End of Chapter 652

"Damn it, you guessed it right!" Aetius looked at the sudden changes in the distance, shook his head with a helpless smile, and then turned around.

"I've said it before, Attila can't die so easily." Luga smiled, like a boy who won the bet.

"Torisimon! Trisimon!"

Merovice came from behind, pushed aside the crowd in front of him, grabbed Thorismon who was busy like crazy, and said to him anxiously: "The Hun army is back, and the enemies who were defeated before are back on the battlefield. Attila is calling them. I don't know what method he used to make them muster up their courage again and return to the battlefield to continue to fight against us!"

“Damn it, damn it!”

Torismon roared like a lion roaring on the grassland. He was so angry and unwilling that he was like a mad patient. He swung the axe in his hand and hit the half-chopped wood again.

The person who killed his father was right in front of him, separated only by a wooden wall.

Torismon was still unwilling to give up. He had already used up all his strength, but he began to endure the severe pain of exhaustion and pull out the axe that was stuck in the wooden wall.

He held the axe tightly with trembling hands, his forehead was covered with beads of sweat, and more beads of sweat were dripping down his slightly pale cheeks. Tears mixed in with them flowed from Torismon's red and swollen eyes.

He growled, wishing the piece of wood in front of him would collapse quickly, but his strength was getting weaker and weaker, and the wood in front of him didn't move at all.

"Damn it! Damn it!"

Torismon was like a willful child, growling and swinging the axe as if he was acting like a spoiled child, but such a funny behavior was mixed with helplessness and unwillingness. Everyone present could see clearly the pain Torismon showed.

The various Hun vassal tribes that returned to the battlefield quickly approached the Goths, especially their cavalry, which was only one arrow away from the Goths.

"Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh"

There were bursts of sharp sounds, and the Goths' shields were pierced with trembling arrows.

"Torismon, it's too late!"

Merovice turned around again to urge this guy who refused to give up. Torismon was still busy chopping the wood in front of him, roaring, tears mixed with sweat falling down. He was gasping for breath, and fatigue made him breathless as if he had asthma.

"Come on, Torismon, there's no time, no time!"

Seeing that the situation was not good, Merovich yelled and grabbed Torismon's shoulders, roughly stopping Torismon's willfulness.

"ah!"

Torismon howled to the sky, and finally, due to excessive grief and anger, his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

“Retreat! Retreat!”

Seeing that Thorismon had fainted, Merovice did not dare to hesitate. He shouted loudly to the Gothic soldiers behind him who were looking puzzled, and called on several soldiers beside him to carry the unconscious Thorismon and retreat, leaving only the battle axe still deeply embedded in the wood.

The Goths and the guys who followed them to claim Attila's life went wet and came back wet.

In front of them, Roman soldiers had already begun to set up camp and clean up the battlefield.

They were busy dealing with the enemies who were not yet dead, and they were dragging thousands of dead horses back to the camp, because that would be their next supply of food.

The Visigoths were roughly driven back by the barbarian tribes that returned to the battlefield. They passed in front of the Romans, and their confusion and resentment caused a rift in the alliance from that moment on.

This is not surprising. After all, the Romans did not regard them as allies at the beginning. Of course, they only had to work together to deal with some problems under certain circumstances. The other friendships that followed were not worth mentioning at all.

The birds are gone and the bows are hidden. Attila has suffered a severe blow and is no longer able to launch any significant attack on Gaul, so the current alliance seems to be coming to an abrupt end.

"My king, they are retreating!"

Under the piles of saddles, Oedites pointed at the Goths who were slowly retreating not far away and spoke loudly to Attila. His voice trembled, and it was clear that he was delighted.

Attila was standing on a high place, so he could see the scene clearly. He was holding a torch in his hand like a statue, staring blankly ahead.

I'm afraid he didn't expect the result to be like this, and he didn't know what to do.

It seemed like he was relieved, and the tense nerves in his limbs relaxed, followed by fatigue.

His legs went weak and he fell to his knees on the saddle. If the soldiers who came to support him had not rushed over and snatched the torch from his hand in time, he might have really set himself on fire.

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Attila was lifted up by dozens of soldiers and slowly carried down the hill of saddles to Oedites.

Attila couldn't help gasping for breath. He raised his head and looked up at the gradually darkening sky. In the dark red sky, there was an eagle circling in the darkness, soaring alone.

Alive, he survived, just like any other person, perhaps he had never been so close to death before, the joy of surviving a calamity made him confused, he opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Hahaha, hahahaha, hahahahahahaha.”

He opened his mouth towards the sky for a long time, laughing wildly. Attila slowly entered his tent surrounded by a large group of soldiers, and his laughter never stopped.

The body of Thorismon was carried by the Visigothic soldiers and the Franks, who deliberately passed in front of the Romans, especially Luca and Aetius.

This was a silent demonstration, and it was easy to see from everyone's slightly angry expression their attitude towards the Romans' choice to stand by and watch.

But this was just a demonstration, and that was all. Augustus Luca would not take this seriously, and neither would Aetius, the captain of the soldiers. The Romans had to consider potential threats in the future, evaluate them, and take corresponding actions. This observation was one of the actions. Although it was controversial, the Roman authorities had to consider the future of Rome.

The barbarians could not think of this. They did not have so many concerns, so they were still a little immature compared to the scheming Romans.

They were learning how to become "Romans." This was what the real Romans were worried about. If the barbarians became Romanized and replaced the original Romans, where would the Romans go? They naturally looked down on these onion-eating barbarians, thinking that their mouths full of onion flavor and speaking Latin was an insult to Latin.

Luga still stood by the river, looking at the torches lit on the opposite bank. Attila's remaining troops finally let down their guard.

Luga looked at Attila's camp. He didn't expect that Attila was also standing on the wall, looking at him from afar.

These two kings, from the Balkans to Gaul, seem to have finally been determined who is superior and who is inferior. Or maybe it’s not yet, not even close.

(End of this chapter)