"How many did you find?"

"Twenty, all ...... of brass"

"Then why did it take so long?"

"These corpses are so swollen that they can't be broken, so they can only be cut off one by one."

It was all Norman, and nothing useful could be heard, Philip thought—his armor had been stripped and sunk in the slush of the dead, as if he had broken his bones, and he could not move.

"There are a few more here, see if there are any rings left."

"What a good errand, looking for gold in stinking rotten meat."

"Don't complain, be careful that I beat you, pick it up!"

"Hey, this one is pretty good, it's a fragrant nobleman - behold, what I've found!"

The arm seemed to be raised, and Philip tried to struggle, but found that there was no sound in his throat and his body was as stiff as a stone.

A sharp pain came from the root of the finger.

"Do you think it's ruby...... Why are you taking your pants off? ”

"Get out of the way, I'll use this dead thing first......"

Once again, Philip fell into darkness.

A large number of lords gathered in front of the chapel of the castle of Abwey, and a long line of northern guards extending from the direction of the bridgehead acted as a, isolating the castle's personnel from the outside. Above the heads of these people, the bell tower and the tower of the main fort seemed to be squeezed so that they could only develop into the sky, and the stone walls were stacked on top of each other, and the upper floors were added to the towers, extending roughly in a straight line to the direction of the city outline.

"Tell Lord Harding that the fleet needs to make a trip back to Dover, and remember to take Lord Martin's body with you." Rodrigo explained the matter to the Knight of Alva and returned to the king.

"Did you find Philip?" Edgar was asking Earl Lincoln, who had just confirmed that Count Hugg had survived from among his captives.

"Not yet, but Prince Rao's body has just been found."

"Let the Franks double-check, and then park in and place next to Guy's body."

Guy Count, Count of Pontillo, was the first high lord to die in this war.

When Rodrigo heard this, he remembered what Roger had said on the night not long ago, when he returned:

"The day Madame Omale went after us herself, I knew who had betrayed my whereabouts."

Rodrigo did ignore this, he doubted Pontillo's position, but never connected the matter between the Guy father and son and the Omales people.

Roger's absence from his duel and subsequent surprise attack on Abwehr Castle marked a turning point in the war. When Harding's fleet arrived in Fécon, the king had just been rescued by Robert of Lorraine, a good friend of Bishop Woolfstein, and Count Rodrigo informed Robert of his imminent return from Rouen, while the king moved his command center to the Château de Abweyl on the Somme.

The results of this series of tweaks were now in sight: many of the Frankish princes and Norman lords of William Luforth had become prisoners of the King of England.

The question is – where is Philip himself?

Victory would not be complete without the Frankish king, and if it weren't for the situation at home, perhaps Edgar would have been able to march on Paris, but now the British army must return to the division as soon as possible.

"Dear Rodrigo, tell the Count of Vimandua that we want peace between the two countries to be restored at once and this unfortunate war to end, and I hope that he will bring this news to his queen."

After Liga returned, Edgar began to arrange a meeting with Robert, and Rouen seemed to be a little ambiguous, and the first thing the messenger asked was not William Lufus, but Philip's whereabouts.

Edgar decided to arrange Normandy before returning by boat, so he first sent Robert Mallett back, along with two squadrons of about 50 clippers.

At dusk, the torch of victory was lit outside the castle, and a group of English knights stabbed thirty-five horses in the cheeks with their spears before sinking the corpses into the chiseled ice, and then, to the chanting of the monks, dozens of swords, spears, bows and shields, along with steel armor, were thrown into the Somme. The king, with his blonde hair scattered, thanked God for his blessing before the burning burnt offering, and crowned Bishop Woolfstein himself, and when the king of England returned, the whole army began to wave torches and cheer loudly.

Philip was across the river bank and saw the smoke and the roar of a thousand camps on the other side, the trembling enthusiasm spreading fear in the wilderness, the cold—the Frankish king felt the bitter cold pierce the soles of his feet.

His princes, his army, once arrayed on the plains of the meandering river, could not see the end at a glance, and the first row of battle columns alone could shake the top of the firmament, but now they are all gone, the corpses are frosty and snowy, and the souls are scattered in the barren hills.

He grabbed the slush with his nine remaining fingers and stuffed it into his mouth, the salty, bitter taste melting from his taste buds, making him realize once again that he was alive.

Alive, humiliated.

He wanted to flee from here, to Amiens, no, to Omale, where there was still the Norman army.

The Normans - those traitors who blasphemed the gods!

Philip failed to spit out the spit in his throat, his sanity was regained, and reality prevailed over all illusions.

He began to make his way to the firelight on the other side.