Night Raid

On the city walls, rain poured down in torrents.

The candles flickering beneath the eaves would occasionally emit wisps of blue smoke as raindrops and mosquitoes drifted into them.

By the dim candlelight, Rome's militiamen braved the downpour and shoved the mountain-like piles of corpses into the open ground between the first low wall and the city wall. Once the weather cleared, they would douse them in oil and burn them.

Bleary-eyed soldiers yawned as they stood watch beneath the towers.

Today's battle had been a tremendous test of the fighting spirit of both attackers and defenders.

In a single day, the defenders had suffered more than twelve hundred casualties—one-tenth of their total force. Compared with a prolonged siege, such losses were already horrifying.

After a full day of fighting, everyone was utterly exhausted. Under cover of the rainy night, the worn-out defenders withdrew to the inner side of the walls and fell into deep sleep after barely managing a meal. Even the troops rotating into night watch were in poor condition.

No one could sleep peacefully when the walls might fall at any moment and fierce bombardment erupted from time to time.

The Emperor of Rome stood in a tower adorned with four β flags, serving as a temporary command post. Silently, he gazed at the distant enemy camp, which had gradually fallen quiet yet stretched endlessly beyond sight.

He raised an amber glass and drained the wine in one gulp.

Ironically, Constantinople had once been famed for its glassware, and glass products remained one of Constantinople's signature industries. Yet Rome's glassmaking techniques had been lost amid the turmoil of war. This was a craftwork produced in the Venetian concession.

Light footsteps sounded behind him.

Without turning his head, the emperor asked, "How is your injury?"

During today's battle,