Seventh Province, the Roman Wall Fortress.
Beyond the high walls, the grassland that had once carried a hint of green was now pitted with thousands of cone-shaped craters of varying sizes. The turf had been ripped apart and flung away, and blackened soil still smoking faintly lay scattered everywhere.
Arrows and snapped weapons jutted across the battlefield like a thicket rooted in the earth, their shafts crossing at odd angles. Torn banners wailed in the fierce wind like the cries of ghosts.
Bodies lay heaped over one another, nearly filling the trenches in the ground. There were Huns, Romans, and Celts alike. Crimson blood had either seeped into the earth, staining the mud a dark red-black, or clotted into chunks that formed grotesque blotches across the field.
In places where Ether had gathered densely, faint halos of concentrated magical residue still lingered. The lingering flames it had kindled continued to burn, and from the charred, curled corpses in the fire, as well as the shredded flesh and severed limbs buried in the dirt, came the stench of burnt meat.
Flocks of vultures, crows, and other scavengers had gathered in droves, following the smell and landing among the heaps of dead to peck at eyeballs, livers, and scraps of flesh.
Several bluish-gray giant wolves with arrows still lodged in their backs, their wounds long dried, shook off the corpses and clods of dirt weighing them down, then whined softly as they lowered their heads to gnaw at the dead around them.
Whoosh!
Thud!
A long arrow tipped with a triangular steel head shot from a cedar bow with a shrill whistle, piercing straight through the eye socket of a giant wolf feeding on a corpse and punching through its skull in one clean kill.
Ptui!
The slightly plump praetor spat out a mouthful of saliva thick with the taste of rust and ash, lowered his longbow, and gave a downward signal.
As the winches turned with a teeth-grinding creak, the fortress gates slowly opened. Several centuriae advanced with sword and shield raised, spreading out across the battlefield in a formation that was loose without falling into disorder.
Thrust, thrust...
As they moved forward, the soldiers finished off wounded enemy troops and the hard-to-kill giant wolves still left alive on the field, while also dragging back their own injured who still had a chance of surviving, pulling them into the fortress for treatment.
Under the blood-red sunset, the startled scavenger birds shrieked and took flight.
Flames soon rose higher, and columns of black smoke coiled into the sky. The stench of burning flesh spread on the wind, enough to make anyone sick.
And yet that very smell strangely brought a sense of relief to the people on the fortress walls.
Haa...
At last, this round of probing attacks was over.
The slightly plump praetor let his longbow fall, slid down against the battlements, and finally collapsed onto the cracked stone slabs without a shred of dignity, gulping air in great heaving breaths.
From high above, one could see that the Roman Wall, once towering and stretching for hundreds of kilometers, was now cracked and broken in countless places. Arrows were embedded everywhere, inside and out, above and below, sunk deep into the stone, and patches of blood had not yet dried.
Clearly, this hard-fought clash against the Hun wolf cavalry had not been an easy win.
Thank the gods I made the right call.
If he had not been cautious enough to remember that pretty-boy god's warning and go easier on the nearby Celtic tribes, then even if the Celtic reinforcements had done nothing more than hold back to preserve their own strength and arrived a little later, his two hundred-plus pounds would have been left here for good.
And without that woman Boudica going to the Land of Shadows to bring back powerful reinforcements capable of checking the Hun King Altera, the line still would not have held.
For all the fortress looked utterly miserable now, and for all the dead littering the battlefield were beyond counting, ever since Hun King Altera had been wounded, the intensity of the war had been dropping with each clash.
Now, according to the scouts, the Hun wolf cavalry had already withdrawn more than a hundred li. That last assault had probably been their final test.
Tonight, at long last, he could sleep soundly.
...
Meanwhile, in the Hun camp, the Golden Tent court.
From the distant barracks came the endless screams of wounded soldiers being treated with brutal roughness, while the heavy smell of blood spread through the camp. Ten thousand giant wolves lay sprawled across the grass, licking their wounds and letting out low growls.
Awoo!
Just as the atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive, the bluish-gray giant wolves suddenly lifted their noses and became restless, staring fixedly at the carts being pushed out from the kitchens, piled high with offal and scraps of meat.
The rich Ether saturating those entrails sent the beasts into a frenzy. Their tails wagged wildly, drool hanging from their jaws as they crowded after the carts carrying the innards.
"Eat, eat, little wolf cubs. This time, there's plenty for all of you!"
The old shaman, now bearing a fresh wound across his face, laughed and cursed as he reached into the cart, grabbed a liver, and tossed it into the wolf pack, setting off a frantic scramble. Soon losing interest, he got to his feet and made his way toward the great golden-roofed tent.
"My King, what are you thinking about so deeply?"
Lifting the curtain, the old shaman stepped inside and roused the silver-haired girl sitting dazed in the corner.
"Tell me… do you think Heaven exists?"
"It probably does…"
"Why?"
"That's what the elders always said. So we believed it too."
"No proof? Then what if it doesn't exist? According to the dreams in my head, we've spent so much time and lost so many of our people trying to find that place. If…"
That answer, casual to the point of absurdity, made Attila knit her brows deeply and murmur under her breath.
Again and again, she had been driven back. Countless faces, familiar and unfamiliar alike, had fallen before her. The voice in her mind kept telling her to keep opening the way, to continue carrying out the expedition plan. But the more she thought about it, the more confused she became by that resonance, and the more she wavered.
"Does that really matter?"
The old shaman cut through Attila's tangled thoughts and gave a casual smile.
"Doesn't it? Isn't that what we've been chasing all this time…?"
Attila pressed her lips together, her thoughts even more muddled, her expression growing more lost.
"My King, people need something to hold on to while they live…
Whether you lead us back in glory to Heaven, or lead us to carve out new lands, as long as you can keep the tribe together and let them follow behind you, moving forward simply and steadily, that is already enough. Whether we actually reach the end of that road matters much less.
When I was young, I did good things, saved lives, healed the sick. I also did evil things, killed people, burned things down. Even if I did find Heaven, Eternal Blue Sky might not let me through the gate.
Now that I'm old, I have even fewer ambitions and even fewer delusions. While I'm alive, isn't it good enough to fight when it's time to fight, herd sheep when it's time to herd sheep, eat, sleep, and live in peace? And when there's a little time to spare, have a bowl of butter tea and a roasted lamb. Tsk, nothing beats that.
When I die, just roll up these old bones and toss them onto a cart. Let them fall off somewhere along the road.
I've eaten plenty of wolves and eagles in my life. Let them have a taste of human flesh for once. Whatever is left of my corpse can enrich the soil and grass there, and next year it'll help fatten up our lambs. A whole lifetime passes just like that.
Besides, life for the Huns used to be hard. Ever since you came, we've had food to eat and clothes to wear. Life in Heaven might not even be this blessed. The things we wanted, we've already had them.
So you don't need to carry anything for our sake. Just do what you want to do."
The old man smiled and clapped his hands. Two shamans waiting outside the tent carried in a platter of roasted meat, golden-brown and already cooling.
"Here, it's dragon meat, the kind you've taken a liking to lately. We prepared it specially for you. Don't keep thinking about things that don't need thinking about. Filling your stomach is what really matters. Go on, try it…"