"Yes, my Lord, I will definitely complete the mission!"
Zoltan promised Yanos, his words firm; he had to be firm. He had already failed once, and he couldn't afford to fail again.
Yanos was never lenient with failures, and his methods for failures were even crueler: live dismemberment of bones and flesh as sacrifices, euphemistically called dedicating their souls to the gods, so they could enjoy blessings in the gods' paradise forever.
Even Zoltan, with his identity as an old priest, could not avoid such a punishment—this old fox didn't believe such nonsense—after all, Yanos, the Chosen One, had a prestige that surpassed all priests.
Zoltan's meager prestige couldn't protect him; his subordinates might even think it was for Zoltan's own good and enthusiastically send him up as a sacrifice.
And Zoltan's heart was filled with regret, wondering why he hadn't hinted more clearly, why he hadn't made that part more obvious.
But what was done was done; past time could not be changed. Now, all he could do was make amends.
Zoltan approached the Nomads. Although they had reassembled, they were dispirited. After all, they had just suffered such a defeat, and so many people had witnessed their valiant escape, which was truly humiliating.
Now, being discarded here like trash, it was truly shameful; even the thickest-skinned person couldn't bear it, so they could only remain there dejectedly.
Looking at these disheartened cavalrymen, Zoltan's method was simple: he directly told them they were going to raid the city.
And they were going to raid the palace, which instantly rallied their morale.
People participated in war to seize food and money. Now, the opportunity to plunder the wealthiest place in the entire country was right before them. How could they not be tempted? This immediately ignited their morale, and then they charged towards the city with Zoltan.
Zoltan leading the Nomad cavalry into Fehérvár was naturally seen by Rostislav. They streamed in through the city gates, which were under the control of their inside agents, heading to reinforce the battle at the palace.
However, the Prince felt no joy at the reduction of the enemies before him. Those failures were never counted as combat strength by Rostislav, but their entry into the city could potentially cause some negative effects.
For example, it might lead the city to misunderstand that the external forces had been annihilated, thereby losing their will to fight, ultimately leading to the tragic slaughter of the Christian Princes within the palace.
Wait.
A different thought suddenly arose in Rostislav's mind, a dark, hidden thought that he kept buried deep, one that would be immediately suppressed if it ever surfaced:
If his uncles all died, wouldn't he become the ruler of All Rus'? Wouldn't the supreme authority of Rus' fall into his hands just like that?
And what he needed to do was not much; he only needed to lead the troops he controlled away from here, return to Rus', await the news of his uncles' deaths, and then take over their territories.
This was an opportunity bestowed by heaven.
Rostislav was inevitably tempted; after all, with just one betrayal, the entire Rus' could become his for the taking. Who wouldn't be tempted?
As long as he withdrew his troops, everything would belong to him: his father's throne, his grandfather's throne, the thrones of the Rurik Princes throughout history…
These thoughts, like the serpent (Satan) tempting Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, coiled in the Moscow Prince's mind, lingering for a long time.
Those poisonous words were now like honey, luring him towards that choice, and his moral bottom line, under the corrosion of this poisonous honey, grew increasingly fragile.
Rostislav now somewhat understood why so many people in history chose paths that would later be scorned, even becoming lifelong blemishes.
Because it was simply too, too tempting. Supreme power was right before their eyes, and how many were willing to cruelly refuse?
Moreover, the monarchs of Hungary and Poland would die. Bolesław had no heir, and the adult members of the Árpád Dynasty would likely be wiped out here.
These two countries would inevitably fall into chaos, and he could completely expand into, or even annex, them, achieving what his ancestors could not…
Rostislav was so lost in thought that he even ignored the battlefield, forgetting that he was commanding a brutal struggle.
He even began to fantasize about what he could do after ascending the throne of Kiev, what kind of ruler he could become, and what kind of impact he could bring to future generations.
It wasn't until Yang shouted Rostislav's name at the top of his lungs that this monarch, immersed in his world of ambition, finally woke up. He looked at his old friend with some confusion, wondering what had happened—Rostislav was so deeply lost that he didn't even know what he should be doing or where he was.
Yang, on the other hand, looked at Rostislav with disbelief. At a time like this, how could you still be immersed in your own world as if nothing was wrong?
However, Yang didn't dwell on this for long. Now was not the time to think about such things; the battle was raging.
And Rostislav also noticed his lapse and quickly returned to normal, because what was happening now was more important.
"Lord Rostislav, look over there."
Following Yang's gaze, Rostislav suddenly discovered that a large army had appeared behind the left flank of the pagan army at some unknown time, and by their armor, they were Poles and Magyars.
Now, the left flank of the pagan army was being squeezed between two forces, with deserters constantly appearing. Defeat was only a matter of time.
Upon seeing this, Rostislav realized that the envoys he had sent earlier had successfully completed their mission.
The forces of the King of Poland and the King of Hungary had, after all, chosen to come to their aid, and their generals were also men who understood the bigger picture, realizing that if they allowed this to continue, the outcome would inevitably be disastrous.
Therefore, at this moment, everyone had to abandon the prejudices brought by factions and interests and stand together as Christians to overcome the current difficulties.
They chose Siczech as the commander for everyone, because only he had the qualifications here; no one could be more suitable than him.
And to get here, they had experienced many battles along the way. Not to mention the horse archers on the outskirts of the camp; breaking through those guys wasn't very difficult. And along the way, pagan thugs ambushed them everywhere; they truly fought their way through.
Upon arriving at the battlefield, they found that Rostislav had fallen into a very awkward situation, unable to move, unable to perform any flanking maneuvers, and only able to trade blows with the pagans.
As an old general, Siczech naturally knew how to break the current predicament. With his command, the Poles and Magyars used their advantage of entering the battlefield from another direction to attack the left flank of the pagan army, trapping the enemy's left flank in a pincer attack.
And as long as the left flank was eliminated, the predicament they currently faced would be resolved.
"The forces of King Bolesław and King Bela, they finally came, and they came at just the right time."
Rostislav slowly exhaled, looking at the scene. This sigh was not because of the friendly army's support, but more because the sight before him allowed him to let go of some things.
Since reinforcements had arrived, repelling or even defeating the enemy forces before them was possible. The situation was no longer so desperate.
Moreover, the general's side of Rostislav began to emerge. He would not allow himself to give up this opportunity.
In addition, within this short time, Rostislav had also thought it through: if he truly committed such an act of betrayal and abandonment, his life would forever be synonymous with this betrayal and abandonment, becoming a lifelong blemish.
And that's not to mention the political crisis that such an action would inevitably bring. In an era that valued legitimacy, doing so could truly shake the foundations of his rule.
Most importantly, it was questionable whether those pagans would kill his uncles, and if he betrayed his uncles, he would be too ungrateful—of course, with the exception of his second uncle.
So Rostislav abandoned that conspiracy. Instead of taking shortcuts, it was better to stick to the original plan and slowly, step by step, move towards his ultimate goal.
What needed to be done now was simple: let go of all distracting thoughts and use this opportunity to turn what was originally a hopeless defeat into a great victory!
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