The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 199 Hussars' Surprise Attack

Lyon did not sleep well on the unfamiliar hard bed.

He was dreaming, dreaming of—

"Bang!!!"

The loud noise jolted him awake from his light sleep.

Leon opened his eyes instantly, his heart pounding.

It wasn't a dream; there were indeed sounds outside, and not just from one place: the crisp sound of wood breaking, the dull thud of heavy objects falling to the ground, and human voices.

Sharp, mournful cries echoed through the night.

He rolled out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor, and rushed to the small window.

The sight before him almost froze his blood.

The port is on fire.

At least five or six houses are already engulfed in flames.

In the firelight, he saw figures running.

Men and women, old people and children, rushed out of the burning house and fled blindly like frightened animals. Then, the cavalry appeared.

The cavalry wore light leather or chainmail, conical helmets, and cloaks.

The horses weren't particularly tall, but they were strong and agile, navigating narrow streets and alleys with ease and astonishing speed.

They were light cavalry, and elite ones at that.

The cavalrymen held scimitars or spears, the blades reflecting a cold, menacing glint in the firelight.

They caught up with the fleeing residents, brandishing their knives and thrusting swiftly and decisively, without hesitation.

The screams rang out briefly and then quickly disappeared, and corpses fell to the ground one after another.

Lyon's breathing stopped.

"Hungarian hussars." The thought flashed through his mind.

Judging from their attire and tactical style, these cavalrymen were neither Serbs nor Imperials.

Kantor Stefanos said that Hungary and Stefan Niemann were in cahoots.

The sound of a door being broken down came from downstairs.

That was the loud bang of the wooden door being violently kicked open, followed by the old woman's hoarse shouts: "Who are you?! We are all..."

The words came to an abrupt halt.

It was the familiar sound of swords piercing bodies, a sound Leon knew all too well.

Then came the loud thud of a heavy object falling to the ground.

Lyon covered his mouth tightly to keep from making a sound.

Three elderly ladies — just like that —

Footsteps came from downstairs.

His steps were steady, clearly indicating that he had undergone rigorous training.

They are conducting a search.

Lyon's brain was working frantically.

Hide? Where can I hide? This room is pitifully small, with only a bed, a box, and a window.

The window was too small; he couldn't squeeze through.

A box? It won't fit.

Under the bed!

He almost collapsed to the ground the instant he considered this option, rolling into the narrow space under the bed.

Dust choked his nostrils, but he forced himself not to cough.

The bed was less than a foot off the ground, and he had to press himself tightly against the floor to barely conceal his body.

The sound of boots stepping on the stairs.

One step, two steps, three steps —

The door was pushed open.

The boots stepped into the room and slid across the floor.

One of the boots stopped beside the bed.

Lyon's heart was pounding in his chest.

He could see the owner of the boots bending over, the toes of the boots only inches from his face.

If only the other person lowered themselves just a little bit, if only he glanced under the bed—

But the person just picked something up.

Judging from the angle, it should be the silk-lined outfit he had changed out of.

The old lady was going to help him put it away, but she temporarily placed it on the box next to the bed.

A deep voice rang out, speaking in a language that Lyon couldn't understand at all.

Lyon guessed it was Hungarian Magyar.

Another voice responded, but it was also incomprehensible.

After exchanging a few words, their tone shifted from doubt to certainty.

The boots began to search the room carefully.

The box was opened, and its contents were rummaged out and thrown on the ground.

The bed frame was being tapped; they were checking for hidden compartments.

Lyon listened to the sounds so close at hand, and every second felt like an eternity.

Then, one of the boots returned to the bedside.

This time, the owner of the boots squatted down.

Lyon closed his eyes.

It's over! The battle is over!

He could be stabbed through the chest like Stephen, or have his throat slit like those three old ladies downstairs.

Alas, what a disgrace to a time traveler, to die in a remote, impoverished port, at the hands of a group of Hungarian light cavalry.

But the expected pain did not come.

The person who squatted down simply reached out and picked something up from the edge under the bed.

That was an old shoe that Leon had accidentally kicked while he was hurriedly hiding.

The man picked up his shoes, stood up straight, and said something to his companion.

Just as Lyon breathed a sigh of relief, a rough, large hand suddenly reached under the bed and grabbed his ankle with unerring accuracy.

"Ah!" Leon couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.

The hand was incredibly strong, gripping his ankle like an iron clamp and dragging him out from under the bed.

The rough wooden floor scratched his back and arms, causing a burning pain.

He was dragged to the center of the room and made to lie on his back on the floor. The blinding firelight shone in through the window, making him squint.

Two Hungarian soldiers stood in front of him, looking down at him.

Both men were dressed in leather armor and covered with dark cloaks. Their faces showed signs of travel and fatigue, and they looked fierce.

One of the older soldiers said something in Magyar, his tone clearly filled with joy.

Another young soldier nodded and shouted downstairs.

Soon, footsteps could be heard again on the stairs.

This time, it wasn't an ordinary soldier who came up, but someone dressed in much better clothes.

He wore a chainmail over an embroidered short robe, a long sword at his waist, and a helmet tucked under his arm. He was around forty years old and had a stern face.

His gaze fell on Lyon, who looked him up and down, and then nodded in satisfaction.

"Huntz Kersege," he said, or at least Leon guessed it was a name, because both soldiers bowed slightly after he said it.

Ksegi walked up to Lyon, squatted down, and asked a question in Magyar.

Seeing Leon's blank expression, he switched to halting Greek: "Name?"

Leon bit his lip and didn't answer.

Ksegg frowned, but did not ask any further questions.

He stood up and gave instructions to the two soldiers.

The two immediately sprang into action, grabbing Lyon from either side and practically dragging him downstairs.

The sight downstairs made Lyon's stomach churn again.

Three elderly women lay in pools of blood, their horrific state too painful to bear.

They didn't even have a chance to resist.

Lyon's vision blurred, his tears mingled with deep remorse.

He was dragged out of the house and onto the street.

The scene outside was even more horrific than the scene inside.

Bar Harbor has become a living hell, with at least half of the houses burning.

Corpses lay scattered across the street—some were volunteers, some were ordinary residents, and even a few children.

The Hungarian cavalry were still searching house to house, and occasionally a survivor would be dragged out of his hiding place and immediately killed with a single blow.

What about Dragutin's men?

Lyon searched for familiar faces in the chaos. He saw several volunteers trying to organize a resistance, but the unarmored infantry were no match for the swift and elusive light cavalry.

A young man brandishing a pitchfork charged at the cavalry, was knocked away by the horse, and the crisp sound of his spine breaking upon landing was clearly audible.

Another veteran, hiding behind a burning house, fired an arrow that struck a Hungarian in the shoulder, but was immediately surrounded by three other cavalrymen and hacked to death.

Lyon was dragged toward the port. There, he saw Dragutin, or rather, Dragutin's corpse?

No, those are just people wearing similar clothes.

The body lay face down, with three arrows stuck in its back, and at least three Hungarian cavalrymen's corpses lay beside it.

This volunteer army commander fought to the very last moment.

But what about Dragutin himself? Lyon didn't see the one-eyed leader in the chaotic crowd.

Ksegg stopped in front of a warehouse near the dock.

The warehouse door had been smashed open, and some miscellaneous items were piled up inside.

He went in and quickly came out with a bundle of hemp rope.

"The carriage," he said to the soldier.

A soldier pointed to the other end of the port.

There was a dilapidated wooden cart parked there, with a missing wheel. The animal that pulled it was nowhere to be seen; it had probably been slaughtered and eaten long ago.

Ksegg frowned, but nodded nonetheless.

Two soldiers dragged the wooden cart over and roughly tied it to the back of Ksegi's saddle with hemp rope.

Kersegi's warhorse was a dark brown mare, strong and robust, but clearly unhappy with pulling such a rickety cart, stamping its hooves in frustration.

Lyon was bound hand and foot and pressed onto a wooden cart.

Ksegg inspected the bindings and nodded in satisfaction.

He mounted his horse and shouted to the surrounding cavalry.

About twenty Hungarian hussars gathered around. Lyon could now see that the squad, excluding the few who might have been killed, now numbered twenty-one, including Kseggie.

Each person carried at least two weapons, with bow cases and quivers hanging beside their saddles, clearly indicating they were the elite of the elite.

Why did they launch a surprise attack on Bar Harbor? Was it just to wipe out the resistance?

If that's the case, why specifically search the house, and why did they show a "finally found him" expression after finding him?

There seems to be only one answer: they are Stephen's backup!

These Hungarians were the "buyer's accomplices" mentioned in the parchment document.

They were supposed to wait for Stephen at the port, but after discovering that Bar Harbor was under the control of the rebels, they chose the most direct method: to kill everyone and take their target with them.

And he was that target.

Ksegi gave the reins a jerk, and the warhorse began to move forward, pulling the creaking wooden cart.

The remaining cavalry split into two groups, one leading the way and the other guarding the rear, protecting the wooden carts in the middle.

They left the burning port of Bar and headed north along the dirt road.

Lyon lay on the bumpy wooden cart, looking at the stars in the night sky.

The light of the flames gradually faded, and darkness once again enveloped the earth.

With each bump in the carriage, his body would slam against the hard wooden planks, and the abrasions on his back and arms burned painfully.

But he felt almost no pain.

The images that kept flashing through my mind were those of three old women lying in pools of blood, and the scenes of volunteer soldiers being slaughtered by cavalry.

Because of him. All these people died because of him.

If he hadn't washed ashore, if Stephen hadn't kidnapped him, if the Hungarians hadn't come looking for him—

These elderly people and soldiers may still be living a difficult but tenacious life, fighting for their homes and freedom.

And now, they are all dead.