In an inconspicuous gully in the wilderness of Northeast Rus', a group of weary warriors had just halted their march, or rather, their escape.
Some collapsed directly onto the ground, uncaring of the dust that clung to them, while others leaned against rock walls or something similar, panting incessantly. A few, however, remained vigilant.
But such elite warriors were few, and from their faces and condition, one could tell that these individuals were merely holding on by a thread.
At this moment, a mountain wind, sharp as a blade, blew past, causing the poorly equipped, even ragged, soldiers to shiver in the cutting cold.
Akad Moska Duluk, a dignitary of the Bulgar Khanate, was now simply wearing a breastplate, his magnificent helmet long gone. He stood on high ground, with the great dragon of Bulgar fluttering above his head.
Beside him, several barbarian soldiers guarded the surroundings. These men were all somewhat advanced in age, their faces etched with the marks of time.
Akad looked at these weary warriors, at their tattered armor, at their scarred bodies, and couldn't help but close his eyes in pain.
It was over, everything was over. The great army of Bulgar was finished, the army that should have brought his prestige to its peak was utterly destroyed.
It wasn't until this moment that Akad recovered from the blow. Remembering the utter foolishness of his past actions, he couldn't help but cover his face and weep.
How could he have been so careless, so indifferent to the army, allowing the Rus' people's stratagem to succeed?
But now, what was past was past. Even the great Allah could not reverse what had happened. He could only focus on the present.
Akad quickly recovered from his despondency. He looked in the direction of Bulgar City; in at most one more day's journey, he could reach that great city on the Volga River.
The loser's mind worked at its fastest speed. With his father's protection, even after such an exaggerated defeat, he would not suffer political death, but it was impossible to avoid paying a price.
If he had to pay those prices, it would take him at least several decades to rebuild his power...
No, it couldn't be like this. Everything I've fought for my entire life cannot just start from scratch.
Akad made up his mind.
"We are going south."
Akad's words carried an unprecedented firmness, and the confidence he had when he was still in his prime, which caused his disheartened subordinates to involuntarily raise their heads.
"My Lord?"
The joy in his confidant's voice was still tinged with a tremor. Joy because their leader had finally rallied from defeat.
And the tremor was because, as Akad's confidant, he knew very well what the subtext of going south meant...
"Yes, south. We are not going to Bulgar. We are going south. Quickly get everyone moving. Don't worry about the wounded; let them fend for themselves."
Akad gave cruel orders, but everyone hastened to carry them out, even the fearless barbarians. They knew their master was serious.
Watching his disheveled subordinates gather themselves, Akad's competitive spirit ignited once more. How could he fail? Since he was facing such a situation now, he would completely tear off the facade.
And in the south, there was an army specifically for preventing nomadic invaders. Brave and devout individuals from all over Bulgar formed this border-guarding army.
Akad had not mobilized this army when he mobilized his forces, as everyone understood its importance. But now, Akad had to use this army. They were basically his people. This was his last chance.
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Mid-Volga River, Bulgar City.
News of the defeat had spread throughout the city with the retreat of Arel and others, and information about the army's capture naturally also circulated.
The news of the defeat inevitably cast a shadow of sorrow over Bulgar, but knowing that most people's relatives were only captured gave everyone hope. Everyone instinctively began to raise money, preparing to ransom their loved ones.
In such circumstances, Jewish usurers were delighted to lend money, and many respectable citizens had to borrow from them to raise enough money to ransom their relatives.
Some also directed their anger at the Khan, blaming him for the defeat.
But more people respectfully petitioned the Khan. Most of them were poor citizens within the city who had no money to ransom their families and no one willing to lend to them, so they could only hope the Khan would provide the funds.
The square in front of the palace was packed with people. Even as night fell, the crowd did not disperse, because they needed the Khan's promise, and only the Khan's promise could bring their families back.
Many recited chapters from the Quran in the square, hoping for the Khan's mercy. People held torches, which looked like a sea of flames.
And along the path lined with pillars, the Khan of Bulgar, Ashraf Baruk Duluk, calmly listened to and observed all of this.
He was accompanied by only a few guards, with Aleff, a trusted confidant of the Khan, among them.
"What a beautiful moon."
Ashraf, illuminated by both moonlight and torchlight, gazed at the moon in the sky, muttering.
His figure appeared even smaller under these lights, and no one dared to answer the Khan's words, for everyone knew the Khan was merely sighing.
"Tell the people, I will ransom their families."
After a long gaze at the moonlight, the Khan suddenly said this. Doing so would be a huge blow to the Khanate's finances.
But he had to do it; it was his responsibility, his duty as ruler.
"Yes, Khan, I will relay the message immediately."
Aleff unconditionally carried out the Khan's order.
Soon after, as the teams announcing the Khan's order shouted, cheers erupted one after another.
Everyone cheered for the Khan's benevolence, and bathed in these cheers, the Khan's aged appearance seemed to dissipate considerably.
"Has Akad been found?"
The Khan suddenly asked about his troublesome relative.
"Apologies, not yet."
And Arel's reply was as direct as ever.
"You must find him as soon as possible. Send out scouts."
"Yes."
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While the Khan and his minister were still conversing within the Khan's palace, one of Bulgar City's gates silently opened.
Immediately, a group of fully armed soldiers entered. Their armor was old and worn, clearly showing the passage of time, but this could not hide the calluses on their hands from holding weapons, nor their instinctive combat stances.
And leading them was Akad Moska Duluk.
"Take over the barracks, besiege the palace. Execute immediately."
At the loser's command, the soldiers behind him immediately split into two teams, heading towards their respective targets.
Tonight was destined to be a night of blood and fire, and intense political upheaval.
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