Tiberius was a sharp observer, astute enough to deduce the looming threat posed by the Huns' intimidation tactics. He understood that if the Romans continued to watch them flaunt unchecked power, their spirits would break before the Hun king even arrived.
He needed a decisive victory to shatter the myth of the Huns' invincibility.
And he needed to win it decisively.
He pointed toward the Huns near the walls and called to his troops, "Ahead lies Rome! Reach it, and all you desire will be yours!"
"To any soldier who kills a Hun, I'll give a denarius—or food and supplies equal in worth to a gold coin!"
"To any soldier who kills ten Huns, an aureus will be yours!"
An aureus in Rome was equivalent to twenty-five silver denarii, each of which could be exchanged for eight smaller bronze asses—these coins were the everyday currency of Romans, while denarii and aurei were mainly used by nobles for purchasing luxuries like silk and porcelain from the East.
His promises were a generous offering on paper. But Tiberius knew he didn't actually need to pay out too much. The Huns' numbers barely reached a thousand, which translated to roughly a thousand silver coins at most. In the chaos of battle, any soldier brave enough to kill a Hun would likely perish too.
Ten Huns? Only the most foolhardy would take on such odds.
Tiberius's strategy, though ambitious, was only known to himself. To his men, he appeared magnanimous, a commander worthy of their loyalty.
The Huns had grown arrogant from their unbroken string of victories and did not notice the Roman army advancing from behind. With not even a scout posted, they were utterly unprepared for the sudden Roman ambush, which left no one standing.
Pride goes before a fall. When even the lowliest soldiers grow overconfident, defeat is not far behind.
Fueled by the promise of riches, the barbarian forces under Tiberius surged forward with such fervor that chaos threatened to erupt, nearly devolving into infighting over spoils. Fortunately, Rome's military structure and reward system proved strong, and with the guidance of senior officers and seasoned veterans, order was restored.
Had this been a less disciplined force—say, the untrained Celtic tribes of Britannia—a full-scale brawl might have broken out.
The newly born Kingdom of Britain was impoverished, its national policies and military reforms still in their infancy. Unlike the established Roman legions, the Round Table Knights and Gospel Knights were still young, their command structure somewhat disordered.
But with Kaelar's efforts to fill the ranks with disciplined officers, they would soon catch up.
In the end, Tiberius had distributed just over five hundred silver coins, and not a single gold one. The Huns' plundered riches covered the expenses, with silver and gold taken from defeated Gothic and Roman cities. That wealth alone could sustain Tiberius's forces for some time.
He ordered all spoils collected and sent another report to Emperor Nepos, requesting additional resources to make up any shortages.
Despite his resentment, Tiberius respected Nepos's order to remain outside the city, camping his men beyond Rome's walls while dispatching scouts to monitor the Huns' movements.
Ankous soon arrived, and unlike before, the gatekeepers respectfully opened the city gates for him.
Tiberius had made it clear he could force his way in if necessary, but he respected Nepos's wishes.
Once again, Ankous presented Tiberius's requests to Nepos, then explained, "Emperor, Tiberius's forces have exhausted their gold reserves. Meeting his promises is crucial if we want to keep the barbarian troops from mutinying. And keeping their spirits high will require even more funds for wages and rewards."
"Sir Ankous, I understand Tiberius's difficulties," Nepos replied, clutching his head. "But we truly have nothing left. If I had even a single aureus, it would go to the frontlines, not my own coffers!"
"After all, I am the emperor of Rome!"
"Emperor Nepos, I trust that you are without funds, but Rome itself still holds wealth!" Ankous's gaze darkened. "There are over a million citizens within Rome's walls. The wealthy merchants haven't fled—they're hoarding stockpiles of wealth and resources."
Nepos understood what he was implying but struggled with the idea. "No, I can't… I am the Emperor of Rome. I can't."
At the end of the day, pride was his vice. Nepos, like many kings, viewed the nation as an extension of himself, reluctant to sacrifice his image for its survival.
It was much like Emperor Chongzhen's plight in China, pleading with nobles to donate funds to save his empire, only to discover after his fall that they had hoarded unimaginable wealth.
So it was with Rome now…
A besieged capital. A general fighting on the border with no funds. Soldiers threatening mutiny if unpaid. An emperor clinging to pride, and a nobility clinging to wealth.
A tale from worlds apart, yet strangely alike.
But Tiberius was of better character than some generals. He hadn't raised an army to exploit Rome's misfortunes. He only sought supplies to keep his soldiers fed and armed.
Unfortunately, war required provisions. The Huns, having plundered both Gothic and Roman lands, had an abundance of supplies, with endless stockpiles of arrows and weapons.
Confidence ran high among the Huns. Their king, the feared Attila, filled them with a fervent belief that they were the chosen, marching under the Sword of Mars to conquer all.
Meanwhile, Tiberius's soldiers were unpaid.
With no other option, Tiberius found himself playing both general and statesman, setting aside his pride to give Nepos a solution.
In accordance with Tiberius's suggestion, Nepos mobilized his guards to pressure the wealthy merchants, standing on Rome's central square to publicly appeal to their sense of patriotism. Should the city fall, he warned, they would all suffer.
And to emphasize the point, he painted Tiberius as another Odoacer—a general ready to sack Rome should funds remain withheld.
It was only through such measures that Nepos managed to extract a modest amount of gold and supplies from the city's wealthiest citizens.
Had Nepos been willing to appear more desperate, more openly penniless, and taken a humble approach, the patriotic citizens of Rome might have contributed willingly.
But, weighed down by the burden of imperial dignity, Nepos spoke more as a ruler than as a petitioner. He failed to read the speech Tiberius had prepared, his address falling somewhere between command and half-hearted plea.
Meanwhile, Tiberius's hired orators praised Nepos's commitment to Rome, proclaiming him the emperor who had swallowed his pride for Rome's sake. This, too, played well with the people.
Though Nepos's pride dulled the effectiveness of the strategy, the spectacle of Rome's emperor appealing for aid was still enough to sway some minds, and they raised a considerable sum to send Tiberius.
With these funds, Tiberius quickly distributed coins among his troops, gaining their loyalty. With morale now steady, he secured provisions and resources, holding essentials like weapons and medicine to trade with soldiers.
This arrangement mirrored the traditional Roman method: soldiers were expected to bring their own gear, with the option to buy additional armor and weaponry from the state.
Tiberius knew that if he could gather resources from the troops, he could keep the merchants appeased and stabilize the city's economy. And if Rome's treasury was exhausted a second time, he would seize every last coin from the hoarded wealth of Rome's richest merchants.
For Rome's sake, he would make any sacrifice.
"Commander Tiberius, you must rest!" Ankous approached. "You've been working day and night. If the Huns reach us, who will lead us?"
Managing such a large force drained even the strongest generals. Many who led grand campaigns ended up bedridden by the strain.
Tiberius had spent countless sleepless nights fighting for Rome, giving his all to hold his army together. These soldiers were Rome's last hope.
If they were defeated, Rome would be lost.
Because, truthfully, Rome's citizens had no will to defend Rome.
"I can't rest yet. I have to oversee the distribution myself." Tiberius's eyes were bloodshot, his voice heavy with frustration. "Even at Rome's most dire hour, these vermin continue to profit. Only my presence keeps them in check."
His teeth clenched as he continued, "Those merchants even dared to conspire to raise prices! How can they be so bold?"
"If Attila's army wasn't at our gates, I'd storm the city and take their heads!"
Reports from his scouts confirmed that Attila had spared the smaller cities along her path, losing interest in smaller towns and focused solely on reaching Rome.
Rome alone could satisfy her thirst for destruction.
Tiberius massaged his temples and muttered, "Fortunately, we've secured enough provisions for three months. If we can halt the Huns' first assault, the siege on Rome will be broken."
He was right. If they could survive the first wave, the tide of morale would shift. Even with a high casualty rate, victory would reawaken Roman pride and shatter the Huns' morale.
But would things truly go as smoothly as he hoped?
Could the Hun king, Attila, truly be defeated so easily?
Ankous had his doubts, seeing only one truth…
Tiberius was coughing up his very soul.
Meanwhile, Attila's campaign didn't resemble a deadly invasion so much as a child's whimsical outing.
She acted more like a curious girl on a field trip with her friends than a leader marching an empire-toppling army.
Her troops had grown used to Attila's unusual style, her innocent wonder toward anything remotely interesting, and her unexpected demands—she often veered off course to explore or picnic, gathering trinkets for her hair.
Her men adored this side of her.
Without those acts of horrific destruction, one might think she was a simple girl.
The Huns followed her whims without question, strolling by day, camping by night. And after nearly two weeks of carefree marching, Attila's forces finally neared Rome.
Tiberius's soldiers had prepared for a siege, ready to meet her on the field.
But Attila's appearance was anything but warlike. She wore a veil resembling a bridal one that trailed down her back, a mix of thin silk and sheer fabric that brushed her exposed, bronze-toned skin.
Her attire radiated beauty and power, marking her apart from the soldiers around her.
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