While the Bulgar on the Volga River was writing a new chapter in political struggle, in Northeast Rus', Moscow Prince Rostislav Vladimirovich Rurik had already returned to his capital, Moscow.
Woo woo woo woo woo.....
Deafening horn blasts announced the return of the victorious army, and the wide avenues of Moscow were crowded with people, eagerly awaiting the return of the Prince and his triumphant army.
On the avenues of Moscow, soldiers marched in neat formation like a spreading tide, their surcoats over their armor flowing over the planked roads, their raised spears like a forest, exuding a chilling killing intent.
Rostislav Vladimirovich, dressed in ceremonial armor—a ringed mail inlaid with gold and silver, draped in white bear fur—rode his red warhorse, surrounded by generals and personal attendants, through the avenues of Moscow.
The Prince looked at the city built before his eyes, at the people welcoming him, and felt immense satisfaction within; the glory of victory and the joy of being welcomed filled his heart simultaneously.
The entire Moscow was deserted, with citizens crowding forward, vying to behold this conqueror who brought back four thousand captives and subjugated ten thousand people.
The thin morning mist made his figure appear exceptionally imposing, and the banner in the standard-bearer's hand fluttered behind the Prince, making him look incredibly majestic.
Some distance behind Rostislav were his senior generals and nobles, who had also changed into their most luxurious armor and donned their most splendid decorations, receiving the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd.
Gathered here were the powerful and influential from all of Northeast Rus'; after this great victory against the Bulgars, the Prince's authority in Northeast Rus' was beyond question.
Behind the nobles and generals were the Prince's personal attendants, clad in iron armor, they were as mighty and powerful as the warriors depicted in heroic songs, the object of countless young boys' and girls' fantasies.
Many young attendants constantly waved to the surrounding crowd and whistled at the girls in the crowd, and their imposing appearance would elicit screams from the girls.
Some of the Prince's attendants were once good-for-nothings, but after experiencing that bloody turmoil, even the most spoiled had transformed into true men.
Behind these nobles were the neatly arrayed Bodyguard Unit, advancing solemnly under the Captain of the Guard's leadership; many of them looked at the mounted attendants with a hint of dissatisfaction, as these attendants had stolen the show in this campaign, directly overshadowing even them, which gave the Bodyguard Unit a strong sense of crisis.
Old-timers are always resistant to newcomers stealing their thunder, and the Bodyguard Unit resolved to surpass these young people in the next battle.
Behind the Bodyguard Unit were the private soldiers of the nobles and the chieftains; many chieftains found this city on the Moscow River quite novel, as they usually did not stay in cities for long, so they naturally wanted to take a good look at this opportunity to visit the city.
The noble private soldiers, however, had no particular reaction; they were, after all, warriors kept by the nobles in the city, and while Moscow's scale was large, its interior, apart from wider streets, was largely similar to most Rus' cities, and its city walls were not even as good as Rostov's.
However, the inner city walls did surprise them, because there were several towers still under construction, and the surprising part was that the towers were built with bricks and tiles.
The last group of people received the grandest welcome upon entering the city, and for no other reason: these were soldiers made up of ordinary Moscow citizens, who chose to follow the Prince all the way back to Moscow.
The soldiers were all carrying large and small bags, many even wearing captured military clothing and iron armor, looking like they had reaped abundant rewards, their faces full of pride and joy.
Upon seeing their relatives return triumphantly, everyone naturally let out their loudest cheers, even louder than those for the Prince and nobles, and some even walked directly into the ranks to take their relatives' hands.
However, these people were driven away the next moment; it was not yet time to disband, because behind them were the Bulgar captives.
The Prince did not bring back many Bulgar captives, but this small group of Bulgars were the most valuable individuals within the entire Bulgar Army.
Nobles, wealthy merchants, tribal chieftains... undoubtedly, they were the upper echelon of Bulgar, and their families would spare no expense to ransom them.
These Bulgar dignitaries did not even look like captives; they retained their splendid attire, and at a glance, robes embroidered with gold and silver threads were everywhere.
The Prince needed to keep these people close for supervision, and also to display his spoils of war to the populace and allies.
This group of people walked into the city like a group of nobles; if not for the vigilant soldiers around them, you would even think they were the Prince's guests rather than captives.
The public's gaze towards the Bulgars was more curiosity than hostility; Moscow's populace mostly came from the south, and these Bulgars with their novel clothing naturally piqued their curiosity.
And the Bulgars were also very curious about the Rus' cities, though some had eyes full of disdain, as Rus' cities were indeed incomparable to Bulgar.
Those who expressed their emotions so clearly were mostly young people, while the middle-aged and elderly appeared calm and unperturbed; they were aware of their status as spoils of war, and it was inappropriate to display such emotions rashly.
As the Prince's army advanced, musicians arranged by Moscow officials in the crowd also began to play joyful tunes, making the entire atmosphere increasingly spirited and uplifted.
Amidst the music, Rostislav looked at his city, feeling immense satisfaction within; he knew his future was very bright, and whatever he did next would be very, very convenient.
The army paraded through the city in this manner, immersed in the welcome of the populace; in the square in front of the inner city, the army halted, because it was here that the army would disband, and the Prince would return to his palace.
Passing through the inner city gate, the Prince arrived before his palace and saw his wife, accompanied by the entire court, welcoming her husband's arrival.
Leo stood beside his wife, this high-ranking official from Constantinople looked exhausted; the intense work during this period had left him utterly fatigued.
"I'm back."
Dismounting before his wife, the Prince embraced Zoe, and whispered in her ear.
"Yes, thank God, it's good that you're back."
Zoe's words were filled with undisguised excitement; she was the most thrilled about her husband's safe return, but there was still some unease in her words, she feared her husband would step onto the battlefield again and leave her behind.
"For a long time to come, we will be bathed in peace, rest assured, my wife, I will spend good time with you."
Rostislav said to his wife's ear, his tone very firm.