Chapter 611: Respite

The flames that erupted instantly devoured the seemingly indestructible siege vehicle in front of them.

Under the siege vehicle, a dozen barbarian soldiers with flames all over their bodies were screaming and running for their lives like frightened animals.

They wished they could put out the flames as quickly as possible so they could be freed from this endless agony, but they were so foolish as to think that running could put out the flames on their backs.

The injured people long for help from others around them, but in the eyes of their compatriots, they become monsters simply because of the flames burning on their bodies.

The other barbarian soldiers avoided these poor creatures burning with ominous fires and prayed that Valhalla would take away their cursed souls.

Of course, the result was that the flames became more and more intense, and these ignorant guys were eventually engulfed in flames and fell in a mess.

The "crackling" sound of the burning flames was like the wailing of ghosts and gods, and the rising black smoke was more like a huge black flag. The slightly damp wind after the rain "lifted" it up to the sky. Even the troops at the northernmost end of Attila's army that had not yet reached their destination could clearly see the billowing smoke.

Behind the barbarian soldiers, the tribe leaders gathered around Attila, looking at the burning chariots and the soldiers who had lost their effective siege measures. Each of them had a look of fear on their faces. Especially the leaders of the Scythians and Alemanni, who were in charge of the main attack. They were already pale and stood there like statues, but trembling statues.

Presumably they were prepared to be attacked by Attila at any time. After all, Attila the Hun only liked servants who could get things done efficiently.

"We are warriors and it seems that we have no solution to this tall city wall." Attila spoke slowly. Although he opened his mouth to speak, his face was solemn and there was no room for relaxation. His brief words made everyone present tremble.

Their fear of Attila's threat inevitably reminded people of the Thracian and Macedonian campaigns against the Eastern Roman Theodosius II, when Attila defeated the Thracian field army four times.

"Sorry, sorry, my king, this time, we failed!" The Scythian leader Iruakhman stood up. He was a pure-blooded Scythian, wearing scale armor and the Scythians' unique high-heeled hat wrapped in scale armor.

He lowered his head and confessed to Attila, the King of the Hungary, like a child who had made a mistake. Frederick was watching from the side. He was indeed a smart guy and did not rush to admit his mistake. He just watched Attila's attitude towards Iruachman, who was the first to admit his mistake.

"No, no, no. It's not your fault, my friend." As a staunch ally of the Scythians, Attila did not act as frustrated as he should have for the defeat. He smiled and patted Iruakhman on the shoulder. His friendly look almost made people forget the Attila who brutally massacred the defectors.

"I thought that in Rome, we only needed to defeat Arnigisculus, a guy who refused to give in (former commander of the Thracian Field Army, who fought against Attila with all his might at the Battle of the Usta River and died in battle), but I figured out that the Romans are not short of brave guys, and we must also face them with caution."

"We need to prepare and then continue the attack." Attila said, glancing at Frederick not far away, his eyes full of coldness and threat, and said: "I hope that next time, I can see a scene that is worth seeing, that is, crossing the Roman wall and bringing their bishop to my feet."

After saying that, Attila turned around and left under the escort of the guards, leaving Frederick still in a daze. Frederick was still in a panic until a long time after Attila left. He tried hard to guess what the meaning of Attila's last glance at him was.

At this time, several trumpeters came to the front of the military camp. They blew sharp flutes at the barbarian soldiers who were still attacking the city. The loud flute sounds signaled every soldier present to give up the attack after hearing it, and then left with the ladders, wounded soldiers and corpses.

Looking at the barbarian army gradually moving away, the Romans standing on the city wall cheered briefly and then became unusually quiet. They were not as excited as they had imagined about this defensive battle. All of them looked towards Attila's camp, a camp that stretched as far as the eye could see. No one could imagine when the second attack would come, or what scale it would be on.

In the following days, the Roman soldiers guarding the city patrolled the city walls day and night, vigilantly observing the camp at night where the lights were brighter than those in Orleans.

Voklik was a centurion of the garrison, and he was the one who participated in the city defense and personally executed the provocative barbarian soldier. At this time, he was not proud of the small victory in this battle, after all, Attila's army did not have a mere few thousand people.

It was almost time to go up the city wall for patrol as usual, but the guard room looked lifeless, even though it was packed with soldiers.

There was not a trace of joy on any of their faces. All of them were worried, fearing that the barbarians would come back again at any time.

"Hey, Matt, did you see what was out there during the day? Oh my god, it was incredible."

"What? I don't know. God, this period of time is really torture. As soon as I close my eyes and open them again, it's this time." The soldier named Matt stood up and picked up a piece of bread on the table. "Speaking of this, I'm almost starving to death. God, when will this life end?"

"No, it's almost time, Matt. Wait for those barbarians outside the city to chop off your head, just like the wounded soldier I was carrying at that time. Oh my God, the axe hit him right on the head. You know, no one dared to pull out the axe. No one knew what they would see after pulling out the axe. He died right in front of our eyes. Oh my God, it's true. He died just like that!"

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"I saw the barbarians building a tower block. I don't know if it's real, but I saw it with my own eyes. They actually have our technology. I always thought that only we Romans could build this thing."

"Enough! Enough!" Vokrick stopped everyone present loudly, lest they spread their inner anxiety and affect the morale of the entire city's defenders. "I must warn you to shut your mouth, guys. This is a war, and you actually said such discouraging words. It is really a shame for us. If you say it again, I will report you and let the bishop hang you on the gallows in the name of God."

Faced with Vokrik's threat, several soldiers stood up silently, carrying their weapons and walked out of the guard room. They might have been unwilling but they did not refute anything.

Following behind them, Vokrick patrolled along the city wall. In front of the city gate, he stopped and looked back outside the camp. Through the firelight, he couldn't help but widen his eyes, looking very incredible.

(End of this chapter)