Marcian stood at the top of the tower on the city wall, and below him there was silence of killing, and there was a dead air in all directions, it was really lifeless, and there was no living creature at all.

"It's all gone, it's all gone." Marcian's voice was hoarse and stalking, his lips were pale and cracked, his eyes were red, and he looked embarrassed and tired.

His right hand clenched tightly against the slate sword below, no matter how ornately decorated it was, no matter how ornate it was, it couldn't hide the filthy blood stains on it and the cracks in the battle.

He was so tired, like a bull chased by wolves for a day, even if he was full of strength, he couldn't stop such a squander. He was exhausted, not just personally, but also the army under his command.

The soldiers seemed to have no reason to fight any longer, they had shed enough blood to swear their allegiance to the titular Augustus, and let them live with the rest of their blood.

They laid down their arms, exhaustion and fear became their worst enemies, they were escorted by citizens in their armor, wounded soldiers knelt on the sides of the streets, and able-bodied men were in charge of clearing the battlefield for the arrival of Baseleus. They were saved by surrendering, but in the following days, Constantinople may have no place for them, and even the Eastern Roman army will have no place for them.

But the battle was not over, and on the pile of corpses beneath the tower, bloodied citizens and sailors surrounded the tower where Marcian was.

It's hard to imagine what a person would do when all his thoughts were really lost, and Marcian looked like an old man who was about to die of his peers. This guy who refuses to admit defeat no longer has any capital and ability to resist, and if he wants to think that his exhausted body can still contribute to the so-called resistance, the result is still pale.

The soldiers who poured up the tower surrounded him and tied him up, and he had no intention of resisting it, as if he were dead.

He was like a puppet, half godless, at the hands of the angry sailors and the townspeople who carried him down.

"Damn the Killer Demon!"

"The scum of Rome!"

"Traitor!"

"Shameful usurper! Die, damn it! ”

The citizens around him shouted insults at him and spat on him, humiliating and destroying him in foul language that he would never normally hear. He was unmoved, as mentioned above, he was as if he was dead, and even if he still had breath, he was still just a shell of his soul, and life was worse than death.

"Basellus, Baseleus is here!"

I don't know who exclaimed, and everyone followed the prestige, and they all knelt down in unison, paying tribute to Baselus, the so-called legitimate successor of the Eastern Roman Empire and the ultimate victor of this bloody struggle.

Dressed in a muscular cuirass made of brass, a purple robe, and a gold laurel wreath, Luga stood on a richly decorated chariot and bowed down in front of the crowd. Acting as a winner, he enjoyed all the benefits that a winner deserved, including the title of Baseleus, which was already his, in the eyes of the people.

When he heard Barcelus, a gleam flashed in Marcian's hollow eyes, and he slowly looked up, only to see Luga standing in the ornate carriage, attacking from him under the escort of a large army of heavily armed cavalry.

He hated, gritted his teeth, and his exaggerated and hideous expression made his chapped lips tear apart again and flow red, cloudy blood.

But what could he do? The defeated general, the crooked and evil way defeated by the so-called orthodoxy, the shameful usurper, in the face of his opponent, is only kneeling by the side of the road, watching him enjoy all that the victor should enjoy and secretly regret it.

Luga and his party arrived at the newly cleaned square of Constantine, which was facing away from the royal palace, and the area was extremely open, and it was also crowded with people, who rushed forward to see the face of Barcellus.

At this time, Andrew came to Luga's car and saluted solemnly: "If it weren't for me really standing here and witnessing all this, I'm afraid I wouldn't dare to imagine that all this is true." ”

"Of course, Andrew, my friend, we succeeded, we beat all the obstacles." Although he showed a serious face and an unfazed appearance, he still couldn't hide the excitement in his heart, and Luga's voice became trembling, but he still tried his best to hide the excitement in his heart.

He stepped out of the carriage with the support of Andrew and Berialius, and at the moment of getting down, Luga stretched out his hand and put his hand on Berialius's shoulder, looked at Berialiu's red eyes, and said: "Berialius, I'm very sorry, when I heard the sad news of the death of Your Excellency's father, it is undeniable that he was a loyal servant of the Empire, so I decided to build a statue for His Excellency Hermanus to repay Hermanus's loyalty." ”

"Oh, thank you, thank you for your kindness, Baseleus!" With tears streaming down her face, Beria thanked Luga repeatedly.

"Don't be formal, you deserve it, Berialiu."

"Baseles, now is not the time to grieve here, look at it, the people around you are waiting for you!" Andrew said in a deep voice, "Look, they are hungry for you to be their Barcelus the way they want to see, and you should satisfy their craving, Barcelus." ”

As he spoke, Andrew tore off the shield he was carrying from behind his back, Malenius brought a gold ribbon, and Berialius brought a golden cross from the palace and handed it to Luga.

"Come, lift Barcellus up, and let his subjects see his holy appearance with their own eyes!" Andrew shouted, and Berialius followed Malenius and John. Antiochus lifted Luga onto his shield, and then raised Luga's shield in one go.

See Flavies. Luga appeared in front of everyone with the uniform of Barcelus, and the excited citizens and soldiers shouted loudly, shouting over and over again: "Barcelus! Baselus! Baselus! ”

Luga's excitement was indescribable, and he held the golden cross in his hands and shouted at the people present: "Sons of Rome! I, Flavis. Luga, Flavis. The son of Theodosius, the heir of Roman orthodoxy, will inherit the mantle of Theodosius and become Barcellus, and it is undeniable that this is an eventful time, but I will lead the loyal and brave army of Rome to victory over the invading barbarians until they finally conquer everything. ”

The citizens of Rome watched Luga silently, and it was undeniable that they all agreed with what Luga had said, and supported him in what he was sitting on, and the faces of each of them were clearly delighted.

"Hooray! Banzai! Banzai! ”

Listening to everyone's mountain shouts, long live, expressing his agreement with Luga's status at this time, after such a brutal and bloody struggle, Luga finally reached the pinnacle of power, but the matter is far from over, because he became Baseleus, but many contradictions and puzzles have not been solved, and he must find the answer himself.