Chapter 568 Basileus

Marcian stood on the top of the tower on the city wall. Below him, the sound of killing had ceased. The surroundings were dead silent. It was really dead silent. There was no such thing as a living thing.

"All of them are gone. All of them." Marcian's voice was hoarse and choked, his pale and cracked lips opened and closed, his eyes were red, and he looked both embarrassed and tired.

His right hand tightly grasped the long sword against the stone slab below. No matter how gorgeously decorated it was and how much it matched his current so-called identity, it could not conceal the dirty bloodstains and the gaps caused by the fight.

He was so exhausted, like a bull that had been chased by wolves all day. Even if he had all his strength, he couldn't stop wasting so much. He was exhausted, not only himself, but also the army under his command.

The soldiers seemed to have no reason to fight any longer. They had already shed enough blood to swear their loyalty to the nominal Augustus. The rest of the blood should be shed to survive.

They laid down their weapons, exhaustion and fear became their biggest enemies, they were escorted by citizens wearing their armor, the wounded knelt on both sides of the street, and the healthy guys were responsible for cleaning up the battlefield to welcome the arrival of Basileus. They were able to save their lives because of surrender, but in the following time, there might be no place for them in Constantinople, and even the Eastern Roman army would have no place for them.

But the battle was not over yet. On the pile of corpses below the tower, bloody citizens and sailors were surrounding the tower where Marcian was.

It was hard to imagine what a person would do when he was completely desperate. Anyway, Marcian looked as old as an old man who was about to die. This guy who refused to admit defeat no longer had any capital or ability to resist. If he thought that his exhausted body could still contribute to the so-called resistance, the result would still be pale.

The soldiers who rushed up the tower surrounded him and tied him up, but he didn't even show any intention of resisting, as if he was dead.

He was like a puppet, half-heartedly allowing the angry sailors and citizens to carry him down.

"Damn murderous demon!"

"Roman scum!"

"Traitor!"

"Shameful usurper! Die, damned fellow!"

The citizens around him shouted insults at him and spat at him, using foul language that he would never hear in normal times to humiliate and torture him. He was unmoved. As mentioned above, he was like dead. Even if he was still breathing, he was just a body without a soul, and his life was worse than death.

"Basileus, Basileus is coming!"

Someone shouted in surprise, and everyone looked in the direction of the sound. They all knelt down at the same time to pay tribute to Basileus, the so-called legitimate successor of the Eastern Roman Empire and the ultimate winner of this bloody struggle.

Luca wore a brass breastplate, a purple robe, a golden laurel crown, and stood on a gorgeously decorated chariot, facing the kneeling crowd. He enjoyed all the treatment that a winner deserved, including the title of Basileus that the people thought belonged to him.

When he heard the name of Basileus, a light flashed in Marcian's empty eyes. He slowly raised his head and saw Luca standing on a gorgeous carriage, escorted by a large group of fully armed cavalry, attacking from in front of him.

He hated it so much that he clenched his teeth. His exaggerated and ferocious expression caused his cracked lips to tear open again, and bright red, turbid blood flowed out.

But what can he do? A defeated general, a wicked man defeated by the so-called orthodoxy, a shameful usurper, facing his opponent, can only kneel by the roadside, watching him enjoy everything that a victor should enjoy and secretly regret it.

Luca and his party came to the Constantine Square which had just been cleared. It was facing away from the palace and the area was extremely open. There were also crowds of people. They were scrambling to squeeze forward, wanting to catch a glimpse of the divine face of Basileus.

At this time, Andrew came to Luca's carriage and saluted solemnly. "If I hadn't really stood here and witnessed all this with my own eyes, I'm afraid I wouldn't dare to imagine that all this is true."

"Of course, Andrew, my friend, we succeeded, we defeated all obstacles." Although he appeared serious and calm, he could not hide his inner excitement. Luca's voice even trembled, but he still tried his best to hide his inner excitement.

He got off the carriage with the help of Andrew and Belia. At the moment he got off, Luca put his hand on Belia's shoulder, looked at Belia's red eyes, and said, "Belia, I'm very sorry. When I heard the sad news of your father's death, it is undeniable that he was a loyal minister of the empire, so I decided to build a statue for Hermanus to repay Hermanus' loyalty."

"Oh, thank you, thank you for your kindness, Basileus!" Beria, with tears streaming down his face, thanked Luga repeatedly.

"Don't be so polite. This is what you deserve, Belia."

"Basileus, now is not the time to be sad here. Look, the people around are waiting for you!" Andrew said in a deep voice: "Look, they are eager for you to become their Basileus in the way they want to see. You should satisfy their desire, Basileus."

As he spoke, Andrew pulled off the shield he was carrying from behind, Marenius brought a golden belt, and Belialius brought a golden cross from the palace and handed it to Luca's head.

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"Come, lift up Basileus and let his subjects see his sacred appearance with their own eyes!" Andrew shouted, and Belialiu, together with Marenius and John Antiochus, helped Luca onto the shield, and then lifted the shield high in one go.

Seeing Flavius ​​Luca appear in front of everyone in the uniform of Basileus, the excited citizens and soldiers cheered loudly, shouting over and over again: "Basileus! Basileus! Basileus!"

Luca was so excited that he could not express it in words. He held the golden cross in both hands and shouted to the people present: "People of Rome! I, Flavius ​​Luca, the son of Flavius ​​Theodosius, the legitimate successor of Rome, will inherit Theodosius's mantle and become your Basileus. It is undeniable that this is a turbulent time, but I will lead Rome's loyal and brave army to defeat the invading barbarians until I finally defeat everything."

The citizens of Rome looked at Luca quietly. It was undeniable that they all agreed with what Luca said and supported what he did. Joy was clearly revealed on the face of each of them.

"Hail! Hail! Hail!"

Listening to the cheers of the crowd, expressing their recognition of Luga's status at this time, after such a cruel and bloody struggle, Luga finally ascended to the pinnacle of power, but things are far from over, because he has become Basileus, but many contradictions and confusions have not been solved, and he must find the answers himself.

(End of this chapter)