Chapter 635 Battle of Chalons 17

The retreating Alans stopped in front of the woods behind the battlefield because they had reached a place they thought was very safe.

They stopped and then dismounted, and some even fell off their horses. It was not known whether it was because of grief or because they were really exhausted.

"Our king is dead!"

"Diego is dead!"

The Alans gathered together and wailed like wild beasts, like a pack of wolves that had lost their leader. The sound of their cries echoed all around, and although it did not have the momentum to shake the world and make the ghosts weep, it was still deafening.

The Alans, crying and holding their heads in their arms, had no idea of ​​the damage their defeat had caused to the entire situation. They only thought about the death of their king.

The crying Alans did not notice that a group of cavalry were approaching them not far away, until they were close enough to hear the sound of their horses' hooves.

The Alans looked up and saw that their leading standard-bearer was carrying the Gothic standard.

"Goths, what are they doing here?"

The curious Alans stood up one after another, staring with their red and swollen eyes in silence as they watched the cavalry approaching, and looked at them curiously.

The Gothic cavalry stopped in front of them, and among them a young officer wearing heavy chain mail, a lapel armor and a wolfskin on his back rode out in front of the Alans.

"I am the Gothic prince Torismon!" The officer's voice was like a loud bell, and the Alans present were silent and stood still like wood.

On the battlefield, Luga's huge army finally stopped. They were caught in a two-front war. The army in the front was encircling the Hun cavalry who were trying to escape, and the army in the rear was ambushed by the Hun cavalry and suffered heavy losses.

The roars of the soldiers were endless, and the Huns' desire to survive finally turned into dust and ashes.

One after another, the stubbornly resisting Hun cavalry fell down with their horses under the piercing blows of spears. The strong smell of blood went straight to Luga's head through his nose, making his stomach churn.

“Woo——”

Marenius finally couldn't bear it anymore in the shaking carriage. He bent down, covered his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other, and filth gushed out through his fingers.

"Marenius, old friend, you have to hold on!" Luca said from the side: "It doesn't seem like a qualified commander to be so embarrassed on the battlefield."

"Sorry, Caesar, sorry!" Marenius kept apologizing and wiping his face stained with filth with a handkerchief he carried with him.

Luga resisted the urge to vomit and kept beating his chest, trying to reduce the impact of the stench of vomit and blood in the smell.

The soldiers were vomiting all over the place. Looking at the soldiers in front of them who had already turned into bloody bodies, everyone had a look of pain on their faces. After all, these poor guys were stabbed into meat paste.

"Change formation! Change formation!"

The warlords shouted, picked up the horns in their hands and blew them towards the sky, calling on the soldiers present. The soldiers could only wipe their mouths and re-form a new formation under the orders of the warlords to meet the enemy.

Attila's archers finally stopped shooting because they had to move with the front line and save enough arrows for the next battle to consume the Romans in front of them.

"Caesar, the Visigoths are still fighting. Should we rescue Theoderic?"

Luca stood on the chariot and looked into the distance at the place where Theoderic was fighting. The two sides were fighting fiercely. For a moment, the Goths relied on the tactics they learned from fighting the Romans for many years to block the attack of the barbarians and keep them fiercely outside the shield.

"No, my friend, Theoderic seems fine, he doesn't need our help, at least not now!"

After Luca finished speaking, he turned around and looked at the high ground that was already crowded with people. The cavalry of the Hun general Golding had bypassed the high ground and hid behind the infantry.

"Turn around, we have a new target now!" Luka turned around, pointed his sword at the front and shouted loudly: "Re-lock the target, now, high ground, attack!"

"Turn around! Turn around!"

Amid the desperate shouts of the officers at the front, the engineers were seen turning the catapults around the defense line and pointing them directly at the high ground in front of them.

"Click, click, click"

There were deafening sounds of launching, and dozens of catapults roared together. Dozens of wooden barrels burning with blazing flames drew a dark arc in the air and finally landed on the high ground that was already littered with corpses.

"BOOM BOOM BOOM"

The wooden barrel fell to the ground and exploded. The flames contained in it were like flaming lotuses blooming from hell, exploding one after another in the formation of the Hun mercenaries on the highlands.

The steppe tribes that had been fighting north of the Rhine for years had never seen such a sudden burst of fire.

"Damn it, the Romans have the power of Vulcan!"

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Only one person shouted, and the others responded one after another. This became a fear among the other guys who did not know the truth, so when a few explosions were heard, chaos occurred in the rear.

The guys with flames all over their bodies were running aimlessly in the crowd with strange screams. Others saw him as if he were a monster and tried to avoid him as much as possible, let alone think of rescuing him.

The most unlucky ones were the soldiers facing the enemy in the front. They were still gritting their teeth and resisting the Romans' attack for who knows how many times, but chaotic sounds came from behind, causing their originally neat army formation to fall into chaos in an instant.

At this critical moment, a large number of cavalry appeared behind Aetius' army. They came roaring with the flags of the Goths and the Alans, charging at high speed from the gentle slope in the south of the highlands, like a sharp iron sword, piercing the heart of the Hun mercenaries fiercely.

The sudden arrival of war horses neighed and knocked down all obstacles in their charge. It was not difficult to see that all attempts to reorganize the army had failed. The swarming Alan cavalry roared and slaughtered crazily among the crowd. The corpses on the ground piled up layer upon layer, and the blood almost dyed the entire hill red.

“Retreat! Retreat!”

At noon, the Hun mercenaries who could not hold on any longer called upon each other to retreat. It was hard to imagine how spectacular it was to see thousands of people running. The chaotic footsteps raised dust on the ground that covered the sky.

The dust gathered together like a huge curtain, blocking the Romans' view and allowing the Huns to retreat better.

"We won! We won!"

The Alans rode to the top of the hill and cheered because the battle of charges and counter-charges with all their might had finally come to an end.

Attila saw everything clearly from a distance, but he never expected the battle to end in such a dramatic way.

"Just a few barrels of kerosene, and they were too busy to take care of themselves. The chaos led to a bloodbath by the Romans. What a bunch of idiots who only wanted to eat for free!"

Attila cursed loudly, but there was nothing he could do because he still needed the strength of these people, even though they were already scared out of their wits.

"My king, what shall we do next?"

"Retreat! With your back to the Marne River, let the horses drink water and rest." Attila's eyes were sharp, and he said fiercely: "Next, let me personally command and let the Romans know that they are too complacent too early!"

(End of this chapter)