When the High King of Alba led the remnants of his army out of battle, the news reached the noble knight's ears when Robert, Count of Iou, almost believing that the battle had been won, raised his sword and ordered his army to storm the Northumbrian positions.

"Betrayal!" After confirming the news, Count Iu roared.

At this time, there were at least sixty knights by his side, and the Northumbrian guards in front of him stopped wielding their great axes, and it seemed that they had reached the end of their crossbows.

"Let's retreat!" The Count ordered all the soldiers behind him.

The Normans' massive offensive collapsed, and only Prince Edgar's knights were left on the battlefield to chase north. Edgar himself no longer felt the headache, but continued to move forward with his armor in his arms, eight hundred men behind him, and the hooves of the horses trampled the dust like a torrent of wind.

The English counterattacked on all fronts, pursuing them all the way to the Norman camp, and the Welshmen under the Earl of Moka began to plunder the spoils abandoned by the enemy, and King William's luxurious tent became a place for the counts to rest their horses. After meeting Prince Edgar, these noble warriors all raised their battle axes and swords and spears in their hands, and cheered in unison.

While the victors of St Albans were celebrating their exploits, their brave comrades-in-arms, the Scots of King Alba, were still running wild, thinking it was all over.

That night, the English celebrated their victory in the Norman camp, where the Normans' delicate food was shared by the lords from the north, and the fine wine was opened in barrels and distributed among all the soldiers.

"For the glory of the war dead!" Prince Edgar toasts to all the lords.

The English warriors silently drank the blood-colored wine, and many remembered their comrades lost in recent years.

"How is the Count of Benicia?" In the midst of the feast, Edgar quietly asked Count Moka.

"Lord Earl's injuries are not light, and he may not survive." Count Moka's expression also darkened, and the brave lord of Northumbria had fallen to his bed after being stabbed by the enemy's spear.

Edgar was even more saddened that the Earl of Gerspatrick was the first lord to support him after his return to England, not only taking in his own family and subordinates, but also giving his eldest son to his cause. The prince said to Count Moca, "I will go with you to see him in the evening, and now celebrate with the soldiers, and do not drink too much." ”

The Count nodded, and returned to his seat next to Karadog. At this moment the Bishop of Durham suddenly rose from his seat, and he exclaimed to all the lords: "God will, in the name of St. Cuthbert, our cause is finally triumphant." All the nobles of England are here, and soon we will march into London and reclaim the Old Land, and we must have a leader! ”

As he spoke, the bishop took the sword of the arcane that he had kept from the attendant behind him, held it in his hand, and turned in the direction of the prince: "The leader of the English, King Edgar!" ”

All the lords stood up for a moment, drew their swords and raised their swords, and faced Edgar: "Long live the king!" ”

That night, the English proclaimed Edgar king of England, succeeded Edward, restored Wessex orthodoxy, and sent envoys to inform King Malcolm of Alba, who had fled to Donstedberg.

The new king of England, accompanied by Moca, Count of Northumbria, came to the tent of the Count of Benicia, who had just woken up from a coma with a high fever, and it took him a long time to make a voice after he recognized Edgar's face, and the northern lord said in a feeble tone: "I am Gus Patrick, lord of Benesia, I cannot die like a sick ox, please let me return to my ancestors like a warrior." ”

Edgar nodded, speechless with grief, and ordered the Count's chain mail and helmet to be put on for him, and put on his sword and shield himself, and placed his ornate battle axe to his right, and the Count seemed to take his last breath with a hint of relief, like a blood-stained warrior.

When he arrived in London at dusk the next day, King Edgar, still in a sad mood, looked at the city that bore the marks of war, and with a sorrow in his heart, he sang softly:

"All the treasures of the world have turned to dust,

Now in this Middle-earth, everywhere the walls are ruined,

Destroyed by wind and frost, the building is about to topple.

The banquet hall is decayed, and the prince sleeps forever,

The joy is gone, and the hosts are gone,

So brave and proud, buried under the fortress!

The war swept away some,

Take them back.

One man died in the deep sea, and was taken away by the birds.

One was devoured by the wolf.

A man's face withered,

and burial in the tomb for all.

And so the Creator destroyed the city,

The power that created all kinds,

Silenced the voices of the city

The masterpiece of this ancient giant,

Reduced to empty mounds.

”

(Note: Middle-earth is Middle-Earth, known as Midgard in ancient Norse, or Middangeard in Old English, which refers to the land between heaven and abyss, where humans live.) ）