A small, curved axe was gripped by Brown's large hand. Brown merely raised his hand, and the small axe, spinning violently and tearing through the air with a whistling sound, accurately embedded itself in the opponent's forehead.
This swift, precise, and ruthless strike, delivered with immense force, split the opponent's brain in two. After a brief pause, the brain matter, mixed with red blood, gushed out like tofu pudding. Especially as the opponent slowly fell to the ground, it was like spilling dirty water, with the white and red mixture splattering everywhere, appearing utterly terrifying.
Everyone was stunned to see Brown kill someone without a word, but Brown had been held back by the Red Leaf Ridge warriors for too long. Now that he had started killing, how could he hold back?
"Kill them!" Brown, his face ferocious, took an axe from his back. His left hand moved to his waist, and another axe directly struck a Gaul's chest. Because the axe was sharp, it cut directly into the opponent's chest. The opponent only let out a gurgling sound before collapsing to the ground.
"Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh…" The Anglo-Saxons warriors let out barbaric howls, drew their weapons, and charged at their former allies.
Unlike the Gauls' uniform crescent axes and the Vikings' disc axes, the Anglo-Saxons did not have standardized equipment. They used whatever they found convenient, and although most excess iron was forged into small hand axes, their weapons were diverse: Knight's longswords, Roman heavy infantry's greatswords, Macedonian daggers—all were present, provided by merchants. Arms smuggling, after all, was a highly profitable business, existing since ancient times, and merchants flocked to it.
This habit was quite effective in small-scale battles. Because when one person was cut down here, the fighting style on the other side was completely different, and if one couldn't adapt, they would end up decapitated. For a time, the Gauls and Vikings suffered heavy losses.
By the time Bonaparte and Ingolvesi received the news and rushed over with their men, all two hundred-plus people here had already fallen in a pool of blood.
Although Bonaparte was a Gaul and didn't regard common people as human, he was quite protective of his own kinsmen. The three Barbarian tribes had different clothing, and seeing his kinsmen lying on the ground, Bonaparte was furious and was about to draw his half-moon axe to fight Brown to the death.
But Ingolvesi pulled him back, asking in a gloomy tone, "Brown, what's going on here?"
Both of them were enraged, but how could Brown's anger be any less than theirs? Grievance, fury, and killing intent all intertwined in Brown's heart. Brown roared loudly, "What's going on? You two ask me what's going on? Why don't you ask yourselves what's going on? What were you two doing when I was attacking the city and killing enemies on the front lines?!"
Upon hearing this, the two realized they were in trouble. No matter what Brown had done, this alliance needed a righteous cause to be maintained; otherwise, its collapse was imminent.
And Brown was doing his duty; that was the great principle. Although Barbarians preferred to speak with their fists, they were not entirely unreasonable, especially intelligent Barbarian leaders.
As long as Brown held this position, no excuse could be valid against him.
A sudden dread settled in both their hearts.
"What exactly happened?" Ingolvesi asked with a grim look, but without Bonaparte's accusatory stance, which calmed Brown down a bit.
But his heart was still filled with unappeased rage: "Look at what these little bastards of yours did! While we Anglo-Saxons were fighting on the front lines, they were actually stealing our things from behind! What is this called! What is this called?!"
Upon hearing this, although the two leaders were annoyed, they were more enraged by Brown's choice of words. What did he mean by "little bastards"? Both felt disgusted; if their people were "little bastards," what were the people who gave birth to them? "Old bastards"?
For a moment, both were truly filled with anger and murderous intent. Drawing swords against each other?
It was a good idea, but what about the alliance? Bonaparte hesitated. He had the fewest people. If the alliance collapsed, they would still have enough strength to retreat to the sea, but if the Camelot Knights attacked, they would surely target his weakest forces.
If the alliance was gone, how could he annex these two Barbarian tribes?
Ingolvesi also hesitated. If the alliance suddenly collapsed, the likely outcome would be everyone going their separate ways. Not only would he lack the strength to devour these two Barbarians, but if he were to exert all his strength to swallow the weakest Gauls, the Anglo-Saxons would definitely not stand by and watch, because at that point, any clear-headed person would know that they would be next!
So the alliance absolutely could not break apart!
The two exchanged glances, having made up their minds.
Inglish smiled, "Brown, don't rush, don't rush, we're here, aren't we!"
"Why would they steal your things?" Although Bonaparte had softened his stance, he didn't want to admit defeat verbally, merely asking coldly.
Brown had calmed down considerably by this point, but he still retorted irritably, "Furniture, wine, and food—that's what they were stealing!"
"You have food?" Both their eyes lit up.
"Precisely because we don't!" Brown said unhappily, "The Camelot people actually have surplus grain to brew wine. It's truly too extravagant."
The other two shook their heads, their hearts full of disdain, though they didn't show it on their faces. When it came to drinking, this fellow drank more and enjoyed it more than anyone else! Extravagant?
A look of worry suddenly appeared on their faces. Thinking of food, the three simultaneously frowned and sighed, "Alas!"
The astonishing synchronicity made the three of them look up at each other at the same time.
"We absolutely cannot delay any longer," Inglish said, his voice cold and cruel. "Now I suggest we bring out all our forces, choose one person to command, and try our best to take this city within three days."
Food was already insufficient. A 200,000-strong army was an extremely powerful fighting force, but also a heavy burden. When it couldn't be sustained by plunder, it placed an enormous strain on logistics. Consider this: even with China's vast land and abundant resources, and its powerful productivity, even during the Han Dynasty and Tang Dynasty, there were rarely major campaigns involving more than 200,000 troops. Battles exceeding 200,000 people were all legendary campaigns that brought immense pressure on the economy, production, and food supply of the time, let alone for Barbarians with no logistics whatsoever.
Therefore, the fall of the city was inevitable, and plunder was inevitable. Even without food, the Camelot people's soft-skinned corpses would be enough for them to eat for a long time!
The other two nodded, but their gaze once again settled on Inglish. So, who would be the chief commander?!