Woo—woo—woo—
A melodious horn sounded from the mountains.
The Tatars, caught in a desperate situation and surrounded, eventually retreated.
Yet even with their retreat, Ivan felt a lingering fear.
This war was undoubtedly a grim victory. It was clear to the naked eye that their losses significantly exceeded the enemy's corpses left behind. If it weren't for Ivan's troops descending like divine warriors at the last moment, and the Tatars being limited in number and choosing to preserve their strength instead of fighting to the death, the outcome would have been uncertain.
Ivan panted heavily and dropped into a pool of blood: "It seems those merchants from the East weren't exaggerating. This nomadic alliance known as the Tatars is indeed far more formidable than the Kuman people, Turkic people, or any others."
Fulk silently nodded beside him, the pressure brought by these Tatars was indeed unprecedented.
