The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 200 Dragutin's Ambush

The carriage continued north.

The road conditions deteriorated, the dirt road turned into a gravel road, and then into a mountain road, with steep slopes and dense forests appearing on both sides.

Lyon judged that they were entering the mountains.

Dragutin said that Ribnica, the capital of Zeta, is located in the mountains and is easy to defend and difficult to attack.

If the Hungarians were to take him to Stefan, they would inevitably have to pass through Ribnica.

The night grew deeper, and the temperature dropped.

Lyon was only wearing a coarse cloth shirt, and the cold began to seep into his bones.

He tried to move his bound hands and feet, but the rope was too tight, and only his fingers and toes could move slightly.

The Hungarian cavalry were quiet; apart from the sound of hooves and wheels, almost no one spoke.

They were clearly well-trained, maintaining a vigilant formation even during nighttime mountain marches.

The pathfinders ahead would stop from time to time to listen to the sounds around them, and only continue forward after confirming that it was safe.

We walked like that for about two hours.

The mountain road became narrower and more rugged.

On one side of the road is a steep mountain wall, and on the other side is a bottomless valley.

The moonlight barely illuminated the way ahead, but many places were still shrouded in heavy shadows.

Lyon noticed that the Hungarians seemed to have relaxed their guard somewhat.

It could be because they had already entered the heart of Stefan's controlled territory, where the chances of encountering danger were extremely slim, or it could be because of the fatigue that was beginning to show after continuous fighting and long marches.

The cavalry made a sharp turn.

The road ahead was suddenly blocked.

It wasn't a roadblock, nor was it an army; it was a wooden cart, almost as dilapidated as the one they were towing.

The car was parked crookedly in the middle of the road, with one wheel stuck in a mud pit.

A man dressed as a farmer, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, stood behind the car, his back to them, his shoulders straining as if trying to lift the car out.

Because the enemy was poorly dressed and came alone, the Hungarian cavalrymen were not particularly wary.

Ksegi merely frowned, cursed in Magyars, drew his sword, and shouted at the man something like "Get out of the way."

The man didn't react; he remained with his back turned and continued to lift the car with all his might.

Ksegi shook his head and gestured to a young cavalryman beside him.

The young cavalryman nodded, dismounted, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and walked towards the farmer.

His movements were casual, clearly indicating that he did not consider the other person a threat.

What he had to do was simple: help lift the car, move it to the side of the road, and then kill the farmer.

Lyon lay on the wooden cart, from which he could see the farmer's profile.

Although he was dressed in loose, coarse cloth clothes and wore a straw hat, the man's figure had a strangely familiar shape.

The young cavalryman walked up behind the farmer and patted him on the shoulder.

In that instant, the farmer suddenly turned around, and a cold glint flashed in the moonlight, precisely piercing the young cavalryman's throat.

Before the cavalryman could react, the dagger had already pierced his throat, the tip protruding from the back of his neck.

Almost at the same moment, a deafening roar echoed through the once silent valley.

"Bang!"

The sound echoed through the valley, making people's eardrums ache.

The warhorse was startled.

These horses, though well-trained, had never heard such a loud noise before.

The horses in the front row reared up and neighed in terror. Some cavalrymen were thrown off their horses and fell to the ground. The entire cavalry was thrown into chaos in an instant.

Immediately afterwards, arrows rained down from all directions.

On the hillsides on both sides of the road, behind rocks, and in the bushes, countless crossbow bolts rained down like a storm.

"Enemy attack!" Ksegi roared in Magyars, trying to control his frightened warhorse.

But it was too late.

The crossbow bolts were primarily aimed at the horses; more than a dozen horses were hit, letting out mournful cries as they collapsed and struggled to the ground.

The cavalrymen were either pinned to the ground or tumbled to the ground in disarray.

Some tried to raise their shields, but the light cavalry did not carry large shields; only a few carried small round shields, which were of no use against the dense crossbow bolts coming from above.

Then, a large number of crude spears and stones were hurled down from the height.

Although the precision is not high, it is not necessary on narrow mountain roads.

A javelin pierced the chest of a Hungarian cavalryman, pinning him to the ground.

A rock the size of a washbasin hit another person's helmet, and the person collapsed to the ground.

"Charge! Charge!" Ksegi brandished his longsword, trying to stop the charge.

But the road was blocked by that wooden cart. The cart stuck in the mud was not an accident, but a carefully designed roadblock.

The farmer had taken off his straw hat, revealing his highly recognizable single eye.

Lyon was overjoyed; it was Deragut!

Dragutin picked up a cocked crossbow from the wooden cart, calmly aimed, and pulled the trigger.

The crossbow string vibrated, and the arrow pierced the air.

Ksegg is giving orders loudly, facing the direction of Dragutin.

The crossbow bolt struck his left cheek precisely, entering below his cheekbone and exiting behind his right ear, the arrowhead followed by a cloud of blood and bone fragments.

Ksegg's voice abruptly stopped.

He swayed and slowly fell off the horse.

With their commander dead, the Hungarian cavalry completely collapsed.

They couldn't understand the attackers' language, didn't know how many there were, had more than half their horses killed or wounded, their roads were blocked, and they were surrounded by enemies.

Some people tried to rush up the hillside, but were immediately shot down by arrows.

Some people tried to escape back, but shouts of killing came from behind.

"Kill them all! Leave no one alive!"

Dragutin's roar echoed through the night sky.

A large number of people surged down from both sides of the hillside.

The volunteers wore tattered clothes and carried pitchforks, machetes, crude spears, and even sharpened wooden sticks.

But they were numerous, at least a hundred, and their eyes burned with the flames of revenge.

The Hungarian cavalry attempted to form ranks and resist, but the light cavalry, having lost their horses, had no chance of winning against an enemy several times their size in the narrow terrain.

The volunteers silently and fiercely attacked every living Hungarian.

They couldn't understand the pleas for mercy in the Magyar language, nor would they accept surrender.

They pierced the abdomen with pitchforks, chopped off the neck with machetes, and smashed the skull with sticks.

Soon, all twenty-one Hungarian cavalrymen were wiped out, not a single one survived.

The volunteers began to clean up the battlefield, stripping the Hungarians of their armor and weapons, searching for their money bags and valuables, dragging the corpses to the roadside, and throwing them into the valley.

Dragutin walked to Ksegg's body, bent down, pulled out the crossbow bolt, wiped it on the corpse's cloak, and put it back in the quiver.

He walked to the wooden cart, looked down at Lyon who was bound like a dumpling, and saw no joy of victory in his single eye, only cold anger.

Mikesh and Kozlek walked over and stood behind Dragutin.

Both men were covered in blood; Mikasz was carrying a blood-dripping scimitar, while Kozlek was carrying a Hungarian bow that he had just captured.