Facing the ambush by the Chud Camp, the pursuing Bulgars were in a very sorry state.
The Chud Camp was initially a unit composed of Rostislav's Chud slaves, but by now it had become an elite force under him, consisting of Finno-Ugric people willing to submit to the Rus' Princes.
They were skilled in forest warfare and could be said to be the best jungle guerrilla fighters.
The Bulgars now faced the onslaught of these jungle warriors; at the most unexpected moments for heavily armored cavalry and infantry, deadly javelins would fly from trees, bushes, and even from right beside them, easily piercing through iron armor and delivering fatal blows.
From time to time, warriors who had strayed slightly from the main group would suddenly disappear; in the blink of an eye, their figures would vanish, and it was unknown whether they had died or what had happened.
The Chud Camp's warriors would sometimes burst out from their hiding places like thunder, and after a fierce round of slashing, they would disappear again, each such skirmish always taking several lives and leaving several wounded soldiers.
There were even cavalrymen whose heads were suddenly ensnared by a lasso from an unknown direction, and then death mercilessly choked them, the Bulgar noble thus being strung up in full view of everyone, kicking his legs and dying before their eyes, his body then slamming heavily onto the ground.
Under this continuous assault, the enemy left more and more corpses, while the Chud Camp warriors they killed were few.
The Bulgar pursuing force finally lost heart; the first deserter appeared, and the second and third appeared even faster, the hunters now completely transformed into frantic prey.
The wounded soldiers were left on the ground, and no matter how much they pleaded with their comrades to take them away, no one paid any attention.
After the enemy fled, the Chud Camp warriors also emerged from their hiding places, spontaneously and orderly executing the wounded soldiers who could not escape.
Most of them wore camouflage suits that looked like turf, with iron armor and padded jackets underneath; their weapons were diverse, as they were essentially skirmishers, using whatever weapons felt right to each person.
After executing the wounded, the group did not pursue the enemy; instead, after a brief exchange, they began to retreat in an orderly fashion.
They knew that their current victory was achieved by utilizing the concealed environment; if they were to fight in a straightforward manner, they would surely be defeated.
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"So, you abandoned your comrades and fled back like this."
At the recent ambush site, the area had lost much of its battlefield atmosphere after being tidied by servants and soldiers; bodies were systematically gathered and placed into dug-out pits, and the accompanying Imam was conducting simple funerals for the deceased.
Aside from the most basic clothing and the noble's precious items, all their personal armor and valuables were removed; subsequently, they would either be taken by soldiers who needed them or end up in the officers' pockets.
It was against such a backdrop that the trembling leader of the pursuing force looked at Akad, awaiting his reprimand.
This leader was a noble from the Bulgar city, who had studied in a Bulgar religious school; his family had sent him to war this time just to let him experience the battlefield and add luster to his resume, so they bribed their way to make him a minor officer.
He had originally thought his military career would be as beautiful and magnificent as a poem, that the pagans would crumble before Allah's army, and that commanding the soldiers' spears made him feel incredibly majestic, like a hero from Greek epics or one of the invincible warriors of the Prophet during the Arab conquests.
But the defeat he now faced told him what cruel reality was.
He had personally witnessed a fellow countryman being strung up like a dead pig by a pagan's lasso right before his eyes; he still remembered how this man had boasted just yesterday about how wonderful the body of the Rus' girl he had accidentally suffocated was, and now he had died so ingloriously.
Therefore, he now stood before Akad, silent; the defeat had made the once confident noble unable to regain that confidence, and he was powerless and unwilling to explain the tragic failure.
Seeing his subordinate's pathetic appearance, Akad was truly enraged; he wielded his riding crop and struck the man's face, drawing a bloody gash.
"Akad, I think this is enough; now is not the time to severely punish the soldiers. Reaching Kashin as soon as possible is what we should be doing now."
Arel's voice rang out, but his tone was calm and unruffled, for he was merely performing his duty; as for this defeat, he didn't pay much attention to it, he had fought too many battles, and he had experienced far more tragic things several times over in his career on horseback.
"Arel, are you very happy now?"
Suddenly, Akad blurted this out, the anger in his words palpable to everyone; Arel's routine yet correct advice, now amplified by his cool tone, felt like mockery to Akad, a mockery directed at him.
This was the first time Akad of the Dulu Family had encountered a defeat of this magnitude, and it was in front of so many people; although it wasn't a complete collapse of the army, being ambushed by the enemy and letting them escape unscathed was too humiliating.
Therefore, he now spoke these words; in other words, he had lost his composure and began to lash out.
"Of course I would not be happy about Bulgar's defeat, Akad. Your worries are truly superfluous, but I think the priority now is to reorganize the army, not to question who is mocking you, which is meaningless."
Arel's tone was still as cool, but it carried a hint of threat and warning.
His hand rested on the hilt of his scimitar, his fingers rubbing the ruby; if this ambitious man were to vent his anger on him at this moment, he would directly draw his blade and strike, he would not miss the opportunity to eliminate a potential usurper.
Fortunately, Akad was ultimately an experienced politician, not a noble dominated by emotion; Arel's words pulled him out of his emotional state.
Akad subtly looked around; he saw countless strange gazes, soldiers without armor or wearing padded jackets looking at him, they who had once cheered him countless times; noble heavy cavalry looking at him, these people who had once pledged their support; the accompanying Imam looking at him, they who had guaranteed the support of the jurists.
Akad sensed trouble, followed by self-reproach; although he wouldn't lose the support of these people, after this incident, many of them would likely waver...
"It was my slip of the tongue... After everything is packed up, return to your respective units. You, you can return to your post. I don't want to see another defeat."
The army commander could only say this in the end, and then silently departed; his last words were directed at the bowing Bulgar officer, and as he spoke, everyone gradually dispersed, busy with their respective tasks.
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