Chutkalai was soon dragged away from the ramparts by several trusted aides. The remaining Hungarian Army troops did not collapse immediately, but most had lost the will to fight.
Even if they had wanted to fight, they lacked enough firepower to stop what was unfolding before them. After all, the Austrians had destroyed their cannons long ago, and they had not a single shell left.
Most simply stared blankly at what was happening. Haynau and his troops had rehearsed this battle many times.
The Austrian Army's attack came crashing in like towering waves, while Budapest's defenses had long since been battered full of holes. The moment the two collided, the latter crumbled.
The Magyars in the city followed their instincts: some ran, some hid, and, of course, some were driven into a frenzy by fear.
A burly, bald man tore open his collar. Once, he too had been a fiery young man inspired by the ideals of the Huns.
But during his time in Budapest, he had only been able to huddle in the ruins to avoid the shelling, surviving until today by eating corpses and drinking foul water.
He had long had enough of living like this. He grabbed his rifle and charged toward the breach in the city wall.
"Every man, charge with me! Let them see the courage of the Huns!"
"That's right! Our ancestors once sent the Europeans fleeing in terror. We can do the same today!"
"Charge!"
But times had changed. No amount of individual valor could alter the collapse of the situation as a whole.
Whether it was the Steel Behemoths dropping grenades from the sky, the Steam Tanks equipped with mounted air guns, or the Austrian soldiers advancing like a black cloud, none were forces they could resist.
These men were like drops