Moreover, the ti was too short, not giving him any chance to prepare in advance.
"The Saxons have agreed to send troops, but we still don’t know where they are."
A burly Frankish general stood up and said, "Many of the Burgundians have joined the Exile, and they might not help us."
"As for the Alamanni, they might be even harder."
Back then, Aetius could unite many of the Barbarian Race due to decades of prestige, and today it’s already the limit for him to ally with the Western Goth Kingdom.
The most hopeful are still the Anglo-Saxon troops, even if they just harass the enemy’s rear, it can greatly reduce Molov’s pressure.
The firelight flickered for a mont.
Molov, for so unknown reason, suddenly had a bad premonition and said in a deep voice, "We need to hold on for at least two days. When the Western Goth Kingdom’s army arrives, we can look for an opportunity to engage the enemy."
The Gaul Region’s two most powerful forces joining together still had hope of defeating the main forces of the Britain Kingdom.
However, during the eting, a disturbance occurred outside.
Then, a personal guard ca in carrying a rider covered in blood. He said in a hoarse voice, "Paris has fallen, the enemy launched a surprise attack from the rear and has cut off our retreat."
"The Western Goth Kingdom’s army probably can’t make it in ti."
Molov’s face turned pale instantly, he felt like the sky was spinning. In the past few days, the Britain Kingdom’s forces had slowed their offensive, giving him a sense that sothing was amiss.
He hadn’t caught sight of Duncan on the battlefield for days, and he hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully, constantly on edge, wondering from which direction Duncan would strike.
How could the rear, with five to six thousand defenders, suddenly have fallen?
Was besieging a city that easy?
God’s Whip—Attila took over two months to capture a city. Although the Huns had no siege weapons and were not adept at sieging, the enemy, on a long raid, couldn’t possibly have brought siege equipnt.
Suddenly, a shout of battle cries ca from the rear of the camp.
"Enemy attack!"
A shout snapped Molov back to his senses. He imdiately grabbed his weapon, summoned his personal guard to armor him, and ordered, "Gather the Chieftain’s guard. Order everyone else to strictly defend their positions and not leave the camp."
If a night raid caused chaos in the camp, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Under the moonlight.
Duncan had already charged ahead, bringing his perspective to the maximum. His figure spurred the horse, which neighed, leaping over the ditch. The lance in his hand pierced the barricade, flipping over the heavy wooden stake.
Such extraordinary might could not be matched by ordinary n.
Behind Duncan, the elite cavalry, energized from their long raid, followed him, charging forward regardless of everything else.
A rumbling sound of horse hooves echoed, the ground trembled, and panic-stricken enemies were everywhere.
One lance thrust.
Blood splattered, the lance pierced through, and Duncan swung it, along with an enemy’s body, instantly knocking away five or six people. He seed like a god descending to earth, breaking through hundreds, causing chaos in the enemy camp. Panic-stricken soldiers flooded out from all directions, while the elite units could barely organize themselves. As for the hastily recruited militian, they were completely scattered like headless flies under the night sky.
"Follow !"
"Crush them!"
At this mont, Duncan seed like a War God, breaking through six camps in a row. Wherever he went, bodies were strewn all over, and soldiers were fleeing over the hills under the night sky. Flas spread along the tents, unknowingly causing the enemy’s right flank to fall into disorder.
Behind Duncan, eight hundred elite cavalry tore through the entire enemy camp, then turned their horses, following that majestic figure to charge in another direction.
A crash.
Unbeknownst to them, the chaos had already swept the Central Army. Duncan trailed an S-shaped route, passing near the camp marked as Molov’s, driving the disordered soldiers to clash with the enemy’s central army elite.
Thousands of chaotic soldiers fled recklessly, the fastest already appearing in Molov’s sight. The terrified faces made the nearby people’s scalps tingle.
Under the torches burning in the distance.
Molov was drenched in cold sweat, trembling slightly, and he looked at the charging chaotic troops outside, knowing that the situation was beyond recovery and the soldiers could not be reorganized. He imdiately ordered, "Release the arrows!"
"Axe throwers prepare!"
"Anyone who dares charge the gate, kill them imdiately."
With a series of swooshes.
A barrage of arrows shot out, taking down over a hundred Frankish militia from the front row at once.
A sky full of Frankish flying axes followed.
The chaotic troops charging at the camp gate fell one by one, and the volley of Frankish flying axes left almost no one standing.
"The fa of the Frankish flying axes is indeed well-deserved."
Duncan looked regretful; Molov was right in front of him, yet he turned his horse’s head, charging in a different direction. One round of arrows and another of flying axes, Molov directly killed hundreds of his own soldiers, completely routing the chaotic troops Duncan had driven over like cattle and sheep.
Duncan knew that forcibly breaking through to slay Molov now was very difficult. The enemy had already gathered the Chieftain’s personal guard, and nearby were the elite Frankish infantry. A head-on charge would incur heavy losses.
Now he could only try to expand the battle success as much as possible.
But things often have unexpected turns. Just as Duncan bypassed the strictly guarded Central Camp, a shout of battle cries suddenly ca from afar.
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