In the bitter cold of the snow, Appis climbed to the highest point of the hill in a heavy bearskin cloak, and in front of him, there was an endless grassland, but it had withered and turned yellow. For several days, the legion had passed through the forest, bypassed the swamp, and now reached the meadow. Apis had no intention of appreciating the unpolluted scenery along the way, and if he could not find the main force of Toles as soon as possible, this Roman army that had penetrated deep into the north would not last long. The morale of the legion hovered between high and low, and every time the barbarian villages were plundered, the soldiers could cheer for a while, but then there was a long march and an endless winter.

Sometimes, Appis even wonders if the deliberate non-evacuation of these villages is part of the ghost wolf's plan. Judging from the information obtained by the barbarians, the march of the huge Roman legions must be easy to spot, and these villages will not not have received a little information in advance. Torles tried to lure the huge Roman legions deeper into the northern desolation with a little bait, sacrificing poor civilians to pull a huge hunting net to consume, drag the legions to death? But having walked such a long distance, it seems that the return journey is always full of reluctance and resentment. It's like waiting for a dinner, you've been waiting in line for so long, and you're almost at the end of the line, and you have to step down, this kind of moment is always the hardest time to choose.

Appis was at such a crossroads at this time. However, without waiting for himself to hesitate and choose the time, a week later, a brutal disease began to ravage the Legion.

The climate in Britain was cold and wet, and the tribes who had lived here for a long time adapted to the natural environment, but the Roman soldiers under Apis were different, most of them came from northern Italy and Gallo-Marseille, and the climate on the northern shore of the Mediterranean Sea was much milder and drier than that of the British Isles. As the weary legionnaires walked for long periods of time in the cold, damp forests of northern Britain, a terrible plague spread.

The most terrible situation in ancient warfare was happening, and before the enemy had even made a close encounter, his own army was already suffering from attrition and wounds. The soldiers died of hunger and cold, their condition deteriorated further, almost uncontrollable, in fact, it was indeed uncontrollable, Apis was not a doctor, nor did he understand medical skills, and there was no developed medicine in ancient times, once infected, many people actually relied on their own immune system to fight the disease, and then healed themselves. But now, such a harsh environment is beyond the reach of even the strongest soldiers. Not to mention the wounded who have already contracted the disease.

After a few days, the disease began to spread until the wounded were too numerous to lift. Standing in the camp, Appis saw a tragic scene. Many soldiers died, and their comrades could not do anything about it or even take them away. The surviving companions had to dig a shallow pit on the spot and bury their comrades in place. He said that he would take them home next year, but Appis knew that these dead soldiers would never return home, and no one would come back next year, the barren land, the endless mountains and forests, even if they came back next year, they would not be able to find the location of these cemeteries.

The soldiers prayed to the Roman gods, and then placed the belongings of their dead comrades as tokens on the mound.

At this moment, Appis had to withdraw his troops. He was most likely held back by Torles, the barbarian leader who lured the legions to the heart of North Britain again and again with decoys, where there was no food for the winter. The rear was again cut off. Appis knew that at this time, the ghost wolf might be somewhere in the forest, spying on the legions, until the mighty Roman legions were reduced by the plague and fell. That's when he struck.

And that's exactly what happened.

"When will it be dispatched to deal with the Romans? It's been too long since my axe drank blood! ”

In the cold early winter, in the base camp of the British Tribal Alliance, the patriarch of the Gondorado tribe sharpened his knife, kept wiping his sharp battle axe, and let out an irritable roar from time to time. The Roman legions were already weakened, but it seemed that Toles had no intention of attacking it.

"Don't worry, my men have come back to report the situation, although the Roman army is exhausted, and there is even an epidemic. But their leaders were on good alert during the march, and they set up camp every evening to house the wounded and dead. That is, in fact, they have not yet been completely defeated by cold and disease. As long as they build fortifications, no matter how many of us there are, it will be useless, and the result will only be like the battle of the forest, where blood is shed in vain. ”

Faced with questions from other clan leaders, Torles answered confidently.

"And when are you going to strike? Don't you know that we have no food? My people and I are starving. There's nowhere to hunt, my big chief. ”

The clan leader issued a reminder.

"Bear with me, my friend. We don't have food, and neither do the Romans, who lack food even more than we do. We must hold on until the entire Roman legion falls from weakness and exhaustion and lack of food. At that time, we will be able to launch a general offensive and break their defenses in one fell swoop, plundering their rations and weapons. Avenge our brothers and sisters and our fathers. We will drive the Romans out of our land, and then we will be able to sow again, and in the coming year there will be a harvest and food, I promise. ”

Torles replied calmly and solemnly.

He saw that the dense crowd of people behind Bledor was lying on the ground, weak and weak. Apparently, they have also not had a full meal for a long time.

"Coward! This is the act of a coward, and I would rather die by the sword of the Romans than be starved to death! If you don't fight, Torles, tomorrow, I will take my men and rush down to fight the Romans to the death, and the warriors should die with dignity, and not die humbly here, like a mouse! ”

No sooner had he pacified the patriarch of the Gondorado tribe than the leader of the Cherus tribe got up and screamed.

Hunger makes people irrational.

"We are not humble, Herac, and I swear to the gods that I will never let a Roman go. If they try to leave the land, I will take all my people with me and fight the Romans. But now, it's not the time. The charge of the warriors needs to wait for the right moment, otherwise, the senseless bloodshed will only make the Romans laugh at our stupidity and ignorance! ”

Torles turned and glared at the King of Cherus.