Chapter 617 Reinforcements
"We can't escape such a fate after all!" The soldiers murmured, their eyes full of tears, not knowing whether it was because of despair or anger. Everyone held the spears tightly in their hands, ready to fight to the death.
Vokrick looked around, but among the helmets on the ground, he saw helmets decorated with yellow bird feathers, but he did not see a centurion's helmet. In other words, he might be the only centurion here.
"Where are the officers?" Walkrick asked the soldier beside him.
"Everyone is dead or wounded."
The soldier replied, "I thought there would be no more centurions after the battle in the northern resistance."
"Did they all die in the battle?"
"Maybe." The soldier continued, "Originally, there were four or five people brought back, but you might be the only one who survived."
Vokrick was silent. He lowered his head, looked at the centurion's horned helmet in his hand, weighed it, and then put it on solemnly, just as solemnly as when he first put on the helmet.
Vokrick slowly put the helmet on his head and felt the weight on his head getting heavier and heavier.
"Well, now, just follow my command." Wokrick said in a deep voice.
"Surrender, Romans." A barbarian who knew Latin stood at the bridge head, spread his hands, laughed and said, "You have no hope. The strong soldiers have all been killed or wounded, and the rest are old, weak, sick and disabled. You might as well kneel down instead of resisting. I, King Attila, will spare your death."
"This is our destiny. We must not be blinded by fear!"
Vokrik whispered softly and pulled out a heavy javelin from the pocket on the back of the soldier next to him.
No one said anything even though it was a blatant robbery. Everyone turned around and looked at Vocrick, the only remaining centurion. Although they had not received strict training, obeying orders seemed to be in the nature of the Romans. They watched Vocrick's actions quietly, as if they somehow accepted Vocrick's leadership position.
"What? Romans, have you made your choice?"
The barbarian loudly questioned Vokrik and his men who were standing on the bridgehead fortress, and Vokrik, the only officer-looking guy with his back to him, made him very curious.
"No!"
Vokrick roared loudly, then he turned around suddenly, holding the heavy javelin high in his hand. The javelin flew out of his hand as fast as lightning, and like a black lightning, it pierced the barbarian's chest before the barbarian could react.
The translator's surprised look and expression were forever frozen on his face. He flew into the air as if he had been hit by a heavy punch in the chest, and fell to the ground with a "bang". Then he exhaled his last long breath and fell into complete silence.
Such a beautiful kill also made the other barbarians exclaim. They looked down at the interpreter who had died, and then looked up at Vokrick who was standing on the city wall like a mountain. Everyone knew the answer given by the Romans.
“Woo——”
A long trumpet sounded, and every barbarian gnashed his teeth and roared like a mad wolfhound, demanding that the Romans pay the price in blood for the death of their interpreter.
“Boom…”
A large number of barbarian soldiers rushed onto the stone bridge with their weapons raised high. The sound of their footsteps was so loud that the entire stone bridge trembled slightly.
"Here they come, the archers, our archers!"
Wokrick shouted loudly, and the archers on both sides immediately drew their bows and arrows. Dense arrows shot from both sides, and barbarian soldiers were constantly shot and fell into the slowly flowing river.
The blood of the barbarians who fell into the river dyed the water blood red, but even so, a large number of barbarians found small boats from somewhere.
They rowed their boats towards the other side of the river, but halfway, they encountered Romans armed with spears who kept stabbing them, causing them to stop on the water and become living targets for the Romans on the roofs of the houses.
At the bridgehead, although the endless stream of barbarians suffered heavy casualties, they had no intention of retreating. Instead, they became more and more aggressive, stepping on the corpses and rushing to the bridgehead defense line.
"Kill them! Kill them!"
Vokrick shouted, pulled out his javelin and threw it hard downwards. A barbarian was hit on the head and fell down instantly.
The soldiers followed Wokrick's example, pulling out javelins from the backpacks behind them and throwing them below. Barbarians kept falling, but more barbarians raised their shields to block the javelins that were raining down.
Such crude fortifications that were only two meters high were simply unable to withstand the attacks of the barbarians. The barbarians below them, using shields as support and holding axes and broadswords in both hands, leaped up on their shields and jumped into the chaotic crowd to fight frantically.
The armies of both sides were fighting frantically on this narrow bridge. Vokrick was in the middle of the battle. He frequently swung the Spada iron sword, which was already full of cracks. Every time he swung, he would roar loudly to vent his anger.
But the iron could not withstand his blows and broke with a "crack". Vokrick looked at the half of the sword left in his hand and had no time to hesitate. He lowered his head and looked for any weapon that could allow him to continue fighting, although he was exhausted.
"roar!"
He heard a roar right in front of him. The rough voice was clearly from a barbarian. Wokrick looked up and saw a barbarian waving a rough shield and hitting him hard.
"Bang!"
Wokrick only heard a crisp sound, and then he felt his eyes go dark and he fell straight down.
In the dim light, he saw the barbarian raising his iron sword and preparing to kill him, but two or three spears instantly pierced his abdomen. He was still unwilling to give in, but was pushed away fiercely, leaving only his unwilling scream before his death.
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“Quick, quick!”
At this moment, he heard rapid Latin and felt himself being grabbed by the chain mail and slowly dragged backwards.
At this point, he was just coming to his senses, and a sharp pain on his face almost made him faint. He stretched out his hand with great effort and saw a bloodstain on his face.
"Damn it..."
Wokrick really didn't have the energy to say more. At this moment, he saw a large number of barbarians pouring out from all directions. They rushed along the river bank defense line like an unstoppable tide.
Unexpectedly, the defense line that had been built with great effort for a whole night was easily torn apart by a large number of barbarians.
An army composed of citizens would have no chance of defeating these barbarians without a solid line of defense.
Soon, the soldiers who had completely lost confidence in resistance wailed and ran towards the road behind them like crazy. They were unwilling to resist anymore. The Romans were completely defeated!
"Oh God, you have abandoned your people!"
Lying on the cold stone floor, Vokrik no longer had the strength to stand up. He cried and pounded the ground with his last bit of strength. Nothing else could express his sorrow.
The streets were instantly filled with barbarians, the confrontation quickly turned into a one-sided massacre, and Orleans was completely hopeless.
"Oh my God! Oh my God!"
Wokrick lay on the ground as if dead, his eyes were dull and he kept mumbling over and over again.
“Wuwuwu——”
At this moment, he heard a very familiar horn sound, which seemed like an invisible life force infused into his body that had long been hollowed out.
“Boom…”
He looked at the southern end of the street, where the roar came from. The barbarians also stopped, they were trembling, yes, they were trembling! A large number of cavalrymen emerged from the end of the street, they were all silver-white, emitting a chilling light in the sunlight.
(End of this chapter)