If we force a pursuit, there's likely to appear a 'exhausted' negative state.

"Change horses!"

But Duncan was already prepared; he abandoned other cavalry units and led only three hundred elites, directly changing mounts and riding swiftly, relying on strategic maps for forced pursuit.

The spoils from the Battle of Sharon were numerous, so Duncan wasn't lacking horses at all now.

However, three hundred men are slightly too few; even if they catch up, they might be surrounded by the Hun's main forces, and Duncan could be killed.

Just as Aetius guessed, without any ambush troops, there's no chance at all!

The sky brightened.

Attila's breakout forces fled desperately, and scattered some along the way, with roughly five to six thousand cavalry, they were quite tired from the frantic run; they had now reached a place called Turi, where the villages had already been massacred by the Hun armies before the war.

A Khan's Personal Guard went forward, handing over a water pouch, saying, "Your Majesty. Water."

Attila was in a miserable state; though not tall, he had a broad chest, big head, small eyes squinting slightly, sparse gray beard, flat nose, body not proportionate; due to the Hun's constant horseback riding, his legs were somewhat deformed. Yet, his gaze remained sharp, hawkish and wary, grabbing the water pouch for pain relief through alcohol, wished for honey wine.

Barbarian Race's honey wine, Huns also liked it.

Nearby guards shook their heads; during forced breakout, it wasn't possible to bring much. Having some water was already good. Some rushed half a day without clean water, drinking directly from nearby rivers.

A guard intended to inquire the rear units if anyone carried wine but was stopped by Attila.

Asking this, morale would certainly drop further.

This battle as ended in a disgraceful retreat, Attila regarded it as a great shame; seeking wine now would worsen the mood.

A person beside him saw Attila looking downcast and consoled, "Your Majesty, need not be discouraged."

"Victory and defeat are common in warfare."

"Once we safely return to the rear, regroup the armies next year, vindicate this shame!"

Attila heard this, looking somewhat cheered; noted no enemy caught up, ordered armies to detour towards Paris, returning to Hun's main base via Rhine River.

But just at this moment.

Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves echoed, and that ghost-like man reappeared in his sight!

How could this be?!

Wasn't he already stopped?

Could he alone have pursued long distances and caught up again?

Even if he's descended from the heavens, physically extraordinary, riding a divine steed, still how come cavalry is beside him?

Imperial cavalry can't sustain such long pursuits; neither men nor horses can bear it.

"Not good!"

"It's Western Goth cavalry!" Someone turned pale.

No, Prince Torismund of the Western Goths had already withdrawn, hadn't he?

Why would elite Western Goth cavalry ambush here?

Hun forces fell into chaos.

Attila was bewildered; hurriedly retreated, leaving behind an elite guard to cover. Huns having suffered continuous defeats were like terror-stricken birds; uncertain of enemy numbers, many fled in panic.

They saw the Western Goth banners, assumed Prince Torismund hadn't withdrawn but ambushed them.

Beside Duncan were only eight hundred elite cavalry.

But the army in deep defeat panicked at first sight, in his ghost-like descent, repeatedly changing mounts and riding swiftly, seemingly in endless stamina; hunters frightened the Hun cavalry, seeing him drenched in blood, left them in panic.

Huns had never been terrified like this, First time during their Western campaigns in Europe!

Probably soon, Duncan's fame will spread across the Europe and Asia steppes.

"Kill!"

Duncan led three hundred elites in pursuit, losing a hundred along the way; finally, two hundred gathered with Western Goth cavalry. Duncan let them follow behind and personally led refreshed Western Goth elites in assault ignoring enemies intercepting, directly charging Attila's Personal Guard.

Countless enemies fled in shock!

This time truly was a ghost god's descent, eight hundred elite charging thousands of Hun cavalry into chaos, Western Goth iron cavalry at Sharon battle, won worldwide fame; many Hun cavalry held fearful shadows, dared not meet them head-on.

God's Whip Attila's golden stature was shattered, celestial destiny lost; without the invincible blessing, many Huns were scattered in morale.

Elite iron cavalry charged straight in.

When Duncan was the closest, three hundred meters away from Attila, he forcefully broke through, took out Nord Bow, pulled and nocked the arrow, the bow resembling a full moon.

Whoosh!

Arrow pierced air with a roar.

One Khan's Personal Guard was shot dead beside Attila, giving him cold sweats, seemingly left a psychological shadow, regardless, fled desperately under guard escort, abandoning the main troops, then ordered the last bit of elite to intercept Western Goth iron cavalry.

Thousands of Hun cavalry scattered in chaos, nearly collapsing, fleeing, leaving only some Attila's Personal Guards fighting desperately, blocking Duncan's pursuit.

When the battle settled, these Hun Khan's Personal Guards nearly all died fighting.

"Damn, they can really run!"

"These Khan's Personal Guards don't care for life, do they?!"

Duncan's eyes were bloodshot, exuding a bloody aura, scaring many; not only Huns saw him as a ghost god, but Western Goth iron cavalry around were also shocked, respecting yet a trace of admiration.

Is this human still!

After charging one battle without resting, changing mounts to pursue again for Attila.

Today!

God's Whip, Attila, will perish!

Duncan at that moment looked like a killing god from hell, expression cold, directly snapped arrow shafts stuck in armor without treating wounds; relying on Avalon sheath's power he wouldn't bleed continuously, though wounds reopened affecting slightly.

Now none could keep up with him.

"Change horses!"

Duncan's hoarse voice called, "Stay back, rout remaining enemies."

Finished speaking.

He alone changed horses and rode in pursuit of Attila's escape route.

In the sky.

Bird shadows flew overhead; from nearby forests occasionally groups of crows could be seen as if attracted by the battlefield's bloody scent and bodies, but in Attila's final army's escape path, flocks of crows kept rising from the wooded sides.

Miles away.

Crow Queen Triss appeared here, her eyes turning snowy white, gazing in the distant sky, unknown what she tracked.

Duncan couldn't have deployed all troops at Attila's retreat line.

Western Goth iron cavalry could only ambush on enemy's mandatory path, and last elite cavalry, Polytheism's few remaining reserves, only with Crow Queen Triss's power could pinpoint Attila's approximate direction, then passing forces to Duncan.

Duncan would undoubtedly find Attila; now it depended whether the last cavalry could keep up with him!

Hardly could he single-assault God's Whip.

Beside Attila were hundreds of horseback soldiers; Duncan must lead a charge to approach closely.

...

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