shot out, and half of the Saxon camp was blown off in front of Mordred.

"This is what you call a cold arrow??" Mordred was dumbfounded, "That's still a fart, wouldn't it be nice for the cat to get up and shoot remotely?" ”